I move on to the next person, moving counterclockwise from Viktor so that Nolan will be the last person to pick. I want him to have to suffer through this. Last year he picked his name fourth and stormed off before we were done. But as Martine pointed out, fans love him for some stupid reason. As I circle the room, getting upstairs staff and players to take a name, something happens. I can feel it. A shift in the energy in the room. I glance over my shoulder as the hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I can see Nolan staring at me. Only now he’s not glaring. He’s smiling. It’s stunning — because if I take my brain out of it, the man is gorgeous — but the grin is also horrifying. Something is up, and I don’t know what it is.
Coach Baker pulls a name and then our head of PR, then Martine, and I’m about to move on to our back-up goalie when I hear Nolan’s voice way too close to the shell of my ear. “My turn.”
Like him or not, Nolan Duggan whispering roughly in your ear, standing less than a foot from you with damp dark hair and smelling of soap from his recent shower makes your knees weak and your panties wet. It doesn’t matter how illogical that is. I try to force air into my lungs as I turn to face him and shove the Santa hat out between us to give me some much needed space. He sticks his hand in slowly—too slowly—with the same smile on his face that I don’t understand because I’ve never seen it before. He pulls out a name. A glimmer of something dark passes through those expressive hazel eyes but it disappears instead of sticking around, which isn’t normal at all. Then he nods and wanders back to the wall he was pretending to hold up earlier. Well, at least he didn’t stalk out like every other year.
What is up with him?
“Don’t forget to draw one too,” Martine advises me when I’m nearing the end of the line. I nod and dip my hand in, fishing around for a long minute because there’s only a couple names left now in the depths of the hat. I take my name and tuck it into the back pocket on my black dress pants and finish with the task at hand. Once everyone has drawn a name, I turn to the group. “Win it for Santa tonight boys!”
I give a big, beauty pageant winning wave and leave. Martine stops the video she’s recording on her phone and follows me. “I got Betty from accounting. Do you know where I can buy knitting supplies? It’s her only hobby.”
I give her the address of the only crafting store I know of in Vancouver as we pause in front of the elevators. I punch the button.
“Who did you get?”
I pull the scrap of paper from my back pocket and unfold it. My heart sinks at the very first letter - N. Followed by O and L and A and N and…“Fuck a duck.”
Martine reads over my shoulder and starts laughing so hard she’s doubled over when we enter the elevator.
“Laugh all you want, but I’m going to use this as an opportunity to make Nolan Duggan change his mind,” I declare as the doors slide shut. “He’s going to love the holidays by the time I’m done.”
“Uh-huh,” Martine manages to blurt out through fits of laughter.
Chapter 3
Nolan
“A thousand bucks.”
Viktor’s jaw drops so low, his chin completely disappears under his scarf. He shakes his head and lets out a soundless laugh that sends a cloud of white vapor into the air between us. “As much as I’m happy to take your money for any reason, you hate this woman. I don’t want you doing anything that might really offend her.”
“I’m not an asshole, Vik,” I assure him. “I just want to troll her a little bit with some gag gifts. I swear nothing mean just funny. So take the grand and switch names with me.”
“Who did you get again?” He tilts his head, thinking hard about it as the wind whips his light blond hair across his forehead.
“The Wall,” I say referring to our rookie center Jeremiah Waller. “He’s easy-peasy. Buy some saw raw meat and a keg of beer. Done.”
Viktor smiles. “True. And I don’t know Felicity as well as you do, so…”
“I don’t know her at all,” I argue.
“Really? Because you spend a hell of a lot of time looking at her,” Viktor laughs and more vapor clouds the air between us. “You study her like she’s video footage of our biggest opponent.”
“I don’t,” I growl and dig my wallet out of my pocket and open it. I shove the two hundred and change I have there at him. “I’ll get you the rest by tonight’s game, now give me her name so I can get home and get a nap in.”
He laughs and hands me the piece of paper with her name on it and takes the money and the piece of paper with The Wall’s name on it. He jumps in his Escalade and I jump in my Mercedes, and we turn in opposite directions as we leave the arena. Viktor lives in the burbs — Burnaby — with his wife and two, soon to be three, kids. I’m in a penthouse overlooking the English Bay. The ultimate bachelor pad in a sleek, modern building that thankfully doesn’t allow any outward facing decorations for any holidays.
As soon as I open the door to my place, I head straight to my iPad and start searching for ideas for the worst possible Christmas gifts ever. Max wanders in from the bedroom and meows. I pause long enough to scoop him up and nuzzle him. “Hey buddy. Take a seat and help me put my evil plan into action.”
Max walks across my lap, jumps up on the back of my couch, and lies on the back next to my ear. He starts licking his paws, ignoring my request for help of course. “Yeah, you got nothing? Me too. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea.”
The plan slammed into my brain like one of The Wall’s hundred mile an hour slap shots. Get Felicity’s name and make her regret the day she came up with this dumb Secret Santa idea she brought to the team last year when she joined. And if she grew to hate the holidays too, bonus. I spend an hour of precious pre-game nap time scouring Amazon and Etsy, and I come up with nothing. Some of the gifts are too harsh and others too goofy. I want to irritate her without upsetting her. Annoy her without making her feel attacked. It’s a precarious balance, and maybe I don’t know enough about her to pull it off. So I lean back on the couch, put my feet up, close my eyes, and make a mental list of what I do know about Felicity Roark.
Number one: she’s gorgeous. The thick brown hair, those round cheeks that are always slightly flushed, usually with ridiculous excitement over something that annoys me. But still, she’s a stunner. And those eyes. I’d love to see them glassy after a good orgasm.
Number two: she’s great at her job. The team’s community involvement has almost doubled since Felicity took over. She skillfully organizes food drives and free practice sessions with players for low-income kids. The team is on regular monthly shifts at a local soup kitchen. And the Christmas toy drive and party, which I despise, do a lot of good for people in need.
Number three: the way she sucks on candy canes in December and it makes me hard. I hate to admit that but it’s a biological fact I found out about the hard way last year at the Christmas party. It was mandatory for players to attend. Xavier dressed up as Santa and handed out presents to under privileged families that were invited. I hung out by the food trucks trying to temper my annoyance with Kobe sliders and truffle fries. She was right across from me and the candy bar. So I couldn’t help but notice the way she sucked long and slow on it, the way she played with it against her lips while she got distracted by something on her phone. I’d had to abandon the last of my fries and do a lap around the arena to cool off.
