Great. Now I’m hard again just remembering it. Luckily Max picks this moment to jump off the back of the couch and land on my gut. I let out an oof, which he ignores as he circles once and curls up on my chest by my right shoulder. I close my eyes and force myself to try and nap, but it doesn’t really work. I’m tired and cranky as I head back to the rink.
Turns out that pays off because I channel all the bad energy into the game. I make some big checks and some important puck steals. I even manage to score one, which I haven’t done in seven games. We win the game in an OT shootout, but hey, it’s a win. One point is better than none. I’m feeling better about my game, and the team, until I walk into the locker room again and notice that inflatable reindeer she said she decided spare us in there. It’s blocking half the narrow corridor to the showers.
The other guys laugh and make jokes about it and even pat in on their way to the showers. I look for a safety pin or something else I can stab it with, but I’m out of luck. I storm past it giving it a quick punch as I do. The Wall is behind me, and he laughs. “Dude, did you just sucker punch Rudolph? That’s harsh, even for you.”
“Whatever.”
I’m on my way out when I run into Martine. She’s finishing up a Tik Tok video with the team mascot. I turn to walk the other way and take the stairs up to the team parking, but she calls my name. Damn it. I turn and try to remember she’s friends with the enemy, but she isn’t the enemy. “Hey Martine. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to say thanks for participating in the Secret Santa thing without making a scene this year,” She says. “I got some great video of it, and you’re even smiling. It’s going up on Insta tomorrow.”
“Cool.”
“Are you going to go to the Christmas party?” She questions and she looks like she would bet against me showing up.
“It’s mandatory again, so yeah,” I reply gruffly and decide to hit the elevator button since I didn’t escape her. She stands beside me waiting for it as well. “Please tell me she at least had the sense to book the truffle fries guy again.”
“Felicity? Yeah she did,” Martine replies as we both step into the elevator. “They were a big hit last year. I kept hearing they were sensational.”
“They were. You should try ‘em this year.”
“Can’t. Allergic,” Martine looks as devastated by that news as I would be if it were me. Her big brown eyes grow sad. “I found out the hard way by tasting the most amazing truffle risotto in San Sebastian, Spain on vacation when I was sixteen. My parents had to spend the night in a Spanish hospital while I got treated for the angriest rash you’ve ever seen. And I couldn’t feel my tongue for a week.”
“I’m sorry,” I say and she gives me a small smile with a shrug as the elevator chugs upward. I feel this stupid need to bond with her. “I can’t eat cilantro. Tastes like soap to me. Not an allergy but a genetic thing, so I read. Sucks because I love Mexican food and a lot of places throw it in burritos and stuff.”
“Food is so weird,” Martine says, and she seems really weirded out that I’m having a normal conversation with her. I guess I really should work on my disposition. “Betty up in accounting can’t touch peaches. She says the fuzziness makes her palms itch for hours and Felicity gags if she eats cucumbers. She’s not allergic, but she says, to her, they feel like slime and taste like dirty socks. She avoids them like the plague. When we go to Jimmy’s for lunch, you know the place around the corner, she orders the Greek salad with extra pepper and no cukes. They make it special for her.”
I smile. Wide. And it seems to weird Martine out even more. She blinks, and I try to rein it in because I don’t want to tip her off. The elevator doors open, and I motion for her to go first, and then I march through them with barely a wave over my shoulder. “Later Martine.”
“Bye Nolan. Have a good night and congrats on the goal.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Just need to do that a hundred more times,” I grumble, but as soon as I push open the door and walk across the parking lot, I am smiling from ear to ear. Like a kid at Christmas. Because I’ve just thought of Felicity’s first Secret Santa gift.
Chapter 4
Felicity
I’m late! I am never late, but today I am. It will be a first in three years of working here for the Comets. My heart is pounding as I run across the parking lot, which is icy. I know this, but I’m punctual. I’m organized. I’m hospitable and…now I’m on my ass.
Before I even realize what’s happening, I’ve slipped and — boom. One hand raises into the air to save the contents of the shopping bag in my hand, which is breakable, and the other goes backward to help break my fall. Pain radiates up my arm as my palm connects with the slippery pavement, and I wince. I’m also going to have a doozy of a bruise on my left butt cheek too, I’m sure.
“Are you okay?” I hear a voice behind me. It’s Jeremiah Waller. The rookie the size of one of those mountains that skirt Vancouver. He’s rushing toward me and uses his big bulging biceps to scoop me up like I’m made of paper and get me back on my feet.
“Thank you,” I say and stare up at him with a smile. “I’m late.”
“Are you okay?” He repeats and his blue eyes move to my wrist, which I am trying to make circles with, but it’s too tender.
“Yeah. Just sore. With a side of wounded pride,” I reply and he gives me the sweetest smile. Jeremiah is a wonderful guy. Looking at him, he seems like a goofy frat boy. All brawn and no brain. But much quieter and reserved than he looks or acts on the ice. On the ice, he’s a beast, never afraid of anyone or anything, with fast hands, a vicious slap shot and the ability to check people from one blue line all the way to the next. He’s also single. And not happily. He told Martine, in one of the videos that she did already, in preparation for Valentine’s Day, that even though he’s only twenty-one, he’s ready for commitment. Martine swears he wasn’t just saying that for effect. Unfortunately, even if I could wrap my head around dating someone nine years younger than me, the big problem with that is I’m not attracted to the sweet, good guys who rush to pick you up when you fall. I’m attracted to the Nolan Duggan types. Tough guys who have shells thicker than a tortoise that I never seem to be able to break. At least I never broke my ex-fiancé’s before he left me.
“I think you should have a trainer look at that,” Jeremiah says as he holds my elbow as we make our way to the doors of the Comet’s arena together. “It might need an x-ray or something.”
“I will if it doesn’t feel better by the end of the day,” I promise, and as soon as he opens the door for me, I rush inside and give him a quick wave good-bye and another, “Thanks!”
But he isn’t having it. “Come on, it will just take a minute.”
He gently hooks me by the elbow and pulls me over toward the elevators that head down to the players’ area . I should argue but then again, I need to sneak this bottle of Crown Royal into Nolan’s locker. It’s his favorite whiskey, and the store by my house had a Christmas promotion on it where the bottle came with a small crystal tumbler etched with a snowflake. It was really pretty and festive without being ‘in your face’ Christmas, so I was hoping it would warm his cold heart. At least it wouldn’t make him hate Christmas more, right?
I step into the elevator with Jeremiah and pull my phone out of my back pocket to message Martine and tell her I’m in the building. Jeremiah watches me, so I explain. “I’m late. I don’t want management to think I’m slacking off.”
