They interrupt in unison: “Doing anything else.”
“Oh, so you were listening.” We pass a waterfall sculpture spewing red and green water, two colors that nothing should spew outside of a horror movie.
“We got the message,” Miles says.
“We did,” Tyler echoes. “But now the deed is done.”
We’ve reached the entrance to the auction—a white door with glass etched with snowflakes. Beside it, a shiny brass plaque says,The Snowflake Room.
I stifle a groan and follow the brothers inside, wherean attendant hands us numbered paddles. I tuck mine into my back pocket.
“You should bid on something,” Miles says. “The money all goes to charity. Didn’t Jason say that was another benefit of coming here?”
Jason Marlowe is my agent and, more importantly, my best friend since college. I trust him with my career, and, well, my life. But I could have donated without attending.
But like Tyler said, the deed is done. Time to venture into this dragon’s lair.
A holiday party can’t be worse than taking to the ice to fend off an opposing team’s vicious forwards. I train every day to jostle and elbow and, okay, fine, check as many guys into the boards in a game as I possibly can. What’s three hours of holiday-themed auction items and an infinite Christmas music soundtrack?
Miles pats me on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, man. I have faith in you.”
I scowl. “Niceness will get you nowhere.”
He grabs a mini candy cane from a silver bowl by the door. “Here you go. Something you like. Plus, it’ll shut you up.”
Dammit. Candy canes are my kryptonite. “Fine,” I say, but grudgingly.
“Good man.” Miles pats my shoulder again. “Now, we need to go say hi to our women. Don’t start any fights or throttle any trees while we’re gone.”
“Check out the auction list,” Tyler suggests. “We’ll catch up with you soon.”
I wave them off, satisfied with a candy cane for company for now. I toss the crinkly wrapper in a discreet trash can and scan the room. If possible, it’s even moreglittery than the lobby, and nutcrackers are everywhere, even on the edge of the stage.
The one thing I don’t mind about the holidays is the food. I’ve got zero problems with treats or sweets, and I’m pretty sure there are some of those snowball cookies calling my name from a long table draped with a white, mistletoe-patterned tablecloth.
I stroll along the spread of sweet and savory hors d’oeuvres, from chocolate orange ganache cookies to bruschetta with arugula and sundried tomatoes. I ignore the toast points with brie and cranberries, zeroing in on the raspberry thumbprint cookies right next to the punch bowl.
At the end of the table, where I can’t miss them, despite my focus on food, are folded cardboard table tents for the auction items.
A holiday lights tour, chauffeured in a horse-drawn carriage. Pass. No way the horses would like that.
Mistletoe installation service to ensure no spot in your home is without holiday romance. Please. I’d rather take a puck to the eye.
Signed memorabilia from the Sea Dogs, including pucks and jerseys from yours truly, the team’s most badass defenseman. That’s a great gift for anyone, but I can’t bid on that and deny a fan.
A VIP suite for a women’s pro hockey game. Now, that’s cool and maybe worth bidding on. They play their hearts out in every game.
I squint at the next table tent.
Find your mistletoe love.
I snort, but since it’s next to the punch bowl, I read the description.
Looking for the perfect gift this holiday season? Treatyourself—or someone special—to an exclusive matchmaking package from Cupid’s Confidante. With a proven history of creating real connections, Cupid’s Confidante will help you find the one who’ll make your holiday sparkle. Because nothing pairs better than romance and holiday cheer!
I roll my eyes so far back that I could see the door behind me if my skull wasn’t in the way. “That is the most pointless thing I’ve ever seen,” I mutter around the candy cane in my mouth. “Who’d bid on fucking romance?”
A throat clears. A pretty voice, like bells, says, “I would.”
