Page 88 of Eight Days of Christmas
“It’s nothing. It’s just that, I’ve been traveling a lot the last few years, meaning I’ve been alone a lot. Sometimes, after spending so much time with family, I really gotta blow off steam.” He dropped a few pucks onto the ice.
“I can think of other, warmer ways we could blow off steam.” Her lips curved.
“Oh yeah?” He arched a brow, his hormones revving so easily.
“But if you’d rather play, let’s play.” She shuffled backward as if she was giving up.
He eyed her skeptically while she penguin-walked herself back to the bleachers, pulled a hockey stick from his bag, and came back to him in the middle of the rink.
“Wait, what?” He straightened and scratched his beard. “I didn’t know I had this other option.”
She laughed. “We can warm each other up later. Maybe. It’s first to two. I win, you give me my gift early.”
“But I didn’t get you a gift,” he teased.
“Pft.” She waved him off. “You win, and I’ll let you sneak into my window again tonight.” She smirked. It was a sexy, playful smirk that warmed his chest and sent his blood pumping.
“This feels like a win-win for me.”
She put a hand on her jutted hip. “Those are the terms, buddy. Take ’em or leave ’em.”
He drank her in, starting at her beautiful eyes and working downward over the curves of her chest and hips and perfect legs that he would very much like to have wrapped around him all night long. “Fine. You’re on.”
He set up large rocks as goals and tossed all the extra pucks into his bag. He skated back toward her, stopping in front of her and spraying her with ice. She shrieked, shielding her face. “That was unfair. I don’t even have skates on.”
“Do you want to give up?”
She stepped close to him, their chests nearly touching, and narrowed her eyes playfully. “I’m no quitter.”
He pressed his chest against hers, his heart hammering. “Fine. Let’s do this.”
He tossed the puck into the air, giving her an additional beat to steal it after it hit the ice with a thud. When she didn’t swoop in and take the opportunity, he snatched it, giving it a hard hit.
“Hey,” she protested. “I wasn’t ready.”
He skated after it, unable to hide his amusement. When he reached the puck, she was still several feet away, sliding against the ice under her boots. He chuckled and shook his head before he smacked his stick against the puck again, sending it flying into the makeshift goal.
“And the crowd goes wild,” he cheered for himself, pumping his fist and the stick in the air.
“I believe that’s grounds for high sticking.”
He toed the puck out onto the ice before smacking it and watching it zip past her.
“Okay, you wanna play dirty, huh?” She turned abruptly and shuffled after the puck.
“I always wanna play dirty, especially with you.” He skated past her, but gave her a chance this time, waiting for her to catch up.
She stopped in front of him and rested her stick on the ice, lining it up in front of the puck. He set his stick down as well and glared. She bore her gaze straight into his, attempting seriousness.
But when she reared back, ready to take the shot, he snatched the puck, giving it a soft hit and sending it zooming in between her feet. He skated around her and by the time she turned, he’d already sent the puck sailing down the ice and sinking a goal again.
“That’s two. I win. It’s over, Whitley.” He skated around her, cheering over his head again.
“Cute. Real cute.” She smirked. “Fine, rules are rules. I guess I’ll keep my window unlocked for you.”
He stopped in front of her, tugging her against him. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Isabella fisted the collar of his jacket in her hands, yanking his mouth closer to hers. She spoke against his lips. “Then you can tell me all about what’s been on your mind. About us. And our future.”
