Dad Bod Under the Mistletoe (Dad Bod Christmas #2)

3. Cassie

three

Cassie

F or three days, his words haunt me. They creep up in my memory when I’m home alone. In the dark. In the shower. In my sleep.

If I catch you under the mistletoe again, princess, I’ll give you the kiss I should’ve given you years ago, and I might not stop there.

I stroke my sodden flesh, fingers dipping deep into my channel as I think of him. Those big hands. That solid, sturdy body.

That brusque voice so full of unfulfilled promise.

It’s torture working in his sightline and within earshot of him. Every booming laugh echoes across the hall, sliding over my too-aware skin. Each of his movements draws my eye, and thirst slakes through me when I watch him remove his jacket and roll his sleeves up his thick, corded forearms.

My fingers work faster. My breath comes in gasps. Everything inside me winds tight.

Then I remember the flex of his hands on my hips, the heat of his gaze, the brush of his body against mine. The firm press of his hips and the unmistakably thick, rigid rod he couldn’t hide when he squeezed past me.

I imagine how it would feel without the layer of cotton between us.

And I explode, crying out his name into my pillow.

Goddamn the man.

“What do you mean, you’re stranded?” I repeat into the phone as I rub circles against my temple, trying to fend off a burgeoning headache. The forecast for a wicked-looking storm heading for Minneapolis, precisely where the team is situated for tonight’s game, plays on mute over my computer screen.

“We’re grounded ,” My big brother, Diego, grinds out on the other end of the line. “Game’s canceled. We have to reschedule. Might be tomorrow. Maybe the day after. But they’re saying the coming storm’s going to be much worse than they initially predicted. Apparently, it’s an evolving situation.”

“How much storm are we talkin’?”

“An extreme weather advisory in effect. We could be snowed in. The visibility is horrendous, so they won’t fly.”

I’m on the move, busting out of my office with a handful of my homemade gingersnaps in hand as I barrel down the hall toward my boss’s office. Hilarie, the Operations Manager, will need to know about this development as soon as possible, and I think better when I eat.

My brain whirrs with possible contingency plans. Our festive fundraiser is set, the tents already taking up a huge portion of our parking lot, and the outdoor skating rink is currently being erected by a crew.

“If the game gets reshuffled to later in the season and you don’t need to stay in the area, what about wheels? Can you bus the boys elsewhere? Fly from an unaffected area?”

This year’s Christmas market themed fundraiser is shaping up to be another sell-out community event. Every year, we raise thousands of dollars and receive hundreds of toys in our annual toy drive as part of this magical holiday event benefitting the local children’s hospital, but our plans for it hinge on the team being here. Making appearances. Taking selfies and signing merch. Schmoozing with fans.

The team, that at present, is currently facing a blizzard and in danger of being snowed in.

“There isn’t enough time,” Diego sighs. “Look, I know you’re a miracle worker, but I don’t see how we’ll be home in time for the fundraiser.”

“This is a nightmare,” I murmur, taking a bite out of a cookie. “We’ve got the kids from the children’s hospital coming in two hours before the public for private access and a quieter experience. I need players present. This is a marquee fundraiser for us and Dad's foundation.”

“I’m sorry, Cass. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

He disconnects the call and I go into hyper-drive. Checking the time on my phone, I see that I’ve got less than forty-eight hours to right the ship. It’s not much time, but it’s enough time to make a difference.

I rap my knuckles against the door and burst into my boss’s office unannounced.

“Hilarie, we’ve got a problem.” I stop short when I see I’ve bombarded a one-to-one meeting she was having with Mack. He unfolds himself from the chair, rising to his feet before me.

“They postponed tonight’s game,” she says grimly.

I nod. “It throws off the schedule, but worse, the team’s flight is a no-go. They’re having to wait it out which means we won’t have any players for the fundraiser.”

“That’s why I’m here. I can help,” Mack says, smoothing a hand over his shirt and peering at my cookies. “Are those gingersnaps? May I?”

I begrudgingly hand him one and watch with some satisfaction as he nearly chokes on it. Yeah, I like my cookies the way I like my reading material—packed with spice.

“I don’t need your help,” I say, turning back to Hilarie. “I can call up the farm team. They’re in Oakland tonight. I can cancel the bus and try to get them on a red eye or early flight out. They can be here in time for the event.”

“Can you get the whole team?” she asks, chewing her lower lip. “It’s such short notice.”

“We can also reach out to the Scorpions alumni in the area,” Mack interjects. “I’ll make a few calls. I’m sure your father would be willing to assist.”

My jaw tightens. I don’t like having to rely on my father to solve my problems. “Yes, of course my father would be willing to assist. His foundation is closely affiliated with the team, and the hockey school he runs are signed up to run free learn-to-skate mini sessions at the outdoor rink.”

“Actually, this is good.” Hilarie waves her finger between the two of us. “You two can work together to salvage this.”

I glance at Mack and fight to tamp down my irritation. I don’t need help to pull this off. Certainly, I don’t need his help.

“I’m confident I can get the farm team here in time, Hilarie. Maybe keep the alumni as a backup plan.”

She angles her head to one side.

“I’m of the opinion that the more Scorpions, the better. If we’re having to do a last-minute pivot, the least we can do is make it worthwhile. And like it or not, the alumni names will hold more sway with long-time fans than the up-and-coming farm team who’ve yet to make a name for themselves in this league. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I purse my lips together and offer her a terse nod.

Despite my urge to argue, I know that what she’s suggested is actually what’s best for the event. I don’t have to like it, but for the sake of ensuring our plans to help the children’s hospital don’t get disrupted, this is our best chance. This late in the game, we can’t cancel the fundraiser or reschedule it. We can only make the best of it.

“Good. That’s settled, then.” She looks back and forth between us. “You two, work as a team. Make it happen. And keep the Event Coordinator in the loop. Willow’s already got so much on her plate. It’s been one disaster after another with this event, so I know she’ll appreciate if you two can handle this crisis.”

“You got it, boss,” Mack says, turning to me and smiling. “Come on, Cruzzy. Let’s make some Christmas magic happen.”

The second he closes the door to Hilarie’s office, I hiss under my breath. “So, how’d you find out before I did that the team’s stranded?”

As we walk, I realize that his stride has changed. A slight limp is detectable in his gait, in the way his left leg drags ever so slightly behind his right.

“I have my sources,” he says, smiling a little. But the muscles around his mouth are tight and there’s sweat beading over his brow.

I frown at him, wondering if the accident left him with more than a few faint scars. There’s a pang in my chest where my heart lies, and I glance over his body, trying to see if he’s trying to hide any other injuries.

Hockey players are so strong, so stubborn.

I should know, having been one myself.

“What sources?” I mentally roll through the roster, trying to remember which players might’ve played with Mack on previous teams. Then it dawns on me that he played for the team the Scorpions were supposed to face tonight. “The Minneapolis Mavericks told you.”

“One of the guys there told me the game was canceled due to severe weather. Having been in that situation before, I figured that the team might face challenges getting back in time for the big event everyone’s outside setting up for. Went to see how I could help.”

“You were always good at anticipating moves and what happens next.” The corner of my mouth lifts as I raise my hands to do air quotes. “‘Amazing vision. Makes smart plays.’ I remember seeing my father’s scouting notes on you.”

“Sometimes. Your results may vary on-ice versus off-ice.” His eyes go soft and he shoots me a look that has heat creeping up my neck and my guard rising again.

“I don’t need your help, you know.”

“I know you don’t, but I like helping anyway. Plus, it makes for a better draw and event.” He shoots me a challenging look. “The event promises player interaction, and with the WAGs already hosting their own booths to sell their art, crafts, and fashion, who else did that leave to step up?”

He takes an awkward step, his knee wobbling before he almost trips over. I make a grab for his arm, sliding in beneath it and wrapping a supporting arm around his back. He holds me close, my shoulder propping him up and keeping him from toppling to the floor.

“Careful! It's a little uneven there. Are you okay?”

“It’s my knee,” he wheezes, pressing his body against my softness. “It doesn’t do too great in cold weather and the temperatures have dropped in the last few days.”

“Yeah, we’re in a cold snap. Cold for California, that is. And it’s going to rain.” I clutch at his waist and hold his other arm steady over my shoulder as we hobble down the hallway together. Being this close sends his clean, freshly soaped scent wafting my way, and I immediately envision him naked and scrubbing his sexy body down with it. My gaze locks on the floor, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other even as desire coils in my core and tightens my nipples. “Hopefully, it’ll clear up enough for Saturday’s festivities. Should you be walking if your knee's this bad?”

“To echo you, I don’t need your help, you know.”

I snap my head up to look at him, our faces inches from each other. Through the grimace he tries to hide, his brown eyes twinkle with mirth. The weight of him leaning on me lessens as he straightens, the limp still pronounced as the smile on his face widens.

“But it’s nice to know that you care about me, princess.”

“I don’t care, ” I retort, chin lifting. “I just didn’t want you to trip on your ego and break that pretty face of yours. But you’re already missing a few teeth, right? So I shouldn’t have worried.”

“You think I’m pretty?” He grins, and I want to kick myself for saying so. “I’ve still got all my chiclets. Must be some other hockey player you’re thinking about.”

That smile still dazzles me, sending warmth spreading through my body as I marvel at how easily that smile can trip me up and leave my heart floundering in my chest.

“Don’t worry, princess.” His rough fingers grip my chin, lifting my face up. “You’ll forget all about them.”

He raises a finger, and my eyes follow where he points.

Right above us, suspended in mid-air at the opening of my office, is the sprig of mistletoe I’d tied up.

“Soon,” he adds, brushing his thumb back and forth across my bottom lip before stepping away to move back to his office.

Desire pulls low in my belly, heat and curiosity flaring inside my traitorous body.

The bastard knows what he’s doing to me. He’s using my own body against me, brandishing my own appetite and lust.

Two can play that game.

If I can guard my heart, I can play with fire and not get burned.

Even if it's just once.