Honkers Under the Holly (The Cocky Kingmans)

1. A Wild Goose Chase

A WILD GOOSE CHASE

I weaved through the crowded Oktoberfest tent, the scent of bratwurst and sauerkraut mingling with the crisp October air. My phone buzzed in my pocket for the third time in ten minutes. I didn’t need to look at it to know it was Tommy “The Tank” Wilson, my only signed client and the reason I was navigating this sea of lederhosen and dirndls on a Friday night.

“ Entschuldigung ,” I muttered, squeezing past a group of rosy-cheeked revelers. My high school German teacher would’ve been proud. Or maybe not, considering I was pretty sure I’d just apologized to a wooden support beam.

I spotted Tommy at a long table near the back, already three steins deep if the empty glasses in front of him were any indication. So much for our “quick meeting to discuss strategy.” The guy was built like a brick house but had the alcohol tolerance of a gnat.

“Mac, my man!” Tommy’s voice boomed through the tent as I approached. He raised his current stein, sloshing beer all over the already sticky table. “Have a seat! Have a beer!”

And this was why Tommy was a free agent with no prospects. Which made me a sports agent with even fewer prospects.

I slid onto the bench across from him, plastering on my best “responsible agent” smile. “Hey, Tommy. How about we talk about that offer from the Razorbacks? The coaching staff have a position?—”

“Razorbacks, schmazorbacks,” Tommy slurred, waving a hand dismissively. “Tonight, we celebrate! Prost!”

He clinked his stein against an imaginary glass in front of me and took a long swig. I watched, a knot forming in my stomach. This was the guy I was pinning my fledgling sports agency on? The guy who was more interested in setting records for beer consumption than rushing yards? The Bandits had won their Thursday night game against the Mustangs despite Tommy acting more like a lump on a log than a running back. If he wasn’t one of my best friends…, but he was and that meant something.

A waitress appeared at my elbow, her blonde braids swinging as she set down another stein and some delicious-looking apple strudel in front of Tommy.

“Anything for you, sir?” she asked, her German accent as thick as the foam on the beer.

I looked up, ready to decline, not really into the fake milk maid thing, but the words died in my throat. Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement, and a dimple appeared in her cheek as she smiled. She was tall, and lush, with an ass that was barely covered by the floofy skirt and even more curves in all the right places. Her dirndl hugged her thick figure in a way that made my mouth go dry.

“I, uh...” Real smooth, Mac. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’ll have some of that strudel and a water, please. Someone’s got to be responsible here.”

She laughed, and the sound had my heart do a little polka. “Very responsible. I’ll be right back with that.”

She walked away, and I couldn’t help but watch each sway of those hips. Tommy, despite his inebriated state, noticed. He let out a low whistle. “Now that’s what I call a first and ass.”

That didn’t even make sense. I turned to him, ready to steer the conversation to his career, but he was already halfway through his new stein. This was going to be a long night.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a text from my mom.

Got another offer on the shop today. Your father’s excited. Don’t forget to start packing. Smiley face.

She hadn’t quite learned to use actual emojis in her texts yet.

Great. Just awesome. Not only was my sole client more interested in partying than playing, but I was about to be homeless. Some sports agent I was turning out to be.

The waitress returned with my strudel and water, setting it down with a wink. “Enjoy, Mr. Responsible.”

I grinned despite myself. “Thanks, Ms...?”

No ring, so yes... yes, I was fishing. She was definitely the best part of this evening.

“Sara,” she supplied with a cheeky grin. She knew exactly what I was asking. “Sara Jayne Bauer.”

“Mac Jerry,” I replied, extending my hand. She shook it, her grip firm and warm.

A crash from across the tent drew her attention. “Ach, duty calls. Perhaps I’ll see you later, Mac. Prost. ”

As she hurried off to deal with whatever drunken disaster had just occurred, I turned back to Tommy, determined to salvage something from this meeting. But he was face-down on the table, snoring softly...like a gnat.

I sighed, fishing out my wallet to pay. Some third-round draft pick he was turning out to be. At this rate, I’d be living in a cardboard box behind my parents’ soon to be sold sports memorabilia shop before I ever saw a decent commission.

I looked around, hoping Miss Sara Jayne was still nearby to settle Tommy’s tab, wincing knowing the total would be ridiculous. But a commotion erupted near the entrance of the tent. Raised voices and startled yelps punctuated the usual Oktoberfest cacophony.

“ Komm zurück, du dummer Vogel !”

I turned to see a blur of white feathers zip past, followed by a flash of blonde braids and blue dirndl. Sara Jayne, her face flushed and hair escaping its neat plaits, was in hot pursuit of what appeared to be... a goose?

The bird honked indignantly, weaving between legs and tables with surprising agility for something that looked like an angry pillow with a beak. Sara was close behind, muttering what I assumed were German curses under her breath.

Without thinking, I stepped into the aisle, arms outstretched, despite the twinge in my bum shoulder. “I got it.”

The goose, apparently not impressed by my heroic stance, darted between my legs and made a beeline for Tommy’s table. In a move that would have made any football coach proud, it leapt onto the bench and used Tommy’s broad, unconscious back as a springboard, launching itself toward freedom.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I growled, lunging after it. My fingers closed around nothing but air as the goose banked hard right, letting out a triumphant honk.

Sara skidded to a stop beside me, cheeks pink from exertion. “He’s heading for the beer.”

Sure enough, the feathered menace was making a dash for the row of tapped kegs along the back wall. Foamy beer geysers and angry German brewmasters was not a scenario I wanted to face.

“Not on my watch,” I muttered, breaking into a run.

I vaulted over a table, scattering pretzels and narrowly avoiding a face-full of brats and sauerkraut. The goose was just yards from the kegs now, its webbed feet slapping against the sawdust-covered floor.

With a desperate dive that would have made Tommy proud, if he were conscious, I launched myself forward. Visions of my second to last play in my senior year of college in the championship game flashed through my mind as I sailed through the air, arms outstretched, fingers grasping.

Then, contact. My hands closed around a warm, feathery body just as I crashed to the ground, sliding the final few feet on my good arm, to bump gently against the kegs.

“Gotcha,” I wheezed, tightening my grip on the squirming goose.

Cheers erupted inside the tent. I rolled onto my back, holding the indignant bird against my chest, and found myself looking up into Sara Jayne’s beaming face.

“ Mein Held !” she exclaimed, dropping to her knees beside me. Before I could process what was happening, she cupped my cheeks in her hands and planted a kiss squarely on my lips.

For a moment, I forgot about everything—the goose, the crowd, even the fact that I was lying on a beer-soaked dirt floor. Sara Jayne’s lips were soft and warm, and tasted faintly of cinnamon and something uniquely her. I returned that kiss, one hand still firmly grasping the goose while the other found its way to the back of her neck and then into her hair.

When we finally broke apart, both a little breathless, reality came crashing down in the form of an angry honk from the bundle of feathers on my chest.

Sara Jayne’s eyes widened, but there was a sparkle in them, and a blush flashed across her cheeks. “Oh, sorry, I got carried away, I?—”

The way she stifled a giggle, she wasn’t one bit sorry, and neither was I.

I grinned up at her, feeling more alive than I had in months, maybe years. “For a kiss like that, I’d happily offer my goose-catching services anytime you need them.”

She laughed, the sound sending a warm tingle down my spine. Then she focused on our new feathered friend, her expression softening. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”

I sat up, still holding the bird. “And why did I just tackle this fine piece of poultry? What are we saving it from?”

Sara Jayne bit her lip, a mix of embarrassment and determination crossing her face. “I may have... liberated him from the catering company’s pen out back. They were going to...” She drew a finger across her throat.

“Ah,” I nodded, looking down at the goose. It glared back at me with one beady eye. “Well, congratulations, buddy. You just got a stay of execution.”

Sara Jayne beamed at me, and I felt my heart do that odd little polka again. “Thank you so much for your help, Mac. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d gotten away.”

I carefully transferred the goose to her arms, trying to ignore the disappointment running through my skin as she moved back. “Always happy to help damsels and waterfowl in distress. Although,” I glanced around at the mess of scattered food and spilled beer, “I’m not sure the festival organizers will be as understanding about your jailbreak.”

She made that oh-shit grimace. “ Schei?e. Yeah. I’m pretty confident I’m fired. I just couldn’t bear the thought of this little guy ending up on someone’s plate. Hopefully, this is a golden egg laying goose and will help me manifest a new job.”

The goose honked. It had better be laying her a dozen golden eggs for the way she just forfeited her job for its life.

I stood up, brushing sawdust from my clothes, and held out a hand to help her up. “Tell you what. Why don’t we get this guy somewhere safe, and then I’ll help you smooth things over with your boss? I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”

Sara Jayne took my hand, juggling the goose as she got to her feet. “Why would you do that? You barely know me.”

I shrugged, feeling a grin tug at the corners of my mouth. “I’m a sucker for a pretty girl with a kind heart. And, well, I’ve already got one challenging client to manage. What’s one more?”

“Client? Are you a lawyer?”

“Sports agent.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at Tommy. “The tank over there is my guy.”

She laughed, adjusting her hold on the goose. “Alright, Mr. Sports Agent. Lead the way. But fair warning, if you thought chasing a goose was tough, wait until you try explaining this to Helga.”

After some smooth talking and a promise for tickets to the next Bandits game to make up for the Great Goose Chase, I managed to convince Helga not to fire Sara Jayne. The festival manager’s scowl softened slightly when she saw how gently Sara Jayne cradled the goose, muttering soothing words in German. She’d transformed that angry bird into a puddle of love goo. Did birds purr?

“Fine,” Helga grunted. “But that Ringelgans cannot stay here. It goes, or you both go. Verstanden ?”

Sara Jayne nodded vigorously. “ Ja, natürlich . Thank you, Helga.”

Helga stomped away, and Sara turned to me, her blue eyes shining so brightly I nearly got lost in the glow. “I can’t believe you did that. You’re amazing, Mac.”

Something tingled in my chest and it had nothing to do with the beer I hadn’t drunk. “Hey, it’s what I do. Well, usually with fewer feathers involved, but...”

She laughed, then glanced down at the goose in her arms. “I should probably get this little Sü?er somewhere safe. My shift ended during all the excitement.”

“Need a lift?” The words were out of my mouth before I could think twice. “I mean, as soon as my big guy’s ride picks him up, I’m headed out anyway. Tommy’s’s, uh, down for the count.” I jerked a thumb towards my friend, who was still snoring face-down at his table. His dude-bro teammates would be here to get him in a few minutes, in the limo I was providing as incentive.

Sara hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “That would be wonderful, actually. If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“Trouble? Nah. Although,” I eyed the goose warily, “if he poops in my car, you’re on clean-up duty.”

The ride to Sara Jayne’s apartment was... interesting. The goose had strong opinions about my taste in music. Every time I tried to put on some classic rock, he’d honk loudly until I changed it. When I landed on a pop station, this apparently met with His Feathered Majesty’s approval. His head literally bopped to “Baby Got Back.”

“Okay, Sir Honksalot, I see you.” I winked at Sara Jayne. “I also like when she’s got buns, hun.”

“Oh my gawd. I’m definitely naming him Sir Honksalot. Way better than Goosy McGooseface, which is what I was originally thinking.”

As we pulled up to her building, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. I wasn’t ready for this bizarre but wonderful evening to end.

Sara Jayne must have sensed my hesitation. “Would you like to come up? I mean, just to make sure Sir Honksalot settles in okay. And maybe for a nightcap? To thank you properly for everything?”

My heart and my cock did a little victory dance. “I’d like that.”

The apartment was small and a bit chaotic, filled with mismatched furniture and the chatter of several girls getting ready for a night out. Sara Jayne introduced me and Sir Honksalot to her roommates, who were less than thrilled about their new feathered friend.

“Sara Jayne, honey, you can’t keep bringing home strays,” one of them sighed, eyeing the goose warily. “Last month it was the ugliest kitten I’ve ever seen, and that thousand year old hamster or gerbil or whatever.”

Sara Jayne’s face fell, and she hugged the goose closer. “It was a hedgehog. But Sir Honksalot is different. I can’t just take him to the shelter. He only needs a temporary home until I can find a farm animal sanctuary or something.”

The other girls left, all three of them giving Sara Jayne and her strays, me included in that, the side-eye.

Sara Jayne created a makeshift pen she conjured up with couch cushions and a towel. Who took so much care and compassion with an animal well known to be a murder bird? But the way it clearly already loved her, this girl was something special.

“Okay, so I may have exaggerated about that night cap. I’ve got water or... and don’t knock it till you try it, pickle juice.”

“I’ll stick with the water.”

We talked for hours, long after her roommates had left. Sara Jayne told me about her struggles to make it as a plus-size model in a size-zero world. I shared my dreams of building a successful sports agency. I kept my fears now that my parents were selling their shop, and my apartment along with it a little closer to the chest.

I’d never had a more intimate night without anything more than the touch of fingers when she handed me drinks.

As the first light of dawn started to creep through the windows, Sara Jayne stifled a yawn. “Oh wow, I can’t believe how late it is. Or rather early? But I won’t say I’m sorry for keeping you up all night.”

I grinned, leaned in, and cupped her cheek. “Best night I’ve had in a long time.”

Even if it had gone very differently from any other evening I’d spent with a woman. While I wanted to kiss her again, badly, wanted to do a whole lot more with her too, I also didn’t want to ruin this magic spell she’d somehow cast over me. It was the worst timing. My life was up in the air, I only had half a fledgling career, and not a lot of prospects. But I liked this girl, more than I should, and I wanted more with her than some one-night stand.

“I’m gonna head out. Let you get your beauty sleep.”

She blinked at me and something flashed through her eyes, but she nodded and stood up, stretching.

She walked me to the door, a soft smile on her face. “Thank you again, Mac. For everything.”

“Anytime,” I replied, meaning it more than I’d ever meant anything in my life.

Just as I was about to leave, a loud honk came from the living room, followed by the sound of flapping wings and a crash.

Sara Jayne’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh no, Sir Honksalot.”

We rushed back to find the goose had somehow escaped his pen and was now proudly perched atop the TV, which was upside down with a shattered screen.

Of course, that was the exact moment Sara Jayne’s roommates got home. They took in the scene, and the one who’d chastised her before fixed Sara Jayne with a steely glare. “That’s it. The goose goes, or you do. You have until the end of the week to decide.”

The roommate slammed her door shut, and Sara turned to me, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh Mac, I can’t abandon Sir Honksalot, but no way will I ever be able to afford to move out on my own. I’m barely getting enough gigs to keep up with the rent of this place.”

I looked at Sara Jayne, then at Sir Honksalot, who seemed far too pleased with himself, and a crazy idea formed in my sleep deprived brain. “I might have a solution. Hear me out.”