It’s Mother-Pucking Christmas!

8. Ryder

8

RYDER

“ W ho goes to an animal shelter event and doesn’t even come home with a puppy?” Rick complained.

“Why are you in my apartment, Utah?” I dropped my bag on the floor of my living room and began sorting the contents.

“Ooh, College Boy’s snappy today.” Rick leaned back against the couch cushions.

The apartment was gray and white with high-end finishes but no personality. I had enough saved up to buy a place and decorate, but that seemed like asking for trouble. I still kept a bag packed with food and clothes and all my prized possessions just in case something happened and I was forced to leave in a hurry in the middle of the night with no warning and no time to pack.

Fool me once…

I had learned my lesson the hard way in foster care.

I neatly stacked my things on the coffee table, sorting them by what needed to be cleaned, what needed airing out, and what would go back in the bag after I vacuumed it out.

“He’s so organized,” Mike said, eating a chicken breast and leaning on the island that separated the kitchen from the living area.

“Hey! That’s my lunch.”

“You said the chicken was making you sick. I’m just helping out our star player.”

“Did one of the puppies make a mess on your arm?” Pete asked, pointing.

The Sharpie on my arm was smeared but still legible. “It’s nothing.”

The guys jumped me.

“Lemme see.”

“Get off me.”

“Don’t hurt him. We need him to win next weekend against the Frosthawks.”

Mike and Pete forced my arm away from my body.

“The Noelle Noshery 5:30.” Mike sat back. “This a drug deal?”

“Is that how he’s so awesome?” Erik snickered.

“It was that girl,” I mumbled, turning back to my bag.

Pete grabbed my jaw. “The girl?”

“Not the fake Canadian fiancée,” Erik drawled.

“She wasn’t from Canada. She was from Illinois.”

“Same diff.”

“The stalker?” Pete was concerned. “Tell Hudson. She’s part of the Arctic Monkeys. She can’t be throwing you off your game.”

“She’s not stalking me.” I rubbed at my arm. “She just wants...”

“To bang you?”

“Have your babies?”

“No, to go on a date. She asked me out.” I glanced up at Pete. “That’s a red flag, right?”

“I think this is good practice for you,” Pete said smoothly, “even if you don’t marry her.”

“I only want to date someone I’d marry,” I replied stubbornly.

“Dear god, help me,” Rick said to the ceiling. “Just go on the date, College Boy, and stop overthinking it. Someone get him out of here.”

I stood up. “Yeah, I should go practice.”

“No. Put him in the shower and clean him up.” Erik grabbed the back of my shirt. “He smells like dog food.”

“There is more to life than hockey,” Rick told me. “Go on the date.”

“Yeah.” Mike rolled his eyes. “You can think that way if you have someone feeding you pucks.”

“Do not, and I cannot stress this enough, be weird.” Rick was yelling over the sound of the shower. “Keep it light, keep it fun. She doesn’t need your whole life story on the first date. You’ll scare her off. You have my best pickup lines. Use them.”

“I’ve already picked her up, though.” I toweled off my hair.

“It will make her laugh. You’re handsome. You have money. Just don’t make it heavy. Be normal. And wear this.” Rick held up a bright-blue shirt with a sheen.

“That’s not mine. I don’t own that.” I pulled on another pair of clean black jeans.

“Blue’s your color.”

I tugged a gray shirt over my head. No matter how much I scrubbed, the Sharpie was still a ghost on my arm.

“Okay, Joanna Gaines, can we put a little color on you?” Mike said from my bed.

“I don’t actually care about this girl.” I ran a comb through my hair. “It’s just practice for when I meet the real woman of my dreams. Like Mike said.”

I fastened on my watch, a present from one of those Toys for Tots programs that I’d punched extra holes in so I could still use it.

Maybe I should have just joined the Marines instead of college.

Too late for any of that now.

“And yet he’s still going to be twenty minutes early for a girl he claims not to care one iota about.”

I should have just waited in the car and walked in at the appointed time.

But the cafe seemed busy, and wasn’t it better to go ahead and claim a table so Dakota and I didn’t have to stand there awkwardly waiting for the hostess to seat us?

Or you make a weird prank even more uncomfortable for yourself.

I checked my watch. It was two minutes until five thirty. Still no sign of Dakota.

I sat at the table that had so many Christmas candles, wreaths, and ornaments on it that there was barely any room for my beer.

She’s not showing up. My leg bounced. It was just a trick. Maybe Dakota was in league with the Arctic Avengers, and they were all about to jump out like one of those prank YouTube videos. I should pay and get out.

I chugged the rest of the beer and pulled out my wallet. As I was looking around for the waitress, I saw her.

Dakota did a double take when she walked into the Christmas-themed café.

What the fuck? she mouthed when she saw me.