Mistletoe Face Off (Chicago Blizzard Hockey #1)

Chapter 10Harrison

Chapter Ten

Harrison

Of all the ways I like to spend my afternoons before a game, trying to put together a gingerbread house using only edible ingredients—and not the super glue and tape I suggested when we started—isn't exactly at the top of my list.

Or even on my list.

But despite the fact I’m not made for this kind of fiddly stuff, my task is made one hundred percent better by the fact I have Holly as my partner.

Holly and her pretty eyes and gorgeous smile.

Holly with her quick wit and feistiness.

Holly who seemed so moved by the way I helped her daughter get on the ice earlier this week.

In fact, I would go so far as to say that’s the best version of her I’ve seen so far. Heartfelt. The way she looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears, her face aglow with love for her daughter and what I’d helped her overcome? Yeah, that’s the way I want Holly to look at me always, and not just because I’m helping her cute kid overcome her fear of skating—although it gave me so much genuine satisfaction to help her conquer her anxieties. But because of the way she feels about me .

Yeah, I know, I’m getting way ahead of myself. We’ve only spent a handful of hours together, and we were arguing—fake and real—for half of those

But you know that old saying, when you know you know? Well, when it comes to Holly Coleman, it’s simple. I know.

Sure, I had a crush on her back in high school, and the fact she had a crush on me at the same time without me knowing is one of life’s sweet ironies. But who knows? If we’d been honest with our feelings for one another back then we would probably have broken up when we went off to college or tried long distance or whatever. Life could have so easily gotten in the way.

Meeting now, getting to know the grown up Holly, the woman, the journalist, and the mom, means we get a fresh shot. And I for one am not going to waste it. Not when I’ve started to get feelings for her, feelings I’ve not had for a woman in a long, long time.

If ever.

I’d even go so far as to say this whole thing with Holly is totally new territory for me. But I know one thing for sure. I’m not about to let this beautiful, smart, sexy woman at my side slip between my fingers.

I want to make Holly Coleman mine. End of story.

Just how I’m going to go about that is a conundrum I’m prepared to unravel.

Once again we're at one of the team’s Christmas events, this time raising money to get books in schools in some of the lower socioeconomic areas in the city. When Abby Sinclair, our team’s new PR person, turned up here with a list of which team member was paired with which journalist or local figure, I made sure to ask her to switch so that I would be Holly’s partner.

“Totally for the staged argument we're going to have later,” I had assured her in a bald faced lie. Truth is, I just want to be near Holly.

But I wasn't about to tell Abby that.

Abby had done me a solid and put me and Holly together, taking the guy who was going to be my partner—a broadcaster from a local TV channel—and pairing me with the woman I'm finding increasingly hard to get out of my head.

“Thanks, Abby. I owe you one,” I’d said.

“I’ll remember that,” she had replied, her eyes bright.

The industrial-sized ovens of the commercial kitchen in downtown Chicago fill the air with the delicious aroma of gingerbread and sugar as we work side by side. I can't help but steal glances at Holly as she leans over our gingerbread house, her brow furrowed adorably in concentration.

“You’ve done this before,” I comment as her nimble fingers guide the frosting piping bag with surgeon-like precision, forming a pretty decent line of frosting along the roof's edge.

But it’s too little, too late for our gingerbread house.

Straight frosted lines on a skewed house that looks like it could topple if anyone so much as sneezed beside it is a little like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic after the iceberg had met its hull. Like the Titanic, our house is doomed, and really, I’m surprised it’s still upright at this point.

A loose strand of Holly’s chestnut hair falls across her face, and I’ve got to resist the urge to smooth it behind her ear. Not only are we in public, but it’s too early for that sort of intimacy between us. That said, if things go in the direction they’ve already begun to, I hope to get in that ballpark before too long.

Yeah, I’ve got a fat crush on my gingerbread house teammate, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

I mean, all I’ve got to do is look at Holly and my belly goes all kinds of crazy. Of course I’m attracted to her—she’s one sexy woman, that’s for sure—but it’s more than just skin deep with her. Sure, I know we've only spent a handful of days together. Heck, I only met her just over two weeks ago. Or re-met her, if that’s a thing. But there's something different about her, different from the women I usually meet. She's got an indefinable quality, like a spark, that I find totally irresistible.

Then there’s the banter in our arguments. I've never met anyone who can match me quip for quip like Holly, and then some. It's like mental hockey, and dang, has she got some seriously smooth moves.

There's something about the way her eyes light up when she's about to deliver a particularly scathing comeback. It's like watching fireworks, a combination of beauty and danger, and I find I cannot look away. I never thought I'd look forward to arguing with someone, but I’m counting the hours until our next “fight.”

Holly Coleman keeps me on my toes more than any opponent on the ice ever has. And I like it. A lot.

What’s more, she’s a great mom. The way she cares for Macy is like watching a mama bear care for her cub. She’s fierce, protective, and yet somehow still so gentle with her.

What a combination.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Fletcher and Abby working on their gingerbread creation. It’s clear as day those two do not get on—probably due to the fact Fletcher can be hard work, and he’s got a reputation as a total bad boy, on and off the ice. Despite their differences, they’ve managed to create a whimsical house that somehow manages to look both structurally sound and appropriately Christmas-themed magical. How they achieved this work of art is a mystery to me, particularly as they’ve done most of it in frosty silence.

I look from theirs to ours. Although Holly is putting in a fine effort to rectify the disaster I created, Fletcher and Abby’s house is next level. It's clear they're skilled competitors and we’re …not.

“You're doing a great job,” I tell Holly as she finishes piping one of the lines.

She flashes me a smile. “I admit, I usually cheat with gingerbread houses. Macy loves them, but I just don't get the chance to spend the time assembling them. My mom usually does one with her.”

“I don’t know. You look like a professional to me.” I eye our house, a homage to the leaning tower of Pisa, and can’t help but chuckle.

“What?” she asks, her eyes dancing. “Are you laughing at our total masterpiece?”

Right on cue, the chimney we only just attached to the roof, slides in slow motion down the roof, landing with a thunk in a crumbling mess on the table.

“No, Holly, we’ve done an amazing job,” I say.

She snort giggles. “RIP chimney.”

“It's a good thing we're not being competitive about this, don’t you think?” I ask.

“I thought you hockey players were competitive about everything. Isn't it etched into your DNA or something?”

“On the ice, maybe. But building a gingerbread house? I prefer to eat them to building them.”

“Be my guest,” she says as she picks the chimney up and offers it to me. Instead of taking it from her, I lean down and take a bite, grinning up at her as I savor its spicy sweetness.

She smiles back at me, and it’s like we’ve got an invisible string connecting us to one another. It’s just her and me amidst the gingerbread hubbub, with the sweet promise of something more between us. Something big.

“Want some chimney?” I ask, but I don’t wait for her reply. Instead, I break another piece off and touch it to her lips.

She hesitates for a beat before she opens her mouth and takes a bite, her face flushing at the intimacy of the moment, and I feel that now familiar tingle deep in my belly.

This is the closest we’ve come to anything physical between us, and it sets my blood on fire, making me wish we were alone so I could take her in my arms and claim her lips with mine, showing her just how much I want to be with her.

Lorcan's voice cuts through our moment. “Well, that's one way to guarantee you won't win, Clarke.” He calls out from his station nearby. “Seriously, why even bother competing if you're going to make such a freaking mess?”

“Lorcan!” his partner, a journalist called Fiona, hisses, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

At least one of them is a decent human being.

As I look at Holly, her eyes sparkling with laughter, I realize something. Lorcan might be right about us not winning this gingerbread house competition, but Holly and me? It feels like we've won something way more valuable.

“You know what, Lorcan?” I say, turning to him. “I think Holly’s and my house is perfect just the way it is.”

Holly raises an eyebrow. “Harry, you do know it's a pile of crumbs held together with frosting? One small gust of wind, and this house will fall faster than the little pig’s house who built from straw.”

Fiona shoots us an apologetic smile over her shoulder as she guides Lorcan's attention back to their own creation.

“You know,” I say, popping a gumdrop into my mouth and savoring its chewy sweetness, “I think the roof needs more pizzazz.”

“Pizzazz? It's meant to be a classic colonial style. It doesn't need pizzazz."

I grin, reaching for a handful of colorful candies. The sugar crystals stick to my fingers as I start placing them haphazardly on the roof, creating a random rainbow mosaic. “Trust me, every house needs a disco ball. Even gingerbread ones, particularly when the chimney has slid right off of it.”

Lorcan sidles up to us, a sneer on his face as he slaps me on the back as though we're buddies. “Nice touch. Your house now looks like a unicorn threw up on your roof, Clarke.”

“Great joke,” I throw back, not even bothering to look at the guy.

Why would I pay attention to Lorcan when I'm here with the woman of my dreams?

“You see, that's the difference between your house and mine. My house doesn't need any more work. Yours? I recommend a total demo,” he says.

“Leave the nice people alone,” his partner instructs, and I can't help but smile when he returns to his station, like he's been told off by his mom.

“Is he always that opinionated?” Holly asks me under her breath.

“Yup.”

“I gave him the nickname ‘Lorcan the Slime’ when I first met him, mainly because he’s so dang slimy.”

I chortle. Hot and with great taste? I think I’m in love.

Holly pushes her hair from her face with the back of her hand, smearing a glob of frosting on her cheek.

“You've got a little something here,” I tell her, pointing at my own cheek. “May I?”

She lifts her gaze to mine and the atmosphere around us thickens. “Sure,” she replies, her voice quiet.

Gently, I reach out and brush my fingers across the soft skin of her cheek, my heart beginning to race at the feel of her warm skin against my fingers, and I wish it was my lips, kissing it off.

Holly's eyes widen but she doesn't pull away. “Did you get it?” she asks, her voice now barely above a whisper.

I show her the frosting I removed from her cheek on the tip of my finger. “It looks like you were trying to start a Santa beard.”

Her face breaks into her beautiful smile. “There can only be one Santa in this relationship.”

Wait. Relationship?

She catches herself. “I mean partnership. That's what I meant. Gingerbread house building partnership. You and me: partners.”

It's my turn to smile. “I think I like the other word more.”

I’m showing my hand. I’m good with it. Great, even.

With her eyes still wide, she swallows, and I know she feels it too. There's such a strong and undeniable pull between us, and it just keeps growing and growing, each and every time we meet.

Just as it did when we were sharing the chimney before, the moment between us stretches, filled with possibility, and I want so much to tell her how I feel about her. I want her to know that to me, she's not just some woman I've been thrown together with, my duelling partner for an audience at these Christmas events. She's someone I want to get to know a whole lot better, because if my intuition is right, she and I could really be something together.

Then, with a soft crunch, our gingerbread house collapses completely, sending a cloud of powdered sugar into the air.

“What the …?” I exclaim.

Holly’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

We both stare at the gingerbread ruins in shock. Then, as if on cue, we both burst into laughter.

“We are truly terrible at this,” she says, her whole face lit up with mirth.

I collect one of the broken walls in my hand. “I don't know. It's got a kind of post-apocalyptic charm, as far as I can see.” I take a bite out of it, savoring its sweet taste. .

“Well, at least we make a good team,” she says lightly.

“The best,” I agree, and I can't help marvel at how right this feels.

Time is called, and the judge, Mayor Romano, after only deliberating for a handful of minutes, announces Fletcher and Abby’s house as the winner. No surprises there. The prize is a ribbon, which Abby pins to her top, while Fletcher glowers at everyone. As I shake their hands I say a small prayer of thanks that it wasn't Lorcan who’d won. We would never hear the end of it.

Afterwards, the mingling begins, and I know it’s time for Holly and me to stage an argument soon. But the thing is I'm enjoying my time with her too much to get twisted up in some fake argument, after which one of us inevitably storms off. Instead, I would much prefer to get to steal her away so we can be alone together, away from an audience, away from my teammates. Just her and me.

But when Holly shoots me a look while chatting with Lorcan’s partner, Fiona, I know what we've got to do. And besides, I know she needs to get home to relieve her mom, who’s been looking after Macy tonight.

It’s showtime.

“You two looked like you were getting on just fine to me, despite your gingerbread house disaster,” Fiona is saying as I sidle up to her and Holly.

“We have our moments,” Holly replies.

Fiona’s eyes dart between the two of us. “Are you two dating?”

“No!” Holly exclaims, as though dating me is the last thing she would want to do.

“We just get thrown together at these events a lot,” I reply, pushing away the hurt that pinches my chest at Holly’s revulsion of the idea we could be dating. Am I wrong that she feels this pull between us? Or is it just attraction for her?

“Well, you looked pretty cozy from where I was standing,” Fiona replies.

“Weren't you concentrating too much on your own house disaster to take much notice of us?” I ask. Tongue in cheek, of course. She is Lorcan’s partner.

“I think you'll find your house was the biggest disaster of them all, Harrison,” she replies on a laugh.

I can’t argue with that.

“You're right. Ours was pretty horrible,” Holly agrees. “I think Harry summed it up when he called it a post-apocalyptic scene. All we were missing were the zombies.”

“Speaking of zombies reminds me of movies,” I say.

Fiona pulls her brows together. “It does?”

“Yeah, you know zombie movies. I love them, but after the game yesterday I watched the most perfect Christmas movie ever made,” I say.

Holly regards me with a questioning look. “What movie?”

“ Die Hard . The best Christmas movie ever made,” I say firmly. “I bet you’re going to disagree with me about that, though, aren’t you, Holly?”

She catches on right away.

“Are you for real? Everyone knows Love Actually is the perfect Christmas movie. It's got love, romance, London, an all-star cast. It’s even been voted the best Christmas movie by, like, thousands of people. Millions, probably. You can't get much better than that in the Christmas movie stakes.”

“Yeah you can. Die Hard . As I said, best Christmas movie ever made.”

“I can’t believe this is happening right in front of me,” Fiona says gleefully as she pulls her phone out of her purse and holds it up to film us.

Holly scrunches up her face. It's totally adorable. “Do you mean that old movie with Bruce Willis?”

“You say it like it's not the best Christmas movie ever made. Which is weird because Die Hard is the best Christmas movie ever made, bar none.”

“So you’ve said.” Holly crosses her arms over her chest, just like she did when we were arguing for real. “What's so Christmassy about people getting shot at and dying, not to mention that British guy trying to blow the whole place up? Tell me if I’m wrong, but I don't remember any of that in Christmas songs.”

I press my lips together to bite back a smile. “Come on. Die Hard has all the classic Christmas elements.” I begin to count them off my fingers. “A family reunion, a Christmas party, and a guy coming down a chimney.”

“There's no guy coming down a chimney in that movie,” she scoffs, shaking her head.

“Okay, it's an elevator shaft, but it’s close enough!”

Holly laughs scornfully as Fiona catches everything on film.

“What's more, in my humble opinion, nothing says ‘Christmas spirit’ like John McClane giving terrorists the best gift of all.”

“Which is?” Holly asks.

“Justice.” That felt good to say.

She makes a weird, nasally sound and I know she's working hard at not laughing at my ridiculous argument. John McClane giving terrorists the gift of justice? Yeah, so very Christmassy.

“I think the best Christmas movie ever made is It’s a Wonderful Life ,” Fiona offers, but neither of us respond. We’re not arguing with anyone but each other, and this one is even more fun than the Christmas present spat.

“Where's the love in that movie? Answer me that. Where are all those feel-good vibes people love at Christmas time?” Holly manages to ask.

“The movie takes place on Christmas Eve. That automatically makes it a Christmas movie. It's just math, Holly. And the explosions are very tinsel like. Both sparkly and bright. Coincidence? I think not.”

“Wow,” she says on a laugh. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“You know I’m right.”

She throws her hands on her hips, glaring at me as though I've just said something outrageous. “ Love Actually has ‘love’ in the title whereas Die Hard has... well, ‘die.’ Which sounds more Christmassy to you?”

I shake my head. “I’m not budging.”

“What’s more, your movie is a stupid action movie, as realistic as any action movie from the 80s, which means it’s totally implausible. Love Actually is realistic. It teaches us that love is all around us. It’s even got a song about it! Die Hard teaches us that what? Glass is breakable? Bruce Willis looks good in a white tank top? Hardly important life lessons, wouldn't you say?"

“You're talking gibberish. Do you know that?”

She ignores me. “The airport reunion scenes in Love Actually capture the true spirit of Christmas: being with the ones you love. No offense, but I'll take Hugh Grant over Bruce Willis any day of the week. A dancing Hugh Grant, at that.”

“You call that dancing? It's more like watching a giraffe on roller skates trying to navigate an ice rink.”

“Trust a hockey player to mention ice,” she deadpans. “I challenge you to listen to that song and not dance.”

“Which song?”

“ Jump .”

“I could so do that.”

“Want a bet?”

“Yup,” I reply. “Where?”

“Wherever you want.”

“Pick you up Sunday at 6:00.”

“You'd better.”

“I will. Don't you worry.”

We throw one final glare at one another before I turn and walk away, safe in the knowledge that we've pulled off another convincing argument for our audience, just as we agreed we would.

But what makes me grin from ear to ear as I join some of my teammates at the bar, is that I've got a date with Holly on Sunday night, and I cannot wait.