Santa’s Pucking Hat Trick (The Forbidden Reverse Harem Collection)

14. Roman

14

ROMAN

I had to hand it to downtown Mistletoe—teeny tiny and socially dead as it could be when it came to nightlife, it was goddamn charming on a regular day. Quaint, some people would probably call it, with gingerbread trim piping the doorways and windows to the various little shops, the year-round Christmas bows that adorned the old-fashioned streetlamps, and the smiling, friendly people who milled about as they did their errands. I’d only been in this little town as long as I’d been on the Skatin’ Santas, and other than hanging with Sawyer, Mike, and Wes, I spent a lot of my downtime a bit outside of town, either hiking the surrounding woods for some non-hockey exercise or even further out, closer to real civilization.

Today, though, I was living as a real Mistletoe boy. Taking a page out of Michael Henning’s much less exciting book. I was running my own errands. In the daylight, no less.

And they say people never change.

As I strolled down the main strip, hands in my jacket pockets, I caught sight of a few familiar faces. The town was small enough that you started to recognize everyone if you spent more than a minute walking around. The smell of cinnamon and pine wafted from a nearby bakery, and somewhere across the street, Christmas carols were playing—because of course they were. Mistletoe didn’t know how to do anything but lean hard into the holiday spirit.

Normally, this sort of wholesome, cutesy stuff would bore me to tears. But it was kind of charming today. Maybe it was because lately, I hadn’t been as easily distracted by the usual vices that dulled my experience of the world. I hadn’t been partying, or fucking around, or…well, much of anything. Not since I slept with Rachel fucking Henning.

I could’ve called it a fluke. Just two people getting their needs met, scratching an itch that had been driving us both a little batshit. It should’ve been simple. In fact, it usually was. I’d had plenty of one-off nights like that—no complications, no strings. Just mutual pleasure and a graceful exit the next morning. But with Rachel?

It wasn’t quite so simple.

I could try to pretend it was just because the sex was good. And, hell, it was great. But that didn’t explain why I hadn’t been interested in going out and finding someone else to pass the time with. I’d tried. A few times, even. But no one had really struck me as worth the effort. Not like Rachel.

I scowled at myself as I passed a holiday-themed coffee shop with a little snowman logo on the window. The truth was, I wanted to sleep with her again so bad I could scream. Usually, I didn’t feel the need to go back for round two unless the woman practically begged for it, or it was the easiest option at the time. I liked to keep my high libido appeased, and it wasn’t always worth searching for someone newer and more exciting when there was an available gorgeous woman within arm’s reach. But Rachel? Rachel hadn’t shown even a hint of interest in repeating the night we’d shared, and instead of moving on like I should, I was…fixating.

It was probably just because she was so different from the others. Yeah, that had to be it. She didn’t give a damn about my usual lines, and she sure as hell wasn’t impressed by me being Roman Jett, hockey star extraordinaire. She was prickly, sharp-tongued, and could slice through my ego in seconds. But damn if that wasn’t part of the appeal.

Not that I was emotionally invested or anything. That would be ridiculous.

My musings were interrupted by a loud burst of laughter from across the street. I glanced over and recognized a group of women heading my way. One of them, a tall blonde in a puffy red jacket, waved excitedly when she saw me.

“Roman! Hey!”

Great. Just what I needed.

While they crossed the street toward me, I quickly searched my brain for their names. I recognized all three of them—some of the usual puck bunnies, the kind who followed the team around and had no problem getting cozy with other players besides just me. I’d hooked up with each of them at different times. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember all their names. Was one of them named Haley? Halley?

“Hey, ladies,” I said, plastering on my usual easy grin, albeit with more effort than usual. “How’s it going?”

The blonde—Halley, I decided—sidled up close. A little too close, actually. Her ample breasts were almost pressed against my crossed arms, and I could see that she had a hair stuck in her lip gloss. She batted her eyelashes at me. “Oh, you know, just doing some Christmas shopping. You getting ready for the season?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I forced a chuckle, but it sounded as hollow to me as it probably did to them. The other two women, both brunettes, smiled and gave me a little wave, less forward than their friend and ringleader, but their interest was still clear from the way they looked at me. I was used to this—being the center of attention, catching flirty gazes left and right. Normally, I’d be using this as an opportunity to turn on the charm, to reel them in for a repeat performance.

But today? I just wasn’t feeling it.

I kept the conversation light, friendly, but distant. The kind of casual chit-chat that led to nothing but a polite goodbye, and for once, that’s exactly what I wanted. I didn’t bother flirting back, didn’t suggest meeting up later. And though the blonde kept dropping hints, I found myself getting impatient to move on.

“Anyway, ladies, I gotta run,” I said, taking a step back. “Catch you at the next game?”

“Of course!” Halley practically purred, but I was already turning away, barely hearing her.

I was just stepping out of the bakery, a bag of muffins in hand—because I was apparently in a festive mood and who could resist a holiday muffin?—when I saw her.

Rachel Henning was across the street, walking with her mom. I knew Paula pretty well—she never missed a game, and she was the kind of mom who made you feel like you were a good guy just for existing. Like a TV mom instead of whatever sad excuse for parents I’d been stuck with as a kid. Rachel was distracted, probably listening to her mom’s animated chatter—or, more likely, pretending—but when our lines of sight crossed, my heart did a stupid little flip.

Without thinking, I waved at her. Big, goofy ass grin and all. Like I was a goddamn cartoon character.

Rachel’s expression morphed into one of utter confusion. I was grinning like an idiot, my hand still in the air. Smooth, Jett. Real smooth.

Despite the embarrassment bubbling up in my chest, I found myself crossing the street toward them. Maybe I could just say hi. I could charm Paula a little, show Rachel I wasn’t a complete jerk.

Because for some reason, I actually cared what she thought of me. Which was new.

“Roman!” Paula greeted me with the enthusiasm of a proud hockey mom. “It’s so good to see you! How are you?”

“Doing great, Mrs. Henning. How about you? Looking forward to the season?”

“Oh, you know I can’t wait,” she said, her smile wide. “I’ll be at every game. Well, until I get too busy with my charity gala. You understand.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” I smiled, trying to ignore the way Rachel was glaring at me from beside her mother. It was her classic what the hell are you doing look, and normally, I’d be riling her up just to get that expression to come out. But right now, I wasn’t sure why I was doing this. Maybe I just wanted her to see me differently. See that I wasn’t always the cocky, flirty guy with no more substance beyond that. I wasn’t just that, was I?

Paula’s eyes lit up. “You should join us for lunch, Roman! We’re just headed to the Holiday Hearth.”

Rachel’s eyes widened, latching onto mine for only a second before she shot her mom a look that said absolutely not . Not that Paula noticed, since she was still watching me with an expectant smile.

“Uh, I wouldn’t want to intrude—” I started carefully, even though I really wanted to agree. To get a little extra time with Rachel without the chance that either of us would end up naked and sweaty.

“Nonsense!” Paula waved me off, her eyes twinkling. “We’d love to have you.”

I glanced at Rachel, who looked like she might throw her coffee at me, but hell if I could say no now. “Sure,” I said, smiling brightly at Paula. “I’d love to.”

Rachel’s fiery gaze could’ve melted the snow on the rooftops, and it only made me remember how much softer she’d been in my arms, how sweetly she’d taken my cock. The way her stormy eyes slid closed in pleasure when I made her come. But as we started walking toward the restaurant, I realized I wasn’t reliving those moments with my usual hunger to repeat them—purely physical, driven by instinct. Honestly, I didn’t actually care about sex right now. I just…wanted to spend time with Rachel, to show her I was good for more than pleasure.

And that realization freaked me out. Big time.