Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“I’d rather shovel snow in Siberia,” he deadpanned.
I grinned. “Your holiday spirit needs a tune-up.”
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t do holiday spirit.”
“That’s an awful thing to say!”
“Why? There’s no point. I’m usually on the road, so I’ve never bought a tree and I don’t always remember to buy gifts, either. My brother shamelessly shows me up every holiday. Oren bought our folks an oil painting of their ten-year-old golden retriever a couple of years ago. And it was really nice. I bought Mom the same gloves I bought her the previous year and the wrong-sized slippers for Dad.”
“Oh, dear. Well, I’m happy to help you this year. I’m an expert at gift-giving and—what’s so funny?”
Court’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You’re Elmwood’s emo elf, aren’t you?”
“Ha. Ha.” I moved by him to unlock the door. “Good-bye, Grinch.”
He snickered. “Later. And thanks for tonight. It was fun.”
“Yeah. It was,” I agreed, smiling as he stepped closer.
This was where I was supposed to shuffle out of the way to give him room to slip outside without letting the cold inside, but my feet were seemingly glued to the floor. And now, we were inches apart. So close I could see flecks of gold in his blue eyes and a scar half-hidden in his left brow. I should have jumped away and laughed off this little dance before I accidentally made it awkward.
Too late.
Ugh. Now I was staring at him and he was staring at me and…his mouth was right there, hovering over mine. I could feel his breath on my lips and smell gin and something woodsy and masculine on his skin. And nope, I couldn’t resist.
I leaned in, set my palm on his chest and pressed my lips to Court’s.
And that was the match that started the fire.
He groaned aloud, wrapping his hand around my nape as he plunged his tongue inside. I fell back a step and took him with me, careening into the foyer wall. Court didn’t miss a beat. He tilted his chin to deepen the connection, licking and sucking my bottom lip before diving in again. We made out like horny teens in a lusty frenzy.
I was dizzy with desire yet unsure of what to do with all this want and need. I might have been tipsy, but I wasn’t drunk or stupid. I knew who this was and knew better than to play with fire.
I threaded my fingers through his hair and purred like a greedy cat. I was two seconds away from losing the last of my inhibitions and grinding against him, when he gently pulled away.
Court flashed a lopsided half grin. “I’m kinda sorry we didn’t do that a long time ago.”
“Uh…yeah, me too,” I panted. “You’re an amazing kisser.”
“You too.” He pecked my cheek and opened the door. “See ya, Ivan.”
I watched him stride along the path to the sidewalk, hands buried in his pockets, head held high. He walked with a straight spine and proud shoulders, confident and self-assured. There’d been nothing in his posture or tone to suggest he was drunk or confused or that he’d regret any part of tonight in the morning.
But that made perfect sense. Court was out and had grappled with his sexuality years ago. He wasn’t the boy or the teenager I’d known in another lifetime. He was a mostly well-adjusted adult man who just happened to be in town for a short stint during the holiday season. He liked me and I liked him and—
Shit, there went my “no crushing on Court” rule.
5
COURT
Ronnie Moore met me at center ice. He co-owned Elmwood Rink with Vinnie and also just happened to be Vinnie’s best friend and brother-in-law.
I’d looked up to those guys when I was younger. They were roughly six years older, but they’d seemed like superstars, whizzing around the ice, making plays out of nowhere. I remembered sitting in the stands and watching them practice, mesmerized by their speed and their wiliness. I’d wanted to be just like them. I’d figured if I worked hard I’d have a decent shot. After all, their dad was my coach too, so…why not?
Coach Moore had been the heart and soul of this rink back in the day. He’d singlehandedly run the hockey program and had inspired a few generations of kids to aim for the stars. Vinnie might have been the lone NHL star to come out of Elmwood, but a few of us had gone pro and earned a living playing the game we loved.
I couldn’t help feeling like I should have done more. Maybe if I’d worked harder I wouldn’t be mentally gearing up to deal with pint-sized skaters with sticks that didn’t quite reach my kneecaps. Yeah, I doubted Coach would be proud of me now.
“Court! Good to see you, man,” Ronnie enthused, punching my biceps playfully.
He was a perpetually happy dude in his early forties who’d lost his hair and gained a belly a decade ago. He had a thing for Henderson’s maple cookies…and unfortunately, they weren’t sugar-free.