Chapter 8
A GIFT FOR THE GRUMP
ROWAN
Like a dog shaking off the first snow flurries of the season, I do my best to shake off that encounter with Isla.
The way she nailed me was a little terrifying. And I’d thought I was good at putting up walls. Damn, she’s incredible at tearing them down. She’s a one-woman wrecking ball, decked out in pretty clothes, and with shiny hair I want to run my hands through—then pull.
And that goes on the long list of things I shouldn’t think about my best friend’s sister.
Not just because she’s his sister, but because he knows how scarred my heart is, which makes it all the more surprising he’s pushing this matchmaking thing.
As I drive to the arena, I hit Jason’s number on the console, skipping formalities. “Dude, you know better than anyone what happened with my ex. Why are you so set on me moving on?”
“Same reason your teammates are. We just want you to be happy.”
“News flash: I am happy,” I say.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I really don’t,” I reply.
“Look, I’m not saying you’re going to find the one. But it wouldn’t hurt to meet someone, spend a little time with them. It’s been a long while since Regina.”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah, and that’s a good thing,” I say as I pull into the players’ lot.
“Let Isla do her thing. She’ll find you someone nice, caring, funny, trustworthy. It’ll be good, even if it’s not forever.”
And that right there tells me everything—Jason’s well aware I’m damaged goods. He might want me to find someone for the short term, but he knows there’s no way it’d be anything more.
Which is why I should stop thinking filthy thoughts about his sister. But does it matter? Nothing is going to happen with her, so who cares?
“All right. We’ll see,” I say, then hang up, unclip Wanda from her seat belt and dog seat, and walk her to the arena. She stops before the door to pee, then we head inside.
“Ready for doggy daycare?” I ask the little cutie.
She wags her tail as we head down the corridor. At the end of the hall, the team photographer is there with her camera, snapping pics.
“Hey, Rae,” I say. “How’s it going? How’s the little one?”
“He’s great. Two years old now. I hardly have to put him in air jail any longer when I walk him,” Rae says.
“That’s serious progress for a little dog.”
“Don’t I know it,” she says.
I keep going, making my way to drop Wanda off at Dog Tails. She usually stays with my parents when I travel, but during home games, and often when I practice, I drop her at the dog daycare that opened recently at the arena. It’s for players and their pets—and for fans on game nights.
Sawyer Dumont owns and runs it, a cool guy I’ve gotten to know. He’s dry and relatable, and a kindred spirit since he’s had a rough road in romance too.
When he opens the door, I say hello, then ask how he’s doing.
“Well, considering I’m getting ready to sell the house I owned with my cheating fiancée, it could be better,” he says, then pastes on a smile. “But at least I’m free of all the romance bullshit.”
I knock fists with him in anti-romance solidarity. “I hear ya, man.”
The predicament isn’t the same, but the shitshow of love is.
“But dogs? They never disappoint,” he says, then smiles at Wanda and checks her in for the evening.
I’m so damn glad the team opened up a dog daycare facility here. It’s made life so much easier—and it made it easier to have a dog in the first place.
But I push all that out of my mind to get my game focus on. I head to the locker room, ready to shed my suit and do some stretching. Once I reach my stall, I spot the whiteboard and eye it suspiciously.
Better known as the DickNose board, it’s supposed to be for team strategy notes, but it’s pretty much just an announcement board used for roasting each other. Like right now, as it reads:
Five Things the Future Mrs. Bishop Needs to Know About Rowan
He secretly has a stash of candy cane boxers.
He used to decorate his Christmas tree as a kid with horse ornaments during his horse phase—and he still has them in a box, so just ask him to show you.
He bakes cookies for Santa, ostensibly, but it’s just to eat them himself.
When left alone, he rocks out to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” singing into a horse ornament, obviously.
His ultimate Christmas fantasy is taking you on a horse-drawn carriage ride—while he’s wearing the candy cane boxers.
I groan but make no move to erase it. That would be a declaration of war. Instead, as I get ready for the game, a routine which includes tapping a picture of Mia in my stall for good luck, their five things list bolsters my original plan.
Go on a few dates. Pretend I’ve met someone I like. Let the guys think this matchmaking package is working.
It’ll be my Christmas gift to them.
Well, that and the way I kill it on the ice a little later—taking no prisoners.
Near the end of the third period, I shove an opponent into the boards with a satisfying crunch. Well, the asshole tried to strip the puck from Miles. Screw him.
With zero remorse, I untangle myself and skate away, puck on my stick, before passing it right back to Miles. He takes it down the ice with a quick deke and fires it into the net.
Yes!
I’m relentless for the final minutes, throwing down blocks and cutting off lanes as my team pads the score. By the time the buzzer sounds, we’ve secured my favorite outcome—a nice, big W.
I head off the ice and through the tunnel to the rambunctious locker room, where the energy is high—the welcome noise of victory.
But I stifle a groan when I see my stall.
Some asshole teammate has decided to decorate my stall with a pair of candy cane boxers dangling on a hook and a note on them that says: A gift for the grump.
Damn, they take the DickNose board list seriously.
After I yank off my sweaty jersey, I spin around and hold up the offending garment.
“Aww, you guys bought me underwear,” I say, deadpan.
Then, louder, for everyone’s benefit: “Underwear. Let that sink in. You bought me underwear.” Cradling the boxers against my crotch, I add, “Thank you for thinking of my balls.”
Tyler, smirking as usual, fires back from across the way, “Bet your balls send us a thank-you note after you wear them.”
“They’re probably blue though. But that still goes with your black heart,” Miles chimes in as he unlaces his skates.
I sigh heavily. These guys. Still, I glance down at the candy cane boxers and shrug. They’re ridiculous. After folding them neatly, I tuck them into my bag. No way I’m walking out of here with holiday underwear in my hand.
“I’ll treasure them forever,” I say.
After a quick shower, I’m back in my suit, saying goodbye to my teammates. My plan is to grab Wanda at Dog Tails, then go home and give Isla hell with the list of things I know about her. But as I head down the corridor, I spot one of the city’s most well-known power couples heading my way.
It’s Wilder Blaine—the billionaire owner of a chain of luxury hotels and a green energy empire—alongside his wife, Fable Calloway, who owns several high-end jewelry stores.
Wilder also owned one of the city’s most successful sports teams, the Renegades, who are legends on the gridiron.
Basically, he’s been a fixture in the local sports world for years.
But more importantly, our daughters have recently become friends.
They go to the same school, and even though his daughter is a few years older, they’re both in the school’s book club.
“Hi, Rowan,” Fable greets me with a bright smile. She’s the kind of person who knows everyone, and I’ve met her through her friends—most of them are dating my teammates.
“Hey there, Fable,” I say to her. “Enjoy the game?”
“Loved it. We’re becoming bigger hockey fans by the day,” she says.
I nod to Wilder. “How’s it going? I heard you just bought our minor-league affiliate.”
Wilder flashes a small, pleased smile. “I did. I’ve been looking to expand my sports holdings, and Evergreen Falls holds a special place in our hearts.
” He wraps a possessive arm around his wife.
I’ve heard that’s where they got engaged.
The whole town leans into the Christmas magic thing.
When I visit my cabin on its outskirts, I stay away from Main Street and all that overly festive charm.
I bought the place on Jason’s investment advice a while ago, and it’s skyrocketed in value.
Plus, it gives Mia a taste of Christmas.
“It’s the perfect spot for something like this,” Wilder adds.
“We’re excited for the games you’ll play there,” Fable adds warmly.
It takes me a beat to catch up, then the pieces click.
We’ve got a packed home schedule later this month—but none of those games will actually be hosted here in the city.
They’ll all be in Evergreen Falls, a solid three-and-a-half-hour drive from here.
The team wants to christen the brand-new minor league rink and drum up excitement for the affiliate team’s official launch.
And just like that, a devilish grin tugs at the corner of my mouth.
I’ll be gone for half the month of December—too far for Isla to hover over me, attempting her matchmaking magic. How’s she going to set me up with someone while I’m playing games in a different zip code?
The answer? She won’t.
But I’ll also kind of miss seeing her.
What the hell?
The thought moves in and sets up camp even though I try to bat it away. It nags me during the whole drive home. Finally, I reason that maybe I’d just miss her scheming because it will keep things interesting. Or maybe I like the sweet smell of her perfume and the sparkle in her eyes.
Well, of course you do, jackass.
But it doesn’t matter. Isla and I are moving in two very different directions when it comes to romance, so whatever this feeling is, it’s better left unexplored.
For now, I’ve got the perfect excuse to turn the tables on her. And I plan to enjoy every second of it.