Chapter 38
THIS IS NOT A REINDEER JACKING OFF
ROWAN
As the clock ticks off the final seconds, I crowd the Los Angeles forwards, stopping them from even trying to tie up this game. Until finally the horn blares and my favorite letter flashes on the scoreboard.
W.
I thrust my stick in the air, then high-five Wesley as he skates past me. “That’s how you do it,” he says.
“It fucking is,” I agree, but we don’t leave the ice.
It’s time for another teddy bear toss. The team’s been doing them all throughout the game, starting with the first goal scored.
When we nabbed that point, fans tossed toys and stuffed animals onto the ice that we picked up to donate to local toy drives.
They did it again with our second point.
And now, with the win, fans shower down more toys, basketballs, board games, and of course, stuffies, tossing them, carefully in some cases.
My eyes are on the brunette in the first row. She cocks her arm and launches a stuffed missile my way. It lands with a skid near my skates. I scoop it up, laughing when I realize what it is—a stuffed raccoon. I give a chin-nod her way.
She waves back and I puff out my chest as my teammates and I glide across the ice, picking up more toys.
There’s just something about your woman coming to your game.
Even if it’s temporary. Even if it’s fake.
Pride rushes through me—she’s here, rooting for me, watching me.
That feeling spurs me on as I drop toys in big buckets the ice crew pushes along the rink.
Near Isla, in the first row by the players’ bench, Leighton snaps pics that’ll go up on the team’s socials.
When we’re done, I’m about to head for the gate. But fuck it. What’s a little fake-dating without a kiss with my Christmas girlfriend? I hop over the boards and beckon her to come closer. She weaves down her row, reaching the edge of the bench as I tug off my gloves.
“Good game, Bishop.”
“This will make it even better.” I tug on her red snowflake scarf and pull her close, planting a hot, possessive kiss to her lips.
Leighton whistles.
Some of my teammates shout get a room.
I flip them the bird, all while kissing my former matchmaker a little longer.
When I break the kiss, I wiggle my brows then jump back over the boards and head through the tunnel to the locker room, where I rip off my helmet and toss my jersey in the bin.
“Good job, boys,” Miles says when he comes in a few seconds later, sounding exhausted from the game—but the good kind of exhausted.
“Thanks, Dad,” Wesley teases.
Miles rolls his eyes. “I’m not even a dad.”
“But you have dad energy.”
I swing my gaze to Miles. “Can confirm.”
“Fuck off,” he mutters.
“Hey, is that any way to talk to the guy you took under your wing?” I toss back, since I can dish it out too.
Wesley clears his throat. “Speaking of,” he says, then reaches into the top cubby of his stall.
I groan. Why did I bring up dating? Why? Fucking why?
But I keep on my poker face—right as Miles pushes up from the bench and, still in full gear, strides over to me.
“If I give off dad energy, then you are my difficult child,” he says.
“And we all know the difficult ones get all the attention,” Ford puts in.
“I bet you were a perfect kid,” I say.
“Obviously,” Ford says dryly.
“And since you’re, well, not, we’re helping you again. You’re welcome,” he adds.
I brace myself for a gag gift. For the gag gift to end all gag gifts.
I swivel around to face my teammates, making a bring it on gesture with my fingers. “Give me the whoopie cushion, the Hawaiian Christmas shirt with all your faces on it, an apron with a reindeer jacking off on the bib.”
Miles scoffs. “O ye of little faith.”
Ford shakes his head my way. “We’re your wingmen for a reason, Bishop.”
“Because we’ve got your back.” Wesley hands over a card.
I open it with more trepidation than I feel facing a tough team.
But inside is…a gift card.
For a sleigh ride tomorrow night. I turn it over, study it. It’s thoughtful. And for once, it’s not a joke. It’s a real gift for me to enjoy with someone I can’t stop thinking about. “Is this it?”
“You want more?” Miles asks.
“No, but where’s the punchline?”
“We told you—we’re helping you. It’s real,” Wesley says, his voice supportive.
“Take her on a sleigh ride. It’s a great gift. She’ll love it.”
Ford taps his stick to the floor for emphasis. “I took Skylar the other week. She had a blast feeding the horses.”
“Josie and I went the other night. It’s a great date night,” Wesley adds. “We even posted pics for socials.”
Huh. They really meant it when they said they wanted to help. Their tips at the sledding hill were genuine too.
There’s a knock on the locker room door. “Incoming publicist in three, two, one.”
No one says “wait a sec,” so Everly strides in.
“Did someone say socials?” she asks, pulling out her phone as if it’s a weapon trained on me. “Because if you take Isla on a sleigh ride and don’t give me one good photo, you’re dead to me.”
I drag a hand down my face, but it’s half in exasperation, and half to hide my stupid smile. I’d want that photo too.
When I look up, I’ve schooled my expression though. I’ve spent years cultivating an image as a hard-ass. I can’t be Mister Sunshine. “Will do,” I say, since I made a promise to try harder for Jason, for the team, and for my daughter.
But also for Isla, even though it hardly feels like trying. Spending time with my agent’s sister might be the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
“Thanks, guys,” I say, then I turn around and strip off the rest of my uniform as I picture how much Isla will enjoy this gift.
And how much I will too.