Chapter 22
FLETCHER
“Stop trying to make Fletch happen—he’s not gonna happen,” Lawrence jokes.
“Ellie thinks I play good. She said I could pick the walkout song next game.” I preen.
“What? Fletch is happening! Two NHL goals!” Lawrence crows.
“One of them barely counts,” Jake argues. “It bounced off of Vidic’s helmet.”
I’d say I hate my family, but I’m still riding on the high of the win and the scoring and the kiss.
I kissed Ellie. My coach. Fake coach, because you’re a fake NHL player. It doesn’t feel fake, though.
“We need a progress report on Dana Holbrook.” Hudson frowns.
“Screw Dana.” Anderson crowds in. “What was it like being on the ice with Emil Maynard?”
“Who cares?” Talbot counters. “Zayne Murphy is so much better.”
“Um, last season?” He and Talbot start squabbling.
“Damn, he looked sick out there!”
“What’s his secret? Did he fix his diet?”
I glance up at Hudson. “Something like that.”
“Looks like I do actually know what I’m talking about.” Hudson smirks then grabs me by the collar of my jacket. “Our clients want an answer,” he growls. “You owe me—don’t forget.” He tosses me back on the couch.
I jump up and brush past him.
“You going to finish the job?”
“No, I’m not. We’re going Christmas-tree farming. It’s a team-bonding activity.”
I get there early. I want to kiss Ellie under the snowy trees, want her all to myself. Maybe convince her to let me eat her out in the back of my truck.
Too bad half the team’s already there.
Cookie is clinging to Ellie. Ren is railing about the fact that he’s not allowed to shoot any of the squirrels wandering around in the snow.
“You are on parole—you’re not even supposed to have a gun,” Ellie scolds.
“You give her a little power, and suddenly she’s a damn yuppie,” Granny Murray gripes as she passes out homemade snacks to the players standing around the trees.
“Can I have more hot chocolate?” Jovi’s practically vibrating as Ellie parcels out more of what smells like extremely sweet peppermint hot chocolate.
Jonesy sprays canned whipped cream in his mouth.
“Hey! Other people have to use that.” Bramms shoves him to the ground, and Cookie snatches up the can of whipped cream.
Ellie seems a little breathless when she sees me. “Hot chocolate?” Ellie offers. “Seasonal cookie?”
“There are sandwiches too,” Carlsson says around a warm ham sandwich on a Hawaiian roll.
“It’s manual labor, so you need a little treat,” she says. Yeah, I want a fucking little treat, all right.
I eat the offered sandwich in two bites. The rest of them crowd around Harlowe as she doles out the sandwiches. “Save some for the rest of the team,” she warns as Bramms tries to take a second one.
“They should have shown up on time.”
“You’re all early,” I snarl, suddenly furious that I can’t kiss Ellie.
“She brought more of the cheese straws too,” Bramms says uncertainly.
“You liked those, Fletcher, didn’t you?” Ellie bends down to rummage around in her enormous thermal bag. She hands me a little cellophane bag tied with a neat red ribbon.
“Why’d you bring all these snacks?” I settle for shoving Cookie out of the way so I can stand next to her.
“We’re having a fun outing.” She shoos me closer to Cookie, who holds up his half-eaten pastry as she holds up her phone. “Cookie, smile,” Ellie coaxes.
I scowl at him. His mouth drops open in fear. Ellie snaps the photo and sighs. I shove Cookie toward Jovi.
Excitedly, she announces, “Everyone’s going to have more fun if there’s food involved.”
“Should have brought alcohol…” Then I stop myself as Zayne walks up. Thankfully, sober.
I should be happy that I’m out here with my idol, with my team, my winning NHL team. But all I want to do is cup her face and kiss her mouth while her cheeks are pink from the cold.
The Finn stomps up next to me, looks between Ellie and me, and says something in Finnish.
“What the hell are you looking at?” I scowl at him.
He just grins and steals one of my cheese straws and lets out another string of gibberish. The only word I catch is, inexplicably, “raccoon.”
“These are not for sharing,” I say loudly and slowly. “Get your own. Ziggy, where’s your Google Translate?”
Ellie claps her hands. Everyone shuts up and pays attention. “We need to find the perfect Christmas tree. Nothing scraggly. I want it nice and big. Sturdy. Thick.”
I blink at her. She stammers and is saved by Cookie.
“Are we getting a Christmas tree for your house?” Cookie raises his hand.
“No, for your house—well, Zayne’s. He’s hosting the team Christmas party on Friday. Thank you, Zayne!” She beams at him. The veteran hockey player looks a little drunk even though I know there’s only hot chocolate in his cup—I checked.
“We need some trees to liven it up. I’ll come over before the party to help you all decorate. Make sure it’s clean before I show up,” she warns. “The place looks like a frat house.”
“My frat house in Mississippi was real nice,” Ren sniffs. “I don’t know what you all do up here in New England.” He says it like a curse. “Giving fraternity brothers a bad name.”
We troop through the snow. The Finn is in his element. That fucker even brought snowshoes. Who the hell does he think he is?
He hefts a hand saw. “That doesn’t look like it’s going to cut through so much as a holly bush, let alone a whole-ass Christmas tree,” I tell him.
The Finn responds in Scandinavian gibberish.
“I have a chain saw,” I tell him.
“Ziggy.” I point to his phone. “Tell him we’re not cutting down anything with a hand ax. I don’t want to be here all afternoon.”
I heft the chain saw I stole from Hudson off my shoulder. “Ellie, which tree do you want?”
“Multiple trees. Zayne has a big house. This smaller one for the living room, this one for the piano room—”
“We have a piano room?” one of the rookies whispers to me.
“Anything’s a piano room if you put an instrument in it. Well, I think Ren lives in it.” Ellie flits between the snow-dusted trees. “And these two big ones for the foyer.”
“Coming right up.” Before I can swing the chain saw down, the Finn is kneeling at the base of one of the trees, attacking it with the hand ax.
Weirdo.
I rev the chain saw.
Wood chips fly from around the base of the Finn’s tree, and it topples with a puff as Bramms and Zayne catch it then shake the snow off the branches.
He moves on to the next Christmas tree while the chainsaw chews through the base of my tree.
The Finnish giant proudly displays his trees to Ellie while she applauds. He smugly waves the hand saw in my direction and says something derisive.
“He says,” Ziggy translates on his phone, “that a real man knows how to handle an ax.”
“Fucker,” I swear, picking up my tree.
“It’s so nice having all these big, strong hockey players around.” Harlowe giggles. “No trouble carrying out all these Christmas trees.”
Bramms flexes his bicep at her. “Did you spike that hot chocolate with bourbon?”
“No, no spiking,” Ellie squawks.
I let the team get a few paces ahead of us. “I’m a little insulted you didn’t jump me in the locker room.”
“Your ego’s big enough.”
“So you did want to?”
“I’ve seen your Christmas package.” She swats my belt. “I’m not impressed.”
“The lighting in that locker room is terrible, Candy Cane.”
“Put in a complaint with maintenance.”
Quick, like I’m faking out a defender, I pull her behind one of the oversized Christmas trees. I steal a kiss from Ellie, letting my hand rest briefly on the curve of her ass.
“You need to be careful.”
I kiss her again, harder. Slide my hands up the curve of her thighs and ass. “I’m an NHL player—you pay me to take risks.” I kiss the soft skin right under her ear.
She shivers but not from the cold. “If someone gets a photo of this, I’m blaming you.”
“I hope they do,” I murmur, not moving. “Make a nice Christmas card.”
There’s commotion up the path. I ignore it, settling my hands on her hips, grinding slowly against her.
“Coach!” There’s more yelling. “Coach Ellie!”
She shoves away from me.
“He’s touching it!” The rookies are freaking out as we walk up.
“Raccoon!” The Finn is amazed. He clutches the very large, very confused raccoon.
Ren has a gun pointed at it.
“That is not a pet,” Ellie squawks.
Jovi sprays some whipped cream in the raccoon’s mouth.
“Jovi, no. Drop it.”
“But they’re best friends. It’s a Christmas miracle!”
The raccoon hisses at Ellie. I heft my chainsaw, and the raccoon trundles away through the snow, bag of snacks in his mouth.
“Ugh, shoo. Here.” Ellie takes out her hand sanitizer. “Gross, guys, that wasn’t safe.”
Ren shakes his head, and the weapon disappears. “He’s lucky he can play hockey, because that boy ain’t right.”
Dana’s car is in the parking lot when we pull up outside of the stadium.
“That’s not good.” Ellie shrinks in her seat. “Dana never comes to the stadium.”
I pick up the box of empty containers—the guys took every last crumb of leftovers. “You can tell her you’re going to be in a very important meeting.”
I follow Ellie into the building. Do I want to fuck her? Yeah. But more urgently, I need an excuse to go up to the offices and steal Dana’s tablet.