Page 33 of Honkers Under the Holly

“So yeah,” Tommy’s voice softened, “those photos you’re all worked up about? That’s what love actually looks like. And if you’re done trying to manufacture scandal, I’d like to talk about how my team just won the mother fucking championship.”

Mac’s arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer. I looked up to find him watching me with that expression that still made my knees weak.

“Did he just...” I whispered.

“Save our careers by telling the truth in the most Tommy way possible?” Mac’s smile was soft. “Yeah, I think he did.”

From the podium, Tommy caught our eye and winked. “Now, who wants to talk about that amazeballs fourth quarter drive...”

The press corps erupted with football questions, scandal forgotten. In the back of the room, I turned into Mac’s arms, not caring who saw.

Sometimes the best love stories are the ones you don’t have to fake at all.

The so-called scandal was so forgotten, that by the time we got to the after party, no one even looked twice at us.

“Have you seen this one?” Mac held up his phone, showing a blurry photo from Oktoberfest. “Someone caught the exact moment I jumped the keg of beer to help you catch Sir Honksalot.”

We were curled up in a quiet-ish corner of the party, watching the internet absolutely lose it over Tommy’s press conference. #RealLoveStory and #GooseMatchmaker were trending, along with some creative edits of Sir Honksalot wearing a tiny Cupid outfit.

“Oh my god,” I laughed, taking the phone. “Look at your face! You’re already completely gone for me.”

“Obviously.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Though not as gone as Tommy looks in this one.”

The next photo showed Tommy at that same Oktoberfest, clearly playing matchmaker as he “accidentally” pushed Mac toward me. The caption read:The real MVP: Tommy Frayzer’s two-year plan to get his best friend the girl.

“Two years?” I raised an eyebrow. “We met three months ago.”

“Yeah, but it makes a better story this way. And you can’t expect the press to get all the deets right, can you?” Tommy dropped into the chair across from us, MVP trophy tucked underone arm. “The internet has decided I’m some kind of romantic genius who’s been plotting this since I signed with you.”

“Speaking of plotting...” Mac started.

“That was amazing,” I cut in, reaching for Tommy’s hand. “What you did in there. How you turned it around. Thank you.”

“Please.” Tommy grinned. “I just told the truth. With some creative timeline adjustment.”

My phone buzzed. “Magda says Sir Honksalot is getting interview requests. Apparently, he’s being called ‘The Goose Who Started It All.’”

“Well, he did.” Tommy stretched, looking satisfied. “Face it—none of us would be here if he hadn’t decided to go rogue at Oktoberfest.”

Mac’s arm tightened around me. “Best wild goose chase ever.”

The party swirled around us—players celebrating, media praising Tommy’s MVP performance, social media exploding with our unexpected love story. But in our quiet corner, it felt like everything had finally fallen into a perfect, chaotic place.

“You know,” Tommy said, a familiar glint in his eye, “Sir Honksalot’s going to need a formal outfit for the wedding.”

“The what now?” Mac choked on his champagne.

“Hey, according to the internet, you two have been secretly in love for years. Might want to catch up to your own love story.”

Mac took my hand in his and rubbed his fingers over the spot on my fourth finger where a ring would be. “I think it’s time we call it a night, don’t you,Liebling?”

The Five Elements lobby was mercifully quiet when we finally made it back from the party. Even Sir Honksalot seemed ready to wind down, his Bandit’s jersey slightly askew from all the victory celebrations.

“Come on, chaos machine,” Mac said fondly, scooping up our goose and taking him to Tommy’s room. “Time for bed.”

In the suite, Sir Honksalot waddled straight to his heated bed by the window, arranged his collection of “borrowed” socks from Tommy into a perfect nest, and settled in with a contented honk.

“I think the excitement finally got to him,” I said, watching our feathered matchmaker drift off to sleep.

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