Page 46 of Cross Check Christmas
I should. I really should. But the words stick in my throat as he leans closer, slow enough that I could pull away if I wanted to. His cologne wraps around me – making my head spin. Or maybe that's just the wine. Or the way his breath fans across my lips, warm and sweet.
His nose brushes mine, and my eyes flutter closed. The hand on my hip slides to the small of my back, drawing me closer until there's not even air between us. Just wool yarn and fifteen years of misunderstandings.
"Colette," he breathes my name reverently.
Our lips are a whisper apart when a loud cymbal echoes from the living room, followed by Grannie's voice singing "O Come All Ye Faithful" at full volume.
Reality crashes back. What am I doing? This is Hendrix Ellis – the guy who's been sabotaging my Christmas pageant, stealing my gym time, and generally making my life difficult since he got back to town.
I shove him away, stumbling out from behind the yarn shelf. "I can't… this isn't…"
"Wait," he reaches for me, but I'm already backing toward the door.
"This was a mistake," I gasp out, fumbling for the handle. "I need to go."
I bolt through the hallway, past the carolers, past Mrs. Fraser's knowing look, grab my coat from the rack, and burst out into the snowy night. I don't stop running until I reach my front door, hands shaking so badly I can barely get my key in the lock.
Behind me, Grannie's house glows with warmth, Hendrix's silhouette a dark blur against the Christmas lights as he runs into the street. He's calling after me as I shut myself inside, out of breath. What just happened?
I double check the deadbolt—not that Hendrix would try to break in… But I swear I can still feel the phantom press of Hendrix's fingers on my hip, and a tiny part of me wishes he would.
15
HENDRIX
"Again!" My voice bounces off the empty bleachers. "And this time, maybe try not crashing into each other?"
I blow the whistle, watching my breath cloud in the frigid air of the rink as the kids zigzag through the orange cones. Half of them are dragging their feet, and Jake keeps checking his phone between runs.
"Hey! Eyes on the ice!" I snap, probably harder than I should.
The kids aren’t allowed phones on the ice. They’re supposed to keep them in their lockers. But I’m one to talk, leading with a poor example as I check my messages for the millionth time today. I don’t know why I keep looking every time my phone buzzes. It’s never Colette, even though I’ve been hoping against hope she’ll come around. But the none of the notifications are from her. They’re mostly from my agent, Derek, who’s been blowing up my phone since Saturday.
"What were you thinking?" he'd barked. "Showing up for a Knights versus Titans game? The press is having a field day! 'Ellis Shows Support for Knights Over Contract Dispute' - that headline's everywhere!"
Now there's speculation I was there to negotiate my contract in person, or worse – that I'm considering jumping ship to the Knights.
Shaking my head, I blow my whistle as Danny fumbles another pass.
"Keep your stick down! Focus on connecting with the puck!"
Todd Jensen wipes out on the ice, taking down two other players with him. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
"Get up, shake it off. You're fine."
I blow the whistle again, harder this time. "Everyone, neutral zone drill. Let's go!"
The headlines flash through my mind: "Ellis Shows Face at Titans Game - Contract Negotiations Taking a Turn?" and "Knight in Toronto: Family Reunion or Trade Talks?"
One stupid game. One night of wanting to watch my brother play, of sitting next to Colette, and now everything's spiraling faster than these kids on their sloppy crossovers.
Marcus skids to a stop, spraying ice.
"Coach, is it true you're signing with the Knights?"
"Get back to the drill," I say, but Todd Jensen pipes up from the other end.
"My dad says you're just using us as publicity stunts. To make yourself look good during negotiations."
