Page 27 of Rookie Season
“How about that one?” I point at a modest-looking tree.
“I was thinking more like that.” He nods toward a massive one, and I laugh out loud.
“Small problem—we have to get it back there.”
“Easy peasy.” He drops the saw into the snow and plants his hands on his hips. “I work out.”
“Obviously.” I meant because he’s a pro athlete and that’s part of the job, but a memory’s coming back to me. Maybe it’s coming back to him too, because his eyes heat.
I’m thinking back to that kitchen, when he called me out.
“How many times have you hooked up on your bar, Sierra?”
Sensations flash through my body, memories that I’m suddenly reliving.
I shake off the haze.
“Christmas wasn’t all bad,” I hear myself say. “Mile High is always open on Christmas Day, especially if there’s a Kodiaks game. I’m an only child, so we didn’t have big gatherings. But when I was old enough to be a fan, my dad always gave me something from the team. He tried to find something unique. Even if it wasn’t expensive, he wanted it to be special.”
“The team means a lot to you.”
I feel a smile tug at my lips. “The bar gave my dad a way to plug into his favorite passion. I guess he passed that on to me. It’s probably stupid, building your whole life around a team.”
“Not at all. It’s people. And pride. And a purpose.”
I turn that over. “I’m surprised you’re so sentimental.”
He shrugs. “Holidays aren’t about buying shit. They’re a vessel for whatever you want to pour into them.”
When Ryan speaks, it’s as though he’s thought about it. That alone impresses me, but coupled with what he’s saying… there’s so much more to this guy than I gave him credit for.
I look past him. “How about that one?”
We cross to the tree, and he inspects it. “Perfect,” he decides.
He drops a rope he brought with him on the ground and takes up his position.
“You ever done his before, Christmas King?” I ask, folding my arms.
“Nope. But I’m a fast learner.” He starts to saw.
Five minutes later, he strips off his coat and passes it to me.
“Ready to tap out?” I ask as I take it.
“Just warming up.” But he swipes a hand over his brow.
He’s glistening in the sun. Not like Twilight vampire glistening, just a bead of sweat on his forehead.
I want to lick it off.
Ryan is hot. I’ve seen him on TV, even spent enough time with him in person that I could draw him from memory.
At least, if my art skills were more like Nova’s and less like a five-year-old’s attempt at their first stick person.
Point is, I’ve never had the chance to just watch him up close.
His body moves effortlessly, his muscles bulging under the shirt. His brows pull together in concentration, his lips parted as he works.
