Page 3 of Mountain Man's Naughty List
Plus, with Grady still on the injured reserve list, I know he and Stevie planned to spend the holiday season there. I can blow off some steam with my two favorite people—even if they’re both still on my shit list.
“Okay,” I nod, warming to the idea. “I’ll go celebrate the holidays.”
“That’s the spirt,” Coach Dane says. “Go play. Have fun. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Coach’s advice sticks with me through the next twenty-four hours as I make arrangements to meet the happy couple and one of Stevie’s friends. On the long-ass flight to Alaska, I turn the words over in my head.
Don’t do anything Coach wouldn’t do.
There’s just one thing. For the next two weeks, Coach doesn’t have any say in what I do. For all intents and purposes, I’m a free agent. Short of getting arrested, I can do whatever the hell I want.
Somewhere around the third in-flight bourbon, I ask the flight attendant for a piece of paper and a pen. I start a list of all the things I want to do but don’t for fear of getting my ass handed to me by Coach.
By the time I’ve landed in Alaska and been dropped off at the cabin, I have a good list going. Sinking on the leather couch in front of the already burning fireplace, I review my list:
Skip the gym.
Sleep past 6 a.m.
Drive too fast on a snow mobile.
Skinny dip in a frozen lake.
Drink a gallon of egg nog.
Bet on a game.
Shave the playoff beard I still have from last year.
Contemplating it a moment longer, and letting the words go a little blurry, I scribble down one more thing:
Get laid.
It’s not something Coach would frown upon, but what the hell. I’m here to have a good time. And getting good and thoroughly laid is the epitome of having a good time.
Satisfied with my list, I give it a goofy grin.
“This’ll be fun.”
My eye lids are heavy. Probably from the flight and all the bourbon I threw back. I’ll close my eyes. Just for a minute.
I mumble, “Get laid” and pass out.
When I open my eyes minutes, or hours later, I find a green-eyed blonde woman with curves for days leaning over me.
TWO
LIZ
The first thing I notice is the snoring.
A deep, rumbling that vibrates through the cabin’s floorboards and sounds like someone trying to chainsaw their way through a Christmas tree.
The second thing I notice is that it’s not mine.
I pause halfway down the hall on my way to get a cup of coffee, and listen. The storm that rolled in overnight has covered everything outside the window in white.
It’s a sparkly, shimmery blanket that makes you want to burst into Christmas carols and curl up next to a roaring fireplace with a cup of coffee. Preferably with a flannel-wearing hunk with a beard and a Christmas tree farm.
