Page 32 of Offside for Christmas
"What did you expect?"
"Someone who hated me on principle. You had every reason to. I was an asshole when I got here."
"Was?"
His eyebrows shot up. "Ouch."
"Sorry," Ellie said, fighting a smile. "Are. Present tense. You are an asshole."
"Better." The tension in his shoulders had eased, and when he smiled—actually smiled, not that sarcastic half-smirk—it transformed his entire face. "Wouldn't want you going soft on me."
"Never," Ellie promised.
They were standing close enough that she could see the snowflakes caught in his eyelashes, close enough that when he shifted his weight slightly, his arm brushed against hers. Neither of them moved away.
The moment stretched between them, heavy with something Ellie didn't want to name. She should step back. Should make a joke. Should do anything except stand here looking at him like—
Cole's eyes dropped to her lips for half a second before meeting her gaze again.
"Ellie," Cole started, his voice lower now, rougher, "I—"
"Are you two done being weird out here?" Mac's voice shattered the moment like a rock through ice. He was standing in the doorway, grinning like he knew exactly what he'd interrupted. "We're starting White Elephant! Come on, you're missing the chaos!"
Inside, the team had arranged themselves in a circle on the floor and various pieces of furniture, a pile of wrapped gifts in the center. Someone had put on a Christmas playlist—currently Britney was belting about if Santa could hear her or not—and the fire crackled merrily in the background.
"Rules!" Mac announced once everyone was settled. "You pick a gift and open it, or you steal from someone who's already opened theirs. Each gift can only be stolen three times. If yours gets stolen, you pick a new one. Chaos is encouraged. Fighting is discouraged but understood."
"That's not how White Elephant—" Ellie started.
"It's how we play White Elephant," Jamie interrupted. "Luke, you're up first. Birthday privileges."
Luke was in the corner with his laptop open, rewatching footage from last week's game.
"Luke, close the laptop," Mac called. "You literally just had a birthday. Take one night off from film study."
"I'm almost done—just want to review this power play sequence—"
"LUKE."
He sighed, adjusted his glasses, and reluctantly closed the laptop. "Fine. But we're discussing defensive zone coverage tomorrow."
The game devolved exactly as expected. Luke opened a set of nice whiskey glasses and immediately had them stolen by Jamie. Mac picked a gift that turned out to be an incredibly ugly Christmas sweater featuring a cat wearing a Santa hat, got it stolen twice, and stole it back a third time with the kind of determination usually reserved for playoff games.
"This is mine now," Mac declared, clutching the sweater to his chest. "No one touch it."
"It's hideous," Luke's wife said from the laptop propped on the coffee table—she was eight months pregnant and videocalling in from home. "But somehow very you."
"Thank you, Sarah! See? She gets it."
When Ellie's turn came, she picked a medium-sized box and unwrapped it to find the softest, fluffiest Christmas socks she'd ever seen, complete with tiny bells on the cuffs.
"Oh my god," she breathed, pulling them on immediately. "These are perfect."
"You can't possibly be that excited about socks," Cole said, but he was smiling.
"They have bells, Hansen. Bells."
Then it was Cole's turn. He reached for a small box near the back, unwrapped it methodically, and pulled out an expensive-looking hot chocolate set—gourmet cocoa, a French press specifically for hot chocolate, even a small container of fancy marshmallows.
