Page 23 of Game Winner
“Dude, he looks like he’s been shot.” Laughing, Sage reaches over me to drag more red onto the snowman’s chest. “Though, if he’s made of snow, I guess he’d bleed water? Put some white or blue over the red.”
“No time.” Morgan tosses the cookie onto the tray, then grabs another. “But I’ll do blue blood on this one.”
“Gio will never let us decorate again.” I give a Christmas tree one line of green from tip to trunk then place it on the tray.
We race through the rest of the cookies, and the final ones have the barest hints of color. “And the winner is…” Sage tallies the results. “Morgan! With ten beautifully decorated masterpieces.”
Laughing, we all clap, and Morgan nods and waves his arm like he has just been crowned king of a new sovereign nation.
“I’ll still help clean up.” Morgan pushes back his chair, swiping a cookie as he stands. “Tyler, you move the cookies to the counter. Sage, you wash up. And I’ll clean the table.”
The Metros have a game tonight, so Remy, Morgan, and Sage won’t be at the party for long.
Soren comes into the kitchen. His cheeks are rosy from the cold, and the velociraptors on his chest make me smile. He sets a case of beer on the counter. “Phil and Gio want us in the sitting room for a minute. Come on.”
The way Morgan, Sage, and Soren smile at me, they clearly know something I don’t. “What’s up?”
“You’ll see.” Soren slips his arm around me and guides me into the hallway. The same music flows from the front rooms, so Sage must have synched speakers or shared his playlist with Gio and Phil.
We reach the sitting room. Remy, Gio, and Phil wait by the fireplace. Gio beckons me closer. “We have one final thing to do. Hang the stockings. We usually put them up before now, but we had a good reason to wait.”
Phil hands them out. Dark green for Soren, Remy, and Sage. Dark red for Gio, Morgan, and Phil. Each one has the person’s name stitched in white thread.
Soren hands me a small paper shopping bag. “This is the real reason I went out today. Yours was finally ready.”
“You got me a stocking?” I open the bag. My stocking is the same shade of dark green, and the fabric is so soft. I trace my finger over the letters spelling my name, and I bite down on the inside of my bottom lip as a well of emotion builds behind my ribcage.
Gio steps away from the front of the fireplace, revealing seven stocking holders among the garland strewn across the mantel. “Of course we did. You’re one of us.”
“Thanks.” I blink back the sting behind my eyes. “I don’t know what to say.” I swallow down the emotion that has traveled from behind my eyes to my throat. “This means a lot.”
Remy insists on hanging the stockings in alternating colors. He starts us off, and I take the last spot on the opposite end.
Soren drops his arm over my shoulder. The move is casual, but still my stomach flutters. “They look good.”
I can only nod as I press a hand to my middle. They’ve done a lot to make me feel welcome.
There’s a knock at the front door. Phil beams and grabs Gio’s hand. “Party’s starting.”
One after another, our teammates arrive with girlfriends, boyfriends, platonic friends, and even a couple of siblings in town for the holiday. People in colorful holiday sweaters, eating and drinking, singing and dancing, fill the rooms.
There’s laughter over Morgan’s snowman cookies. People ask Gio about his stitches. And more than a few guys marvel over the big Victorian house and get renovation horror stories from any of the housemates standing within earshot.
I chat with my linemates Cal and Gordy, our backup goalie Pavel, my housemates, and bid the Metros players good luck in their game as they leave. My gaze darts to the doorway every time someone comes through it, but I don’t feel as much like a lovesick puppy when I notice Soren doing the same thing. As I fill my plate with a helping of cookies and tiny cakes, the sound of the front door opening, then closing pulls my attention.
Gio leads Bax in, the two casually chatting. The brontosaurus sweater pulls taut across Bax’s broad chest and impressive arms, but somehow gives off cute vibes, making him look cuddly instead of intimidating. Not that he’s intimidating to me, but Iheard people talk at the show. With his size, muscles, and the fact that he’s usually in dark clothes or leather, intimidating is an adjective to use.
Across the room, Soren greets Bax with a hug, then sends me a smile.
I’m enjoying the camaraderie and feeling connected to a team in a way I haven’t for a long time, but I want to feel connected with Soren and Bax more. There’s a lull in the conversation when Phil, playing bartender, reveals the special drinks he made, and I hurry over to Bax and Soren.
Bax leans in to brush his lips over my cheek. His eyes twinkle as he takes in my sweater. “I like the T-Rex on you.”
More people drift in and around us. I catch the curious looks some teammates cast our way. Though the coaching staff and HR know about Soren and me, our teammates can find out on their own. Unless they ask, I’m not offering information. Even so, I can’t enjoy myself feeling like I’m in a fishbowl. I turn my back to the room and lower my voice so only my men can hear me. “Anyone interested in going down to Soren’s apartment for some privacy?”
“Me.” Bax’s hand shoots up.
Soren follows suit, his grin mischief and delight rolled into one. “Follow me.”
