Page 66 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
Eli: Pretty sure my groin still needs attention. Also, my lips. They might be bruised.
I drag a hand down my face, bite back the groan clawing its way up my throat. He’s going to kill me. Or worse—he’s going to make me fall harder than I already have.
I’m elbow-deep in tape, wrapping Todd’s ankle, when my phone lights up again on the counter.
I don’t check it. Can’t. Todd’s watching me, waiting for me to finish, and the last thing I need is him catching my face if it’s another one ofthosetexts.
Still, I feel the buzz like a second heartbeat.
By the time Todd leaves, another one flashes across the screen.
Eli: Don’t tell me you forgot about me already.
I’m practically dying over here. Groin, shoulder, lips, bruised pride…the works.
My mouth tightens as I pull Carson in next. He’s got a knot in his calf, and I knead it out while my phone lights up on the counter. Every vibration drills deeper into my chest, splintering my concentration. I catch the next two as they flash on the screen.
Eli: Princesses should never be ignored.
Fine. Guess I’ll just suffer alone.
I bite back a curse, pressing my thumb harder into Carson’s muscle than I mean to. He winces, and I dial it back. Professional. Focus. But all I can picture is Eli sprawled across his ridiculous Christmas bedspread, grinning at his own texts, waiting for me to break.
By the time Carson’s done, I can’t stand it anymore. I snatch up my phone, thumb flying before I can stop myself.
Me: You’re dramatic as hell, you know that? Can’t go one hour without me.
Needy little princess.
I hit send, shove the phone back down, and drag a hand through my hair. My pulse won’t settle, not when I can already imagine his reply, all smug and sunshine, as though he just won something.
And maybe he did. Because he got my full attention, even while I check over the next few guys.
I finish looking over Blue, scribble down a note for Roberts, and move to the door. My phone sits face-down on the counter, but I can still feel the weight of all the messages I’ve ignored. I shove the thought down, open the door, and motion Blue out into the locker room.
“Send the next guy in,” I call, already reaching for a fresh pair of gloves.
Except it’s not one of the guys waiting who steps through.
It’s Eli.
Beanie lopsided, cheeks flushed from the cold. He doesn’t wait for an invitation—just slips past Blue with a dramatic limp and a wince that would earn him a failing grade in theater class.
“Starling,” I snap, heat crawling up my neck as a chorus of groans fires off from the locker room. “There’s a line.”
He presses a hand to his ankle and sighs, full dramatics. “Yeah, well, I tripped on the stairs. Might’ve twisted it. Serious business, Calder. Gotta keep your star goalie on the ice.”
The door clicks shut behind him, cutting off the noise outside. And then it’s just me, him, and the peppermint scent of trouble he always drags in with him.
I exhale a slow breath, fighting the twitch in my mouth that wants to betray me. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thanks,” he says, already heading for the exam table, his limp forgotten. “I try.”
My phone buzzes against the counter again—another message from him, no doubt coming late due to service in the building—but he’s already here, perched on the exam table like he owns the place. His eyes flick toward the screen before settling on me, smug, blue, and burning.
“Guess you didn’t get my texts,” he says, swinging one leg like a kid who has no idea what patience means.
I snap on the gloves, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Oh, I got them.” My tone’s flat, but my chest is already tight. “Which ankle?”
