Page 74 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
By the time the game starts, my head’s clear, my chest steady. Lansing pushes hard—shots from the blue line, scrambles in the crease—but every save sharpens me more. Every thud against my pads, every sting against my glove, just feeds the fire.
When the buzzer sounds, the scoreboard glowing in our favor, I don’t let myself grin—yet. Not until Daniel whoops and skates straight for me, helmet slapping against mine. Then Todd’s stick clacks against my pads. Peter throws an arm around my shoulders.
And suddenly I’m surrounded, teammates crowding in, gloves ruffling my hair as my helmet is knocked off, head pats raining down like I’m some golden retriever who did a damn good trick.
I laugh, breathless, chest tight with pride. This—this is why I love the game. The noise, the camaraderie, the weight of the win shared between all of us.
Somewhere beyond the circle, I know Max is watching. And maybe, just maybe, he’s proud too.
The place is loud—everytable packed with college kids, the air thick with hot sauce and grease. Our team’s got two long tables shoved together, plates of wings stacked in the middle like some barbaric feast. Everyone’s laughing, still riding the high from the win.
I’m wedged between Daniel and Todd, and Max is directly across from me. Arms folded on the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his usual grumpy expression in place like he ordered it off the menu.
Which means I’ve got the best view in the house.
“Calder,” I say over the din, reaching for another wing. “You should try one of these. Sweet chili. Very festive. Practically Christmas in sauce form.”
His brows draw together. “It’s chicken drowned in sugar.”
“Exactly.” I grin at him, licking sauce from my thumb on purpose. “You might even like it. Brings out the holiday cheer.”
Daniel snorts beside me, catching on instantly. “Careful, Starling. Might melt the ice man.”
Max’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t take the bait—just bites into his own plain hot wing like it insulted him.
I lean forward on my elbows, ignoring the mess on my plate. “What’s the matter, Calder? Afraid sugar’s gonna corrupt you?”
His jaw tightens, and he shoots me that patented Grinch glare that should shut me up. Instead, it just makes me beam harder.
Across the table, Peter’s waving a fry around like a microphone. “Ten bucks says Starling gets him to smile before the night’s over.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Todd adds, already digging out his wallet.
Max mutters something into his plate, but I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. And I swear to God, I’ve never wanted to win a bet more in my life.
I lean in further, chin propped on my palm, eyes locked on Max like he’s the only one here. “C’mon, Calder. Just one bite. If you don’t like it, I’ll…” I pretend to think, then grin wickedly. “I’ll do suicides on the ice tomorrow until you’re satisfied.”
That gets Daniel choking on his soda. Todd’s howling, already shouting, “Take the deal!” across the table.
Max just sits there, stone-faced, until I wiggle the wing in his direction like I might actually feed it to him. His nostrils flare—and then, to my utter delight, he snorts. Not just a little exhale either, but a real snort, followed by a slow shake of his head.
And there it is. A smile. Small, crooked, but absolutely, definitely a smile.
The table explodes. Peter cackles like he just won the lottery. Daniel’s pounding the table like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all year.
While I sit here soaking it in, my chest buzzes like someone lit me up from the inside.
The table’s buzzing, Peter cheering like he’s just won the lottery. “Told you. Pay up, boys. Starling came through, and I called it.”
Todd groans, sliding a couple bills across the table while Daniel mutters about beginner’s luck.
I roll my eyes, leaning back in my chair. “Glad to know I’m worth so much to you guys.”
“Worth losing money over, anyway,” Peter fires back, smug as hell.
I’m about to retort when I feel it.
A light brush against my ankle under the table. Barely there, but enough to short-circuit my brain. My gaze flicks up and—yep. Max. Sitting across from me, his expression is perfectlyunreadable except for that subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.
