Page 9 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
I glance down. Peppermint latte. My jaw tightens. “I don’t drink?—”
“Today you do,” he interrupts, grinning as though he’s just declared a national holiday. “It’s called expanding your horizons, Calder.”
I just stare at the cup. “This is sugar disguised as a beverage.”
“Exactly,” he says, and somehow that one word sounds like a dare.
Behind us, the photographer calls for everyone to get in position, but Eli just leans in, voice low enough that it skims across my skin. “Better drink up. We’re about to make December the hottest month of the year.”
My pulse stutters. I tell myself it’s irritation. It’s not.
The photographer, a woman with an oversized scarf and a camera she clearly knows how to wield like a weapon, claps her hands. “Alright, December boys, you’re up.”
Eli’s already halfway to the set when she adds, “Lose the shirts. We’re doing this one wrapped in lights.”
He looks over his shoulder at me like Christmas just came early. “You heard the lady, Calder.”
I mutter something about charity work and start unbuttoning my shirt. He slips the suspenders from his shoulders and peels his shirt off like he’s been waiting for this all morning, grin never faltering.
The photographer hands Eli a tangled string of fairy lights. “Wrap them around each other—make it look like you’re trying to keep warm.”
“Oh, we can do that,” Eli says, stepping into my space without hesitation.
The first loop goes around my shoulders, the second across my chest, his fingers brushing my skin each time. The lights are cool at first, but every place his hand touches feels like it’s burning. By the third loop, we’re close enough that the mint on his breath is hitting me straight in the lungs.
“Perfect,” the photographer murmurs, snapping away. “Hold that—yes. God, the chemistry between you two is insane. This is hot.”
Eli smirks up at me, clearly feeding off the comment. “Hear that, Calder? We’re hot.”
I force my jaw to stay locked, pretending the camera is the reason my pulse is picking up. It’s not.
“Little more,” the photographer says. “Tilt your head toward him… yes, right there. Now laugh, like you’re in on some private joke.”
Eli laughs easily, like he was born for this, and somehow my mouth curves too—before I can stop it.
“Wow,” the photographer says, lowering the camera just a fraction. “If this doesn’t sell out, nothing will.”
The photographer lowers her camera just long enough to nod at me. “Okay, Calder—your turn. Wrap the lights around him now. Close, like you mean it.”
Eli grins, already holding the end of the string out to me like it’s a gift. “Careful, these are delicate. Like me.”
I take the lights from him, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “Delicate isn’t the word I’d use for a hockey goalie.”
“What would you use for me?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Relentless. Loud. Borderline hazardous. Not delicate.”
“Flattered,” he says, smirk deepening as I start looping the lights over his shoulders. My knuckles graze the side of his neck, and I feel rather than hear the little hitch in his breath.
“Closer,” the photographer calls. “We want it to sell, you know the people that buy these are looking for sexy hockey players.”
I step in, wrapping the next loop across his chest, careful to keep my face neutral even as I’m very aware of the warmth of him this close.
Eli leans forward just slightly, eyes catching mine. “If you wanted to tie me up, Calder, all you had to do was ask.”
I pause mid-wrap. “We’re in public.”
He grins like I just confirmed something for him. “Didn’t say I’d mind.”
