Page 58 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
I give him a flat look, tugging out my binder so I can remember which players I need to watch. “Joke around while you can. Soon, you’ll be too busy working off all the sugar you mainlined this weekend.”
He smirks, backing through the door. “Worth it.”
I shake my head, forcing my mouth into something that looks like annoyance instead of the twitch of a smile trying to break through.
By the time I’ve set my bag back down, Todd strolls over, helmet tucked under his arm, easy grin in place. He bumps my shoulder with his like always.
“How was the weekend, man? Snowed in, right? Must’ve been brutal.”
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “Campus was dead. Pretty quiet. Boring, honestly.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like heaven compared to my house. My little cousins turned Thanksgiving vacation into a WWE smackdown. Think I’ve still got bruises.”
I huff out a laugh, grateful for the shift in focus. “Trade you.”
Todd grins wider and wanders off, calling over his shoulder about drills. I busy myself with the med kit, checking rolls of tape and jotting notes on the injury log, my chest tight with the lie. Quiet and boring. No mention of warm skin under tangled blankets, of Eli’s laugh echoing in my head, of the way he kissed me slowly as though we had all the time in the world.
Just boring. Like nothing happened at all.
The locker room door swings open, and Eli strides back out in full pads, mask dangling from his fingers, large gloves under his arm. He’s grinning at something Daniel says, jaw loose and easy, pretending we didn’t spend the last four days wrapped around each other.
His gaze flicks across the rink—quick, nothing obvious—and for a breath it hooks into mine. Just long enough for the hum under my skin to flare, before he looks away and snaps his mask into place as if it never happened.
“Alright, boys!” he calls, voice booming across the ice. “Let’s see which one of you has the guts to try and get one past me today!”
The guys jeer and throw jabs his way, and I duck my head over the clipboard, heart hammering in my chest.
Because this is how it has to be—Eli, loud and impossible; me, quiet, grumpy, and forgettable. And the rest of the world never knowing what we leave tangled in the sheets behind closed doors.
TWENTY-ONE
ELI
The mask slips into place,muffling the edges of the world, but it doesn’t stop my focus from straying. It never does. I’m supposed to be tracking pucks, scanning shooters, barking at the guys to keep their heads up. Instead, my gaze keeps snagging on the bench where Max is bent over his clipboard, pen scratching notes, brows drawn in concentration.
God, he looks unfair like that—focused, steady, completely unaware that every time he chews the end of that pen, I want to cross the ice and pull it from his mouth and kiss him senseless. My stomach does this stupid flip, and I force my eyes away before I do something impulsive. Again.
“You’re staring,” a voice sing-songs beside me.
I jerk, mask half turning, and find Daniel leaning on his stick, eyes too sharp for his own good.
“I’m not,” I mutter, way too fast. I should have just brushed him off and agreed. He knows I want Max. It’s not a secret between us.
Daniel smirks, the kind of smirk that says he’s been waiting for this. “Sure you’re not. Just happens to be the most fascinating injury log you’ve ever seen, huh? Nothing to do with the hot as fuck man holding it.”
Heat creeps up my neck under the padding, and thank god the mask hides most of my face. “Shut up and take your shot.”
He laughs, low and knowing, before skating off toward the blue line.
I shift in the crease, trying to shake it off, but my pulse is still racing. Because he’s right. I can’t stop watching Max. Can’t stop wanting. And the worst part? After this weekend, it’s so much harder to pretend I don’t already know what it feels like to have him looking back at me.
Daniel skates off, still chuckling, but I’m left rooted in place. I tell myself to focus, to watch the shooters lining up, but my head betrays me.
Because the second I trynotto think about Max, I see him anyway.
The memory sneaks in—yesterday morning, sunlight spilling over tangled sheets. I’d blinked awake to find him already watching me, propped up on his elbow, hair mussed, eyes heavy but steady on me.
Max, who’s always grumbling, always scowling, had this small, unguarded smile curving his mouth. Not sharp, not sarcastic—just soft. And for a second, I forgot how to breathe, because it was all for me.
