Page 59 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
My chest had clenched tight, but not in a bad way. It was warmth sinking bone-deep, spreading until I didn’t know what to do with it. Until I couldn’t help but grin back at him, even half-asleep, because it felt like the safest thing I’d ever woken up to.
Pure happiness. Pure wanting.
And right there, I knew—I’m in it. Fully, one hundred percent in love with a guy who swears he wants to keep us a secret but still looks at me like that when no one else is watching.
The sharp whistle of a puck hitting the glass jolts me back, and I shake out my shoulders. Focus, I tell myself. Play the part. No one can know.
But underneath it all, I’m still back in my bed staring back at him.
The puck ricochets off the boards, and I ignore it, prepping for the next shot. That memory of Max lingers, tucked under my ribs, steady as a heartbeat. It makes me feel lighter, clearer, like I could take anything they throw at me.
So I do what I do best. I belt out“All I Want for Christmas Is You”at the top of my lungs as I snag the next shot clean out of the air.
“Jesus, Eli,” one of the guys groans, stick clattering against the ice.
“You’re welcome!” I shout, spinning the puck on my glove like it’s part of the performance. Mariah Carey would be proud.
Laughter and groans ripple across the ice, but I’m grinning inside my mask, warmth bubbling up every time I catch sight of Max on the bench. He pretends to be buried in his notes, pen moving steadily across the clipboard, but I catch it—the twitch at the corner of his mouth, the fight not to laugh at me.With me.
And it’s enough. Enough to make my voice ring louder as I dive for the next save, segueing straight into“Last Christmas.”Off-key, dramatic, absolutely insufferable, all of it on purpose.
“Shut the hell up!” Daniel yells, but he’s laughing too.
I slam the puck to the ice and point my stick at him like a mic. “Can’t silence holiday cheer, buddy!”
The guys boo and cheer in equal measure, and practice keeps rolling, shots flying, drills grinding on. But for me, it’s different. Every block, every ridiculous lyric I belt, is buoyed by that one look I can’t shake—Max smiling at me like I’m something worth waking up to.
And even if he’ll never say it out loud, I know. Iknowhe has feelings for me somewhere inside that chest of his.
The final whistle blows, and the guys file toward the locker room in a swarm of sweat, sticks, and steam-clouded breath. Itrail after them, tugging off my mask, hair damp and curling at my temples.
“Starling!”
Max’s bark cuts clean through the noise. His trainer voice—sharp, commanding, no room for questions. Every head swivels, and I straighten automatically.
“Yeah?” I call back.
He fixes me with that look, all business, clipboard tucked under his arm. “Injury room. Need to check your shoulder after the long weekend.”
A couple of guys snicker, tossing me exaggerated winces andoohs. I roll my eyes, but my pulse is already kicking. Because I know that tone. I know that look.
I shrug off my pads and peel off my sweat-soaked shirt, slinging both over the bench. The locker room chatter rises again, swallowing me as I slip past, following Max’s retreating figure into his small room.
The second the door to the tiny injury room clicks shut behind us, Max is on me.
His hands fist in my damp undershirt, yanking me flush against him as his mouth crashes into mine. I slam back against the door with a muffled thud, his clipboard clattering to the floor, and suddenly he’s everywhere—hot, fierce, kissing me like he’s been starving for this all damn practice.
I groan against his mouth, arms locking around his waist, dragging him closer, deeper. The scent of antiseptic and tape mixes with my sweat and fills the small space, but all I can taste is him. All I canfeelis him—urgent, desperate, like he’s been waiting hours to get me alone.
His mouth drags over mine, rough and desperate, and I can’t stop the sound that tears out of me when he bites my lower lip. My hands slide down his back, gripping hard at his hips as he presses me tighter against the door.
“Max—” I pant against his mouth, but he cuts me off with another bruising kiss, swallowing his name like he needs it to breathe.
“Table,” he rasps against my mouth. “Now.”
I let him drag me across the room, half-stumbling until the backs of my legs hit the padded exam table. He shoves me down, stepping between my knees, kissing down my jaw and throat like he’s still doing some kind of check-up. Except his hands are rough, hungry, sliding across my chest and shoulders, squeezing hard enough to leave me buzzing.
“You always this hands-on with your patients?” I manage, breathless.
