Page 61 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
I collapse back against the table, chest heaving, the world spinning off its axis. Max rises slowly, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes dark and satisfied as though he just won the biggest game of his life.
He leans in close, brushing his lips against mine, soft this time, dangerous in a different way. “Shoulder looks fine. But you’re definitely coming back for follow-ups.”
I laugh, broken and breathless, and pull him into another kiss anyway, because he’s right—holy fuck, he’s right—I’m his, and if every practice ends this way, I’m in.
TWENTY-TWO
MAX
It’s beena week and a half. And hiding what we are to each other is harder than I thought it would be. Too fucking hard.
The thing is, Eli makes it look easy. On the ice, in the locker room, joking around with the guys—he’s the same sunshine-pain-in-the-ass he’s always been. He almost fools me. Almost. But I know the difference. I know the way his eyes linger a fraction longer when no one’s looking. I know what his voice sounds like when it cracks on my name. Those are things he can’t hide from me, even if he wanted to.
I sit at my desk in the corner of the training room, paperwork spread in front of me but untouched. It’s the same with my homework, I have zero concentration on anything that isn’t him. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, the faint sound of laughter echoing down the hall from the rink as the team filters out for the day. Eli’s laugh carried with them when he left—Daniel, Peter, and Todd flanking him, their voices fading as the door shut behind them. Normal. All of it perfectly normal.
So why the hell did I want to follow? To tag along as if I’m just one of them? I’m not. I’m the trainer, the coach’s right hand when it comes to keeping bodies healthy and game-ready. I don’t tag along. I know the rules.
And yet…
With a frustrated exhale, I yank my phone out of my pocket. My thumb hovers for half a second before I give in, because restraint and Eli don’t exist in the same universe anymore.
Me: Princess, make sure you’re back at your dorm by nine.
The message barely has time to send before the three dots appear.
Eli: Is that part of the whole I’m yours thing?
A smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it. I glance around the empty training room like someone might catch me grinning at my phone.
Me: Damn right it is.
His reply comes quick, bold as ever.
Eli: Okay, Grinch, I can be back by then. We can work on your holiday cheer with another Christmas movie.
I shake my head, laughing under my breath, and scrub a hand down my face. God, he’s going to undo me.
The office door creaks open, snapping me upright. I tuck my phone into my back pocket just as Coach Roberts steps out, his glasses perched low on his nose, clipboard in hand.
“Max,” he says, relief in his tone. “Glad you’re still here.”
I clear my throat, pushing back from the desk like I’ve been buried in reports instead of texting sunshine incarnate. “Yeah. Just finishing up.”
Coach steps into the room fully, the smell of his burnt coffee clinging to the air. He flips a page on the clipboard, tapping his pen against the edge. “Got a favor to ask. Bus company called—tomorrow’s trip to Lansing for the game got bumped up earlier because of the snow re-route. Means the guys need pre-trip checks tonight instead of in the morning. Can you stick around to run through them?”
The words hit like a body check. My shoulders stiffen, and the phantom buzz of Eli’s last text is still warm against my thigh where my phone sits. Nine o’clock. His grin.We can work on your holiday cheer.
For a second, I almost tell Roberts no. Almost say I’ve got plans. But trainers don’t have plans. Trainers show up. They keep the team on their feet, make sure no pulled muscle or bruised rib sidelines the season.
“Yeah,” I hear myself say, even though the word scrapes out rough. “Of course.”
He nods, satisfied, and heads back into his office without a second glance. The door clicks shut, leaving me alone again under the harsh fluorescent lights.
I drag a hand through my hair, staring at the empty doorway. My chest feels tight, like someone just cinched a strap around it. Eli’s going to be disappointed. He’ll probably crack a joke when I text him, pretend it doesn’t sting, but I know it will.
And the worst part? I already know I’ll do the checks, tape the ankles, ice the shoulders. I’ll do the job, because that’s what I’m good at—showing up for everyone except myself.
My phone buzzes once in my back pocket, and I don’t even have to look to know who it is.
