Page 16 of Perfectly Complicated
“Why not?”
“Because hockey is boring,” I say.
His eyes narrow, like I’ve just issued a challenge he can’t resist. “Then it seems we’re evenly matched. You don’t like my sport. I don’t like your holiday.” He leans in slightly. “But when I win, I’ll make sure the date involves you sitting in the stands at one of my games, wearing my jersey.”
“You meanifyou win,” I correct. “Which you won’t. Because I’d never come to your game.”
“Never?” He lifts an eyebrow. “You know what I love about the wordnever,Janie?”
“What?”
“It’s basically a dare in disguise.” His voice drops lower. “And I’ve never met a dare I couldn’t win.”
The way he says it makes my pulse race, and I hate that he’s having this effect on me.
“You’re awfully confident for someone who’s about to lose,” I say.
“And you’re awfully stubborn for someone who claims they won’t come to a game.” He rubs his hands together. “This should be fun.”
I stare at him, trying to process what I just agreed to. Having a local celebrity play the lead role means better ticket sales and possibly that donation—if he wins.
But if I fail, it means I’m agreeing to a date with Rourkeandwearing his jersey.
“Wait…” I say, holding up a hand. “What exactly does ‘liking Christmas’ mean? What are the terms here?”
“Good question,” he says. “How about this: if by the final performance, the kids believe I really like Christmas, then you win. Because kids can always see through an adult’s intentions, no matter how much they try to hide it.”
He isn’t wrong. Kids are incredible at gauging whether someone’s telling the truth. And if they can’t win him over, then no one can.
“Plus, if I can win this community service competition, the school gets twenty grand,” he adds. “So, you helping me learn to like Christmas isn’t just about our bet—it’s about whether this school gets funding.”
I realize what he’s done. He’s made itimpossiblefor me to say no. Part of me knows I should tell him to find another teacher to work with, another person’s Christmas to complicate. But there’s something in his face—a challenge I can’t resist.
It’s not that I think I can convince him to love Christmas the way I do—that would take a Christmas miracle. It’s just that I can’t have hishumbugruining myfa-la-la.
We’re like the Grinch and Cindy Lou Who.
Scrooge and Tiny Tim.
Buddy the Elf and Buddy’s dad.
If this is going to have a happy ending, we all know what has to happen. I have to make him like Christmas.
Difficult? Maybe.
Butimpossible? Of course not.
He lifts an eyebrow. “So what do you say, Ms. Bennett? Think you can convert me?” He puts out his hand.
“Fine,” I say, taking it and giving it a hard shake. “But at least give this pageant a chance. Not just because it’s an obligation. Do it for the children.”
“I willtry,” he says, not letting go of my hand. “And if I don’t like Christmas after all this torture you’re going to put me through, at least there’s one bright side…”
“What’s that?” I ask, noticing he hasn’t let go of my hand yet.
His thumb brushes across my knuckles, sending electricity through my body. “You’re going to look amazing in my jersey.”
SIX
