Page 86 of Holiday Interference
“I can’t help it.” My voice is low, thick. “You’re wearing my favorite color.”
“And what color is that?”
I lean in, brushing my lips just under her ear. “Yours.”
Her breath catches. God, I love that sound.
The party is already in full swing—music pulsing from the surround speakers, crystal glasses clinking, team guys and staff scattered in small groups across the sleek space.
Sloane lifts her glass in greeting from the other side of the room without breaking stride in her conversation with an older gentleman. Maddox is next to her, quietly watching everything.
Still, it’s weird being here, beinginvited.
Part of me keeps waiting for someone to call me out—ask what the hell a third-line rookie is doing standing in the home of the team owner and her star goalie.
But no one blinks.
Finn’s already making a beeline toward us, hair a mess, shirt half-untucked like he got dressed in the dark and still managed to look like he belongs on a billboard.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” he says, draping himself around my shoulders like we’re prom dates. “Jesus, Reid, what are you feeding this woman? She’s glowing.”
Noelle laughs, brushing him off with a practiced ease that makes me think she’s finally stopped being surprised by Finn’s existence.
“She glows all on her own,” I say, meaning every damn word.
Finn whistles and backs off with both hands in the air like I just brandished a shotgun. “Damn, rookie. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Neither did I,” I murmur once he’s gone, and Noelle just squeezes my hand tighter.
We weave through the room slowly, stopping to say hi to Jace—who nods once, that captain energy even in a charcoal sweater—and Beau, who’s got a date I don’t recognize.
Riley’s already had a few, clearly, based on how loud he’s being near the bar. Eli and Logan are talking near the windows, dressed like they just walked off a magazine cover.
I barely notice any of them.
Because she’s here with me. Holding my hand like she’s not going anywhere.
We pause near the dessert spread. There’s chocolate truffles and a sign shaped like a snake that readsThe Pit’s Top Shelf Bubblyin front of a tower of champagne coupes.
Her eyes light up at the sparkle. “This is so extra.”
“You love it.”
She laughs. “I really do.”
I’d never admit it to the guys, but I’m getting used to this version of my life—cleaner, warmer, touched with glitter and holiday lights. Mostly because it comes with her.
“You want champagne?” I ask, already reaching for two glasses.
She nods, but her voice softens. “Only if you’ll toast with me.”
“To what?”
Noelle lifts her glass to mine. “To surprise interference.”
I huff a laugh and clink. “I’ll drink to that.”
It’s close to midnight when I pull her out onto the terrace.
