19. Aaron

19

AARON

December

Early December brings a couple of hard losses for the Cyclones, but then back-to-back much-needed wins on the road—followed by a tie game with the D.C. Eagles on home ice.

It also brings colder weather, and approximately eighty million Christmas lights.

The entire city is aglow, lit up and festive, and I’m totally into it. Atlanta might not be as traditionally ‘Christmassy’ as my hometown up north, where you’re pretty much guaranteed a white Christmas, but it’s still a great place to be for the holidays. There’s something about carols on the radio, and cheerfully decorated storefronts, and Triple J arriving at practice every day wearing a different ugly holiday-themed sweater that makes things feel generally happy.

We’re winning more games, Olivia’s coming to the gala to outbid Brandi, and the holidays are upon us. A combination that makes me feel like everything might be okay.

And that’s the thought I cling to as I hold on for dear life to my grab handle in Dallas’s Ford F150. I’m riding shotgun and am terrified as my teammate takes the gravel roads at breakneck speed. It’s an almost ridiculous contrast to the cheerful, uplifting sounds of “Christmas Tree Farm” by Taylor Swift blasting through the truck’s speakers.

It was a Jimmy recommendation to “get us in the Christmas spirit for the day ahead.” And surprisingly, for the first time ever, Dallas agreed with him.

Despite the literal roller coaster we appear to be on, Jimmy is singing along from the middle of the backseat. He’s flanked by Seb and Jake, the latter looking less than impressed with the current choice of music and/or style of driving.

The truck hits another pothole—Dallas doesn’t even flinch—and I have a sudden fatherly urge to turn around and ask the guys in the back if they’re feeling carsick.

“How much further, Cooper?” I ask as I roll up the sleeves on my flannel shirt.

He lifts a shoulder. “‘Bout a half hour.”

“Great,” Jake mutters thickly.

“Baby, baby, Merry Christmasssss,” Jimmy sings.

Seb rubs his temples. “Whose idea was this again?”

“Mine.” I have to laugh. “Sorry, man.”

When Dallas randomly mentioned at practice this morning that his family owned a Christmas tree farm two hours out of the city, it caused a bit of an uproar. Apparently, our roguish teammate has been holding out on us about his most wholesome of upbringings. In fact, he made the place sound utterly idyllic.

After a lot of team teasing and ribbing about Dallas’s newly discovered soft side, I suggested we take a trip out there. Seb and Jimmy were up for it, and I dragged Jake along.

A “nice, peaceful drive down some country roads” (as Dallas described it) sounded like the perfect way to spend my afternoon. I need a Christmas tree for my living room anyway, and we might as well support the Cooper family business.

Plus, I was happy to distract myself from the nervous energy gathering in my body…

Later today, Olivia will be moving in with me.

“As terrible as Cooper’s driving is, I’m kind of stoked,” Seb says with a smile. “Christmas is my new favorite holiday, and Maddie’s excited for a real pine tree.”

“My driving is spectacular, Slater.” Dallas turns to peer at Seb from over the top of his sunglasses. “And I’ll have you know that you’re gonna get there in record time, thanks to my superior skills behind the wheel.”

As he says this, we hit another huge pothole, and Jake groans as he whacks his head on the window. “Watch the road, you idiot. I’d like to get to the farm alive, if that’s okay with you and your superior driving.”

“Play nice, Griz,” I interject in my best ‘captain’ voice.

“I could drive this road in my sleep,” Dallas replies lazily as he drapes an arm over the steering wheel. “Speaking of sleep, I got very little last night.”

“TMI,” Jake grumbles.

“Actually, it’s not. I met a gorgeous brunette at a party and we stayed up late talking.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” I smirk.

He shakes his head. “I swear, it was entirely innocent.”

“I once spent all night talking to a woman about meteoroid strikes,” Jimmy informs us.

“Sounds… riveting,” Seb says dryly.

“So, what’s the story?” I ask Dallas. He isn’t the type to brag about his conquests or dish dirt on women or anything. We may rag on him for his reputation, but he’s a super decent guy. But it is unusual for him to bring up a woman he simply talked to.

“I might see her again tonight. Do something chill seeing as we have a game tomorrow.” He fiddles with Spotify until Michael Bublé croons at us. Apparently I’m not the only one with a soft spot for the festive season. “You doing anything later, bro? You seemed a bit distracted earlier at practice.”

I glance at Jake. “Well, I’m getting a roomie today.”

Honestly, ever since we came to our little agreement just over a week ago, I’ve been waiting for her to get cold feet and call it off. What an absolute turn-up for the books.

I can hardly believe she said yes to my plan in the first place, and the thought of her being in such close proximity is making me feel a whole lot of ways.

So much so, that I figured that a trip out to the farm this afternoon would kill two birds with one stone: give me a distraction until I have to pick her and her stuff up, and give me a reason to decorate my place for Christmas so it’s warm and welcoming when she arrives.

Jake harrumphs from the backseat. “Right. Let me know if you need help moving her in.”

Triple J claps his hands. “That’s right, today’s the day! I love Olivia. You two are going to have so much fun.”

“We’re not teenage girls having a sleepover, J.”

“You better not be having any sleepovers,” Jake adds darkly.

“Oooh,” Seb whistles. “Watch out or you’ll end up loved up and locked down, Marino.”

“I think I’m the last man alive that Olivia would like to ‘love up,’” I reply with a snort. “I just need this Brandi thing to blow over, which Olivia is helping me with.”

The gala is days away now, and the guys are all aware of my plan to stop Brandi from winning a date with me. Explaining the situation to Jake, in particular, wasn’t that bad in the end—he also thought it best that a woman who wasn’t interested in me should bid on me at the auction, and agreed that Olivia fit the bill perfectly.

When it came to telling him that, in exchange, Olivia would be living at my place for the next month, he seemed more concerned. He didn’t seem to know how bad things truly were at Olivia’s apartment and said she should just come stay with him.

I mentioned that she didn’t want to crash his holiday plans with Sofia’s family, and he got quiet for a moment before he gave a jerk of a nod.

“She usually spends Christmas alone,” he said.

Which might have at least partly fueled my desire to cut down a tree today. The thought of her in my house, alone, over the holidays is a little weird, but if that’s how she prefers to celebrate Christmas, I might as well make it as festive for her as possible.

“Word of warning,” Seb says, leaning forward to clap me on the arm. “I didn’t want a girlfriend either, but then I met Maddie, and in the space of twelve months, I ended up with a wife and a son.”

Jake guffaws loudly. “Yeah, but Maddie actually liked you. Liv and Aaron can hardly stand each other, always been that way. Right, Marino?”

“Right,” I agree, chuckling along with the others.

But that’s not exactly true. I like Olivia, always have.

I just really like getting a rise out of her.

“We’re here!” Dallas whoops, swerving left onto a beautiful driveway lined with pine trees, all of which are aglow with colored fairy lights.

We soon pull up in front of the cutest place I’ve ever seen—and believe me, I don’t usually think of things like tree farms as cute. But this place is storybook adorable, with a whitewashed cottage glowing with Christmas lights, a life-size nativity scene staged in the gardens, and a legitimate candy cane lane that seemingly leads to the area where you cut down your own tree.

As we stumble out of the truck on shaky sea legs—thanks to Dallas’s driving—and gather to begin the grand tour of the Cooper Christmas Tree Farm, I slip my phone out of my pocket to see that Olivia has texted.

On my way to O’Hare. Flight’s on time, and it shouldn’t take me long to get home and grab my stuff. I should be at your place around 9pm.

You ready for a serious roommate upgrade or what?

Her reply comes through almost immediately.

It’s definitely a living space upgrade… the company, I’m not so sure about.

I can purchase some bagpipes if that would make you feel more at home.

Or wear your underwear.

I could’ve happily gotten through my entire life without that particular mental image.

I’m just illustrating how much better of a roommate I’ll be, that’s all

Okay, okay, it’s a roommate upgrade, too. Although I’ll never admit to saying that.

Glad to hear it, because I’m pulling out all the stops to win Roommate of the Year over here. I even made up the master bedroom for you.

I first figured that she would sleep in a guest room, but then realized that one of them has all of my hockey stuff in it—jerseys, framed photos on the walls, memorabilia, and so on—while the other one is chock-full of my crochet projects.

As hilarious as the thought was, I knew Olivia would not enjoy staying in a room basically enshrining my career, nor a menagerie of half-finished crochet animals. And so I came to the conclusion, unbelievably, that giving her the master would involve the least amount of work.

After moving my things to the shrine room, I made up the master bedroom for her with fresh sheets. It’s got a huge California King bed and an even huger ensuite bathroom with a steam shower that could probably fit half my hockey team in it (as alarming a thought as that is). I’m sure she’ll appreciate the space and privacy after what sounds like a dumpster-fire apartment experience.

My phone rings, and I step away from the group to answer it. “Hello?”

“You don’t need to give me your bedroom!”

“Hello to you too, Olivia. Nice to speak with you this fine afternoon.”

“I have no time for small talk,” she grumbles, sounding not unlike her brother. “I don’t need the master. I’ll happily take a guest room. Seriously.”

“Awh, come on. I thought you’d enjoy sleeping in my bed.” I smirk, unable to help myself from prodding at her a little. “My thousand thread-count sheets are an experience everyone needs to have at least once in their lives. After all, they are used to pure physical perfection sleeping on them.”

“Are you really bragging about how many women you’ve bedded, Marino?” Her tone is positively scandalized, and my smile widens.

“I told you to get your mind out of that gutter, Lil Griz.” I keep my voice low. “I was talking about myself, actually.”

There’s a long beat of silence. “I don’t know how you even get out of bed in the morning with an ego that inflated. Surely, it’s incredibly heavy to carry around.”

“Keeps me in that perfect shape you were just talking about.”

“I…” She makes a snorting sound, then erupts into laughter. “I can’t with you. You’re the worst.”

“See, you keep my ego in check. We’ll be the best roommates ever.”

“We’ll be something, all right.” Her tone is dripping with sarcasm, but even with the distance between us, I can tell that she’s smiling.

“See you later, Olivia. ”

“Not if I see you first, Aaron .”

Laughing, I end the call, now almost excited for her to move in.

This Christmas season is sure going to be interesting.