Chapter 8

"Fucking, Lake," I mutter as my snowshoes crunch through the snowbanks, my breath puffing out in little white clouds.

Jolie, walking next to me, her breathing much steadier than mine—even though I'm supposed to be the professional athlete—giggles.

She would.

Considering the sendoff Lake just gave us.

That's the worst part about playing for the Sierra. South Lake has all the vibes of a small town—especially for those of us who live here year round. Tourists come and go, but…hockey players stick together.

Or at least, that's what my teammate has just threatened as we crunch through the snow, finding the trailhead of the path that leads up from the shore and into the trees. It's not far from the little bar where we love to hang out, tucked away in a quieter corner of the lake and away from most of those pesky tourists.

The ones that pay my salary, since they're a big part of the reason the games are sold out.

That aside, I glare at Lake as he continues busting my balls, calling over his shoulder, pretending to head toward the rental kiosk, "I'll be right there to chaperone you two!"

"If that fucker actually rents snowshoes…" I grumble as I turn back toward the trail.

Jolie giggles again, stepping close enough to lean against my side, mouth curved and tempting, and I give in to the urge…

I kiss that smile, taste her giggles, take advantage of the fact that we're here.

Together.

In the daylight. On an actual date.

As in, we're going to spend some time together, grab a bite to eat (that I'm going to pay for), and then we both have a free evening.

Something that's a freaking miracle.

It's been a week since we sat on this very beach beneath the moonlight, a week since I tasted her for the first time, and aside from me stopping by Jolie's Salon (I applaud her for keeping the name simple) and stealing five minutes between clients with her, most of our time together has been on the phone.

Which is good in a way.

I know about her family and her dreams. I know she's planning to take a vacation to Hawaii in the summer (something I plan to talk my way into). I know that she wants a dog but is worried she's too busy for one, not to mention her condo didn't allow pets.

Something else I'm working on.

Because I have a house.

And a big yard.

With plenty of space for a dog.

But she knows about me too—about my parents and my sisters, about shuttling from team to team until I made my place here with the Sierra. She knows that my favorite time of day is the quiet of night, hours after a game, when the adrenaline is just starting to fade.

She knows me.

And I know her.

So, yeah, this date, the first official one we're having—as weird as that feels—is important.

So my teammate saying he's going to join us…as ridiculous as that is, as much as I know he's just busting my balls…I'm still feeling protective of this time.

Okay, possessive.

Or maybe it's because the sleeve on Jolie's sweatshirt is pushed up, her bright pink cast on display, and?—

Lake's fucking signature dominating the space.

I growl again, just thinking about my annoying ass teammate touching my woman, though the razor's edge of my anger is tempered when she giggles again, by the blip of amusement I see in her eyes when I glance up.

"That bad, huh?" she teases, navigating the bumpy terrain easily.

Something I'm concerned about, considering she's doing it with a broken hand.

Not that the cast seems to stop her from doing anything—something I've learned over the last couple of weeks.

Even with my shit schedule.

Even with the crunch time that comes from the playoffs closing in.

Even with all the demands Jolie had on her time, her salon over-booked because Christmas is only a couple of days away.

Thus, we haven't spent a lot of one-on-one time together.

I don't want Lake Jordan horning in on my time.

Asshole.

Who I have begrudging respect for.

And who I like—I suppose—considering he's one of a handful of guys focused on the job and not the drama in the locker room or squeezing everything they can get out of their teammates.

The Sierra are competitive.

Formidable enemies on the ice.

But we don't have what it takes to get the Cup.

Ultimately, we're fractured.

And I'm not the one to bring us together.

I have the feeling that Lake has the necessary leadership skills, but he hasn't displayed them anywhere other than the scoreboard yet.

Time will tell.

In the meantime, I'll play my ass off, do my best, and try to make sure my life off the ice is as fulfilled as possible.

Jolie slows down as we reach the top of the hill, the backpack she refused to let me carry bouncing against her back. My ego feels better to see she's breathing a little heavy, but I'm a little annoyed that she refused to let me carry it for her.

Deciding to do something about that, I snag it from her shoulders, guiding it off her back, careful of her cast.

"Leo—"

"What do I have these big shoulders for, if I'm not here to carry stuff?" I sling the bag onto my back, surprised by the weight of it.

She narrows her eyes, but her lips are curved and she keeps moving forward, following the trail and not calling me on my pushy ways. We hike deep into the woods, talking about nothing important—TV shows and where we want to eat dinner—but at the same time, building those important pieces. The connections. The commonalities. The ties that bind us together.

It's cold and getting colder, the air on my cheeks as we move making my skin feel tight, but my body is warm when we finally reach a clearing and pause.

"This is perfect," she says, reaching for the backpack, mock glare on her face as she tugs it down my shoulders.

"Perfect for what?" I ask.

She smiles, shakes her head, and sets the backpack down.

Next thing I know, she's spreading a blanket on the ground, sitting on it, unclipping her snowshoes, and patting the space beside her.

I walk over to her, take off my snowshoes, then plunk down next to her. "What's up, sweetheart?" I ask.

"This," she says with a smile, digging into the backpack again and passing me a box wrapped in cheerful Christmas paper.

"I—" My teeth click together.

It's not Christmas. Not for a few days. And…I don't have anything for her.

"What's this?" I ask, stomach sinking.

"An early Christmas present."

"Sweetheart."

She touches my cheek. "Don't get all growly. Just open it."

I am feeling growly. Mostly because this has taken me by surprise and I'm the asshole without a gift, but I ignore that feeling, start tearing at the paper.

Revealing…a telescope.

"It's silly," she says quickly. "It's just a kids' toy, but I saw it in town and you mentioned that you like looking at the stars after your games. I thought that maybe?—"

My heart convulses hard, and I gently trace my fingers over the writing on the front.

"Maybe," she says again, words still coming in a rush, "you'd want to try it out. I know it's daytime?—"

I set the box carefully to the side.

"But you can still see some stuff—I Googled it, I promise—and we're up high enough that you have a clear view of the—ack!"

I pounce, rolling us, pinning her back to the blanket, all the lush curves of her beneath me.

I mentioned one time about the stars and she bought me…

"Toby is a fucking idiot," I say, leaning down and kissing her with everything in my heart. "Because you're fucking amazing."

She inhales.

I trace that gorgeous mouth, her lips reddened from my kiss. "But," I chastise, "I can't believe you brought me out here when I don't have a present for you."

"Leo," she begins.

I narrow my eyes.

Her mouth quirks and it's a fucking beautiful thing. "You still have time."

I do.

And I am going to make it epic.

"But…"

She shifts below me, digging into the pocket of her sweatshirt and I push up, see she's holding something small in my direction.

A Sharpie.

"This is I want for Christmas," she says.

My eyes flick up, catch hers, which are dancing with humor.

"What?" I ask.

"Will you sign my cast?" She lifts said fiberglass conglomeration and taps Lake's scrawled out name.

"I think there's room right here."