Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Leighton laughs, but she shoots me a supportive grin as she addresses the group: “I’ll say this in his defense—Rowan’s always been good at posing for pics.”
Ha. There. “See?” I tell my teammates. “I’m a goddamn ray of sunshine.”
Leighton motions for me to stand next to Tyler and Miles. She snaps the shot, and Tyler chimes in, “We’ll need that shot for posterity.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Before and after,” he says cryptically.
My Spidey senses tingle, but before I can pursue the topic, the auctioneer raps her gavel, signaling the start of the auction.
I turn my attention to the stage. The head of the team’s charitable endeavors steps up, explaining how all proceeds from tonight’s annual Nutcracker Auction will benefit animal rescue organizations, local libraries, and the children’s hospital.
Servers circulate with drinks, and I opt for a punch as she starts listing the auction items. Some are downright horrifying, like Christmas cookie-baking lessons and front-row seats at the Evergreen Falls Christmas Ice Show. But Christmas carolers for hire? Now, that’s a dastardly idea. I could send them to serenade the New York defenseman I hate when he’s in town to play us next month.
Imagine a baritone belting out “Good King Wenceslas” outside his hotel room late the night before a big game.
Yeah, grabbing the paddle from my back pocket, I bid on that one, making my nefarious dreams come true with the top bid.
The next item is a night in a festive cabin—complete with twinkle lights and hot tub access. That one stings, dragging me back to the plans I once made for Mia’s mom five Christmases ago. But I shove the thoughts of the worst day of my life far, far away. I’m not that guy anymore—the guy who believed in happily ever after. I’m a practical guy, a responsible guy, one who looks out for his teammates and his family.
When the women’s hockey tickets come up, I place the winning bid. I’ll take Mom and Dad, the rest of my family, and of course, Mia.
And when the Christmas train ride comes up?
I raise my paddle and bid, winning that too.
There. I’ve done my part. Jason should be thrilled with my generosity, and Mia will be ecstatic about the train. That’s all that matters.
I down some punch—it’s unexpectedly decent. But it’s not a huge surprise that Isla would have the perfect punch recipe in her back pocket.
Just as I’m about to relax, the auctioneer introduces the next item: Find your mistletoe love.
I scan the room, spotting Isla’s shiny chestnut waves at the front of the crowd. The auctioneer introduces the item, going on about Cupid Confidante’s success, about how the popular dating podcaster used her platform as a springboard to bring love to so many others. Yeah, I was kind of an ass for saying this auction item was pointless, but I still don’t know who the hell would want a holiday romance that’ll turn to ashes quicker than the Yule log.
“Do we have an opening bid?”
A smug smile creeps onto my face as only a couple paddles go up. A woman bids five hundred dollars. Another bids a thousand. Bet it doesn’t go any higher.
Yup, love will bite you in the ass like a spider monkey, and everyone here knows it.
Then, in the lull after the last bid, a very familiar voice calls out:
“Ten thousand dollars.”
I whip my head to stare at the man next to me, holding up his paddle. As in, Tyler. What the hell? He’s here with Sabrina. His mom’s happily married too. Why would he want this package?
Then, Miles chimes in, telling the auctioneer, “The bid is from both of us.”
So…maybe it’s a gift for someone, like their sister? It has to be.
The auctioneer glances around the room. “Can anyone top ten thousand?”
Silence. No one lifts a paddle.
She bangs her gavel with finality. “Sold to Miles and Tyler Falcon!”
“Who’s that for?” I ask them. “Charlie?”
They shake their heads, laughing softly and looking way too pleased. Those knowing grins are back, amplified by a thousand. No. By ten thousand.
Miles looks like he just nailed a game-winning goal and claps a heavy hand on my shoulder as Leighton comes up next to him, lifts her camera, and snaps a pic.
“You, Rowan,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement. “It’s for you.”
I’d be less stunned if Santa himself slid down a chimney right now.
4
THE TEAM INTERVENTION
ROWAN
“I’m waiting,” I say, crossing my arms. We moved to the hotel bar thirty minutes ago, and I still haven’t gotten an explanation from these clowns.
Like, what the hell was that ambush?
“And you’re so patient,” Miles says, signaling to the bartender. “But this calls for a drink.”
The bartender wears a ridiculous Santa hat, tipped to the side, and a too-cool-for-school vest. He presents me with a glass garnished with a sprig of rosemary.
“Our best Macallan, Christmas-tree style, courtesy of your friends,” he announces, nodding to Miles and Tyler.