Hockey Holidays Read online

  “Okay, sure.” This seemed like a reasonable trade.

  Ian grinned. All his smiles looked dirty. “Might be expensive though.”

  “Really?” Em started searching on her phone.

  He watched over her shoulder. He was close enough that she could feel the heat of his body and smell his post-game sweatiness. Yuck.

  “I want club seats too. Gotta make all this torture worth my while.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Oh my gosh. Who pays prices like that for hockey tickets?”

  “Leafs fans. Besides you’ve got the fancy-ass government job. You can afford it.”

  Em did have a good job at the Bank of Canada. But that didn’t mean she had a thousand bucks to burn. Once more, she pondered whether this was worth it. And she’d have to spend several days with Ian. The way he pressed all her buttons, she’d be lucky to escape the holidays without manslaughter charges.

  She conjured up an image of Thomas. For their first date, they attended a movie at the ByTowne Cinema, her favourite indie movie house. He was worth a little sacrifice.

  “Okay, well, do I have to get two tickets? It’s not like I’m a Leafs fan.”

  “What kind of girlfriend gets her boyfriend a solo ticket for Christmas?” Ian asked.

  One that doesn’t really like her boyfriend, Em thought. “Aren’t you from around here? How come you don’t cheer for the Sens?”

  “Came by it honestly. My granddad was a diehard Leafs fan.” Ian grinned and then draped an arm over Em. “So, when does all this relationship stuff start? Maybe we can practice tonight.”

  Em gently removed Ian’s muscular arm. “Thank you so much for doing this. But it’s a pretend relationship.” Now she sounded like a kindergarten kid.

  She consulted her calendar. “Would it be okay with you if we drove down on December 24th? And if we go to the game on the 26th, we can come back the next morning. Because I’m sure you’re going to be drinking a lot at the game.”

  He held up a hand. “Yeah, we need to get one more thing straight. I’ll do this, but I’m not your lapdog. You don’t get to tell me how much to drink or what to wear or any shit like that.”

  Em shook her head. “Don’t change a thing, Ian. You’re perfect exactly as you are.”

  A total jerk.

  3. Slow Ride

  “I don’t know why we’re not taking my car,” Em complained. She was a bucket of fun this morning. First, she’d made Ian turn up the heat so her hedgehog—yes, a goddamn hedgehog—wouldn’t get a chill. Then she complained that he was driving too fast, and now she didn’t like the country music he was playing. Country music was about love and genuine emotion. Chicks should be all over that.

  “My truck, my tunes,” Ian said. “And don’t forget, I’m doing you a huge fucking favour here.”

  He’d almost spit out his entire beer when Em asked him over for Christmas. She was a huge snob who always made him feel stupid. Since their best friends were married, he and Em got thrown together regularly. And now she’d cooked up some scheme to pave the way for her next big relationship.

  If she asked him, Ian could tell her exactly how to fix her love life.

  Step one: take the big honking stick out of her ass and relax.

  Step two: stop dating little boys.

  Ian had played hockey with her ex, Lucas. Most indecisive guy on the ice. He had some skills, but he analyzed the game too much. Too many set plays and all this “team identity” shit. Ian had played high-level hockey for years. If you want to play a certain way, you have to pick the players that fit that style, and then practice the hell out of them. You can’t tell a bunch of beer-leaguers to do complex shit. And what kind of name was Lucas? Luke was a hockey name. He was an idiot, and the team was better off without his yammering. And Em was better off too. Lucas probably wasted time analyzing which one of her fine tits he should suck on first to maximize his pleasure. Sex or hockey, it was all better when you reacted in the moment.

  Ian shifted in his seat. He couldn’t start thinking about Em’s body when she was sitting this close to him for the next four hours. As irritating as she was, she was really cute. A pretty face with big brown eyes, brown hair done up fancy, and perfect skin. And that body, holy shit. A body like that was wasted on someone so uptight.

  Whenever Em gave him a semi, Ian had a trick to ease his pain: he picked a fight with her. Magically, his cock softened the moment she began bitching.

  “So, where are your little lists?” he asked.

  Em turned to him. “What little lists?”

  “I don’t know. Those things you always have. You had them at Mase and Abby’s wedding. Covered with your stupid to-do lists.”

  “Oh, my index cards.” Em reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of colourful cards clipped together with a pink bulldog clamp.

  Ian shook his head. Everything she owned looked like the scrapbooking aisle in Michael’s—a place where his last girlfriend forced him to spend too much time. “Yeah, pull out the ones that have my script on them.”

  “Your script?” Her eyes opened wide, and her pink lips parted. Damn. He shifted position again.

  “I’m sure you’ve already planned all the shit I’m supposed to say, how many puppies I have to kick, and when I’m allowed to take a piss.”

  “Why are you so vulgar?” Em asked. Now she was getting mad. Good thing, because it was tough to drive with this third leg.

  “If I started getting all prissy on a job site, guys would wonder what the fuck was wrong with me. Let’s hear you swear.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because you can’t do it. You’d be stammering so long on the F that you couldn’t finish the rest.”

  “Okay. Damn. Happy now?” she said.

  “Damn is like baby swearing,” Ian replied. “Say, ‘fuck.’” Or better still, fuck me, daddy.

  Jesus fucking Christ, he needed to stop thinking dirty about Em. She was bossy and too intense. The only problem was when she was joking around with Abby or Mase, Ian could see the fun side of Em. A relaxed, happy Em would be dangerous.

  He could tell by the tight pinch of her lips that she wasn’t going to say another swear word. In fact, she looked ready to tear a strip off of him. Then she swallowed and took a deep breath. He could almost see the thought bubble above her head: Ian is helping me, so I must be nice to him. For three days, Em had to be sweet to him. This was going to be more fun than he realized.

  “Well, I did put together a little game for us to get to know each other. I found these questions on a relationship website.”

  If he rolled his eyes any higher, he wouldn’t be able to see the road. “We already know each other. We’ve known each other for years.”

  “How can you say that? We never talk when we’re together.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Ian asked.

  “Yours,” declared Em. “Because you’re so...” Her voice trailed off, and she took a deep breath again. She probably had a mantra written on a blue index card: Before you get mad, take a deep breath. She shuffled her index cards. “Okay, maybe you’re right. I can skip the superficial questions and get right to the more serious ones. First off, if your life was a book, what would the title be?”

  “The Joy of Sex,” said Ian.

  Em scowled. “Take this seriously.”

  “I take sex very seriously. That’s something you should know if we’re dating.” He grinned. “You know, a girlfriend of mine would never look like you do right now.”

  She touched her cheeks. “How do I look?”

  “Sour. Unsatisfied.”

  “From what I’ve seen, your girlfriends run the gamut of emotions from A to B. Stunned is their normal look.”

  Ian wasn’t quite sure what Em meant, but he knew it was a diss. “You’re jealous, I’m sure. But don’t worry, this holiday is your big chance with the Reed-man.”

  “Men who speak of themselves in the third person are beyond ridiculous.”

  Perfect, h