Christmas in the City II

by Samantha Chase

  The way he says my name… I feel the heat rise into my cheeks, and I look down at my empty plate—well, empty except for the pizza crust. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” We both look around the room and see that everyone is finished eating their lunch. “So what’s for desert?”

  7

  The day was a complete success. The kids all had a fantastic time and couldn’t stop talking about how awesome their new friends were and how much fun the build-your-own cupcake station was. They all looked adorable at dismissal time with big smiles on their faces, proudly toting their gingerbread houses. Parents oohed and aahed appropriately, wishing me a happy holiday break as they picked up their kids.

  All I wanted to do when I got home was crack open a bottle of wine and chill out on the couch, but Dean and Aaron had other plans. After helping me get my classroom back in order, they invited me to dinner. I’d wanted to decline and stay home with my wine, but how often did I get to spend time with my big bro anymore?

  At least that’s what I was telling myself. It had nothing to do with Aaron. Nothing at all.

  So here I am, dressed in tight-fitting jeans and a cream sweater with brown knee-high boots, putting the finishing touches on my face. I always went with natural colors on my eyes and cheeks, light mascara, and soft pink lip gloss. I like a clean, not caked-on, look.

  They’re picking me up, and we’re heading over to Betty’s so Aaron can see what the fuss is all about. Apparently Dean has been talking up Betty’s breakfasts to him. Too bad we’re going for dinner, although all their dishes are amazing.

  At 5:00 on the dot, my doorbell rings. It’s got to be Aaron as Dean would have barged right in since he has a key. A kaleidoscope of butterflies take flight in my stomach as I turn off my bathroom light and make my way to the door.

  I open the door and there he is. He looks…wow. He’s wearing dark jeans and a dark blue sweater that makes his light blue eyes pop. And that smile…

  “Wow,” he says, echoing my thoughts. “You look beautiful, Brenna.”

  I blush, not used to being complimented. Let’s face it, it’s been a while since I’ve been with a guy in a dating capacity—three years to be exact—and when every guy in your small hometown knows who your brother is, there are no takers. Not a one.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly. “Let me just grab my coat and purse and I’ll be ready.”

  He nods and I step aside to let him in. My cottage is small, just like it sounds. The front door opens right into a small foyer off the living room, straight back is the kitchen and dining area, and to the right are my bedroom and home office. It’s about one thousand square feet, but it’s cozy; it’s home, and I bought it with my own money—so it’s all mine.

  “Nice place,” he says, looking around.

  “Thanks. I’d give you a tour, but this is about it,” I say, waving my arm around.

  “It’s cozy. I like the fireplace.”

  I smile. “It’s what sold me on the place. Nothing like a nice, hot fire on a cold, wintry night.” Jeez, do I hear myself?

  I pull my jacket off the hook by the door and Aaron helps me put it on. Quite the gentleman. I murmur another “thanks” and grab my clutch purse off the coffee table. He holds the door for me and waits while I lock up, then walks me to the car with his hand on the small of my back. Even through my thick coat my body tingles at his touch.

  Aaron opens the front passenger side door for me, and I refuse. “Your legs are much longer than mine. Please, you sit in the front.”

  His eyes skim my body from my head to my toes as if assessing the length of my legs, and leaving a trail of heat in their wake. This guy is going to be the death of me. He makes me so hot, I bet the snow around us is melting. He smirks, as if he can read my mind, and then opens the back door. I scoot inside, avoiding his gaze.

  “It’s about damn time,” Dean says from the driver’s seat after Aaron is seated and shuts his door. “You do realize it’s like thirty degrees outside, right?”

  “Quit being such a sissy,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. For an ice hockey player, he’s a bit of a baby when it comes to cold temperatures.

  “I’m not the one taking her time getting in the car.”

  “No. You’re the one sitting all comfy in the heat while your friend goes to get your sister.”

  “I was going to, but he offered.”

  Hm, I’ll file that little bit of information away to overanalyze later. “Whatever. Let’s go. I have a date tonight.”

  Aaron whips his head around. “You have a date?” I’ll file that away for later, too.

  “With who?” Dean asks, big brother mode fully activated.

  “With a nice Colorado Riesling. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat so I can get back to it. I don’t want to keep it waiting.”

  Dean rolls his eyes, and Aaron laughs. “You know, they say wine gets better with age.”

  “Yeah, well, I get cranky without wine, so think about that.”

  “Noted,” he chuckles and faces forward again.

  The diner is close, so we arrive quickly. Over a dinner of some of the best comfort foods on the planet, the guys talk about the team and how their season is going. It’s still early, but they’re doing really well, and it seems Aaron has fit right in. From what he’d mentioned earlier today about his team as a kid, I wonder if fitting in was a concern of his when he joined the Blizzard.

  I learn his previous team released him at the end of his contract last season while he was on the injured reserve for a broken wrist. He fought his way back onto the ice and obviously proved himself if the Blizzard signed him. Apparently the Blizzard had an opening on their roster due to another defensive player being called up to the NHL at the beginning of the season. The conversation is easy and light, and I find myself wishing the guys didn’t have a game tomorrow so we can hang out all night.

  After Dean pulls into my driveway, Aaron walks me to my door. I curse myself for not turning the outside light on before I’d left. He uses the flashlight feature on his cell phone to help me see as I unlock the door. When he turns it off, we’re shrouded in darkness since the headlights from Dean’s car point towards the woods behind the house.

  “Are you coming to our game tomorrow?” he asks, his breath coming out in barely visible puffs of white air.

  “I was thinking about it,” I tell him. I hadn’t been thinking about it. Not at all. But for him…I might.

  “I’d like it if you came. I’ll leave a few tickets for you at will call.”

  I don’t tell him that I don’t need him to do that since my family has season tickets. I don’t tell him because right after he says it, he leans in and gives me a soft, lingering kiss on my cheek. As I stand there, frozen over what just happened, he smiles, tucks a loose hair behind my ear, says a quick goodnight and takes off for the car.

  It isn’t until I hear the car door shut and the crunching of tires over the snow that I shake myself out of my daze and enter my house. I lean back against the closed door and sigh, feeling a part of myself that’s been frozen for three years start to thaw.

  What is Aaron Davis doing to me?

  8

  For the game Saturday night, I dress in jeans, sneakers, a long sleeve t-shirt, and a Blizzard hoodie. It gets cold in the arena, so I always dress warmly. My parents are attending the holiday party for my father’s software company, so I head to Boulder solo. It’s times like these I wish Bailey lived here instead of in California. But the girl can’t stand the cold Colorado winters. I had to listen to her bitch about it for four years.

  I park in the lot and trek to the arena with all the other fans decked out in their Blizzard gear. I brought my season pass with me just in case, but I head for will call to see if the seats Aaron reserved for me are better.

  When it’s my turn, I approach the window and tell the clerk my name. She smiles and prints out my ticket, then reaches below the counter and pulls out a giant
gift bag. She slides the ticket through the small opening, then walks over to the door at the side of the booth and hands me the bag.

  “You’re a lucky lady,” she says.

  I smile and thank her, wondering what the heck Aaron is up to.

  I look at the ticket in my hand. Floor seats, right on the ice. Definitely better than my season pass, so I tuck that away and step out of the way of the line so I can see what’s in the bag. I reach in and pull out a Blizzard ball cap. I put it on my head and pull my ponytail through the opening in the back. I reach back in the bag and the next thing that comes out is one of those giant foam fingers with Aaron’s number seven on it. I shake my head, someone’s a little full of himself. The last item in the bag is a jersey, also number seven with “DAVIS” across the back. Okay, so he’s a lot full of himself. I think about it for a moment, then figure what the heck. I pull off my hoodie and put the jersey on. It’s a perfect fit.

  I put my hoodie in the bag with the foam finger and get in line to have my ticket scanned. My bag is checked by the attendant, and then I’m let in to the crisp, cool arena. I take a deep breath, loving the smell of the ice. It never gets old and always fills me with adrenaline for the upcoming game. Since the hockey season coincides with the school year, I don’t get to make it to enough of Dean’s games, so I cherish the few times I do get to watch my brother play the game he loves.

  The teams are warming up when I take my seat and a server comes by asking if I’d like anything to eat or drink. A girl can get used to this. I order a hot dog with all the fixings, nachos, and a beer. Some might think it’s overpriced and disgusting, but I love the food at sporting events. There’s just something about it.

  I look out on the ice and my eyes immediately find Dean, number thirty-one, taking a shot on goal. Owens, the Blizzard’s goalie, blocks it, then shoots the puck back out towards center ice for the next player. A knock on the glass to my left startles me and there’s a smiling Aaron. He points to my chest—his jersey, rather—and gives me a thumbs up, or what I would guess to be a thumbs up given his chunky gloves.

  I smile and mouth “thanks.” He winks and skates away.

  The woman behind me sighs. “You’re a lucky lady,” she tells me.

  “So I’ve been told,” I say, smiling over my shoulder at her.

  “Are you two dating?” Her friend asks, and I roll my eyes, facing the rink again. I’d spotted these two as I was walking to my seat and immediately identified them as quintessential puck bunnies in their tight pants and low cut blouses. Surely they were freezing, but they didn’t care. They were here for one reason and one reason only: to try to mate with guys on the team.

  I almost tell them the truth, that no, we’re not dating. But this territorial feeling comes over me, and I can’t make my mouth form the words. No, Aaron isn’t mine, but I sort of like him, and I think he might sort of like me. If he hooks up with one of these puck bunnies, then it’s game over for us, and we haven’t even started yet. I don’t want their sloppy seconds. Not saying Aaron hasn’t gotten some puck bunny action before, but that was in the past. That wasn’t Blizzard puck bunny. That was some other city’s puck bunny. So I respond with a shy smile and a non-committal shrug.

  “You are so lucky!” One of the bunnies says dreamily.

  “I know,” I agree as I watch the players skate off the ice. Just before he steps off, number seven gives me a small wave and despite the chill in the air, my cheeks flush.

  I tune out the puck bunnies as I watch the Zamboni smooth the surface of the ice. No matter how many times I’ve seen it done, it’s always fascinating to see the slate cleaned. The server comes back with my food and drinks and I dig in, planning to devour most of it before the game starts.

  When the puck drops at the start of the first, I’m at full attention. The Blizzard take possession and skate fiercely down the ice. Dean is in on the play, so I’m cheering loudly for him. Miller, the center, passes the puck to Dean, and he shoots and scores. The arena erupts in cheers, and I’m on my feet, banging on the glass with the rest of them.

  Dean skates by on his way to the bench, sees me, then backs up and gives me a funny look. I raise my hands as if to ask “what?” and he points to my jersey.

  Oops.

  I bite my lip and give him a shrug. He shakes his head and skates off.

  “You know Dean Hunter, too?” Puck Bunny One asks.

  “He’s my brother,” I tell her, and immediately regret it, afraid she’ll follow me home or something equally disturbing.

  “Seriously…so lucky,” Puck Bunny Two says.

  Play resumes, and this time the opposing team, the Saint Louis Strikers, have the puck. Aaron is on the ice, and I’m thrilled to finally see him in action. He and Jameson, the other defenseman, guard the Blizzard goal until Aaron gets the opportunity to shoot the puck down the ice to the Blizzard’s center. He takes off down the ice and scores. The arena explodes and all the Blizzard fans are on their feet.

  The game continues with much of the same, and the Blizzard defeat the Strikers seven to one. It is one of the best games I’ve ever been to and makes me want to upgrade my season tickets to ice seats. My regular seats are only one section back, but there’s something about being right up against the glass that makes you feel like you’re part of the action.

  When the game is over, I wait in the wings for Dean and Aaron. Eventually Dean comes out alone and tells me that Aaron will be late because he’s icing his wrist. He’d taken a pretty big hit in the middle of the third and was favoring it a bit.

  “He said he’ll see you tomorrow,” Dean says. I try to hide my disappointment—I really wanted to celebrate their win with them, maybe even get a real goodnight kiss—but I guess I didn’t hide it well enough. I can’t hide much from Dean to begin with. “What’s going on with you two?”

  “What? Nothing.”

  “Uh-huh,” Dean says, crossing his arms and giving me that ‘I know you’re BSing me’ look.

  “Nothing, seriously. He’s just a nice guy is all. We’re friends.”

  Dean looks down at my jersey—Aaron’s jersey—and raises his eyebrow. “Right.”

  I huff like a child. “Whatever, D. I’ll see you at Mom and Dad’s tomorrow.”

  “He is a nice guy, Bren,” he calls out to my back as I walk away, and I smile to myself. That’s as good as any brotherly seal of approval.

  9

  “Brenna, you’re going to wear a path in my hardwood floor,” my mother scolds me from the kitchen. What’s up with mom eyes anyway? She can’t even see me unless she has x-ray vision and can see through walls.

  Sure, I might be pacing the front hall, peeking out the front window at every pass to see if Dean and Aaron have arrived, but there’s no worn path on the floor. I checked.

  “Brenna! I can hear your footsteps.”

  I sigh, abandoning my post and joining my mother in the kitchen.

  “What’s gotten into you?” she asks as she rolls out the dough for homemade pie crust.

  “Nothing. I’m just excited to see Dean.”

  “You saw him last night,” she says, eyeing me like she knows what’s really going on here. But she couldn’t possibly. Could she?

  “For like two minutes. We have two whole days together now,” I tell her, picking up the bowl with the homemade apple pie filling and giving it a stir.

  Mom smiles and continues her rolling. “You sure you’re not excited to see Aaron?”

  My jaw drops as I stop stirring. “What? No, I…I…why would I be excited to see Aaron?” I stutter, saying his name with as much disgust as I can muster, which isn’t much.

  Mom smirks and looks at me knowingly. “Do you think I’m dumb? You’re acting the same way you did back in middle school when you had a crush on that Hastings boy who used to live across the street.”

  Ugh. Cooper Hastings was my middle school crush, and I totally made a fool out of myself in front of him. One day, he
was out in his driveway, and I was trying to impress him by climbing the tree in my front yard. I know, right—I’m pretty awesome. Anyway, I went to do my perfect, practiced dismount, and the back of my jeans got caught on a tree limb. I was stuck. I’d been hanging there, suspended in the air, for a good ten minutes, before I finally had the courage to call for help. Cooper came over and picked me up by the back of the pants and laid me down on the ground. I didn’t move until after I heard his footsteps retreat back to his side of the street. I couldn’t handle him seeing the ridiculous scarlet hue of my cheeks.

  Most embarrassing moment. Ever.

  “Oh my God, Mom. I don’t have a crush on Aaron Davis,” I tell her, scoffing for good measure.

  Just then, the front door opens, and I stand up straight and alert, absently smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from my sweater dress. I catch my mom’s eye, and she raises her eyebrow.

  “Don’t you have a pie to make?” She laughs and shoos me out of the kitchen.

  I slowly, casually, make my way to the front hall and nearly trip over myself anyway. Standing there, shaking the snow from his hair is Aaron. Gosh, he’s gorgeous. Today he’s in another pair of dark jeans and a light gray turtleneck.

  “Hey, sis,” Dean says, coming from out of nowhere and kissing me on the cheek. “It’s really starting to come down out there,” he says, referring to the snow.

  “Oh, yeah? I need to run out for some hot chocolate. I better go now.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Aaron says, and Dean and I both look at him. He holds up his left wrist. “I forgot my wrap. Can you run me by the drug store?”

  I nod, not quite able to form words as my heart is beating one hundred miles per hour at the thought of riding in the car with him. Alone.

  “Why didn’t you say something? We could have stopped,” Dean asks. I want to kick him.

  “I didn’t think about it until just now. I tweaked it a little taking my coat off.”

  Dean gives him a ‘yeah, right’ look before turning to me. His expression asks if I’m cool with this, and I smile affirmatively.