Christmas In The City

by Shen, L. J.

  Bill only grins. “I know, kid. I know. And I can see on your face that you’re not over the Barrie job. But that’s not the right fit for you. You’re overqualified to be that coach’s assistant. And like Ron and I told you, we thought you deserved a different position.”

  My hands freeze on the laces. “Overqualified?” That makes no sense. Assistant Coach is the next job on the ladder. I lift my head quickly. “What the heck does that mean?”

  “Jamie, I’m going to cover your video session, okay? There are some guys I want you to meet. They came up from Mississauga to get to know you better.” He jerks his thumb toward the stands.

  I squint at the coaches sitting in the distant seats. “Mississauga?”

  He thumps me on the back. “Go talk to them.”

  * * *

  I get home around six-thirty. When I push open our door, a shirtless Wes calls to me from the kitchen, where he’s staring into the refrigerator. “How’d the game go, babe? And what do you want to do about dinner?”

  “Dinner,” I repeat slowly. My head is elsewhere.

  “Yeah, dinner? That meal that you sometimes cook but we sometimes eat out?” He rubs his perfect abs. “I’m starved.”

  “I completely forgot what I wanted to do about dinner.” I completely forgot everything I’d been thinking about until the guys from Mississauga blew my mind.

  “You won your game, though?” Wes says, cocking his head to study me. “I saw the final score was four to three. Figured we could go out to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate.” That word snaps me out of my haze. “Yes. Let’s go out. No! Let’s order in.”

  Wes tips his head back and laughs. “Which is it, babe?”

  “Order something for both of us. Anything. I’m going to open a bottle of wine. There’s something I want to discuss.”

  He shrugs. “Anything? Even Canadian Mexican?”

  “Anything but that,” I insist as I run by him toward our bedroom. “I’m going to change and open the wine. Meet me on the couch in five.”

  “Yes, Coach Canning. Hey—bring me a shirt?”

  I’m so spacey that I forget the shirt. It’s possible that my subconscious just wants to skip to the part of this evening where I’m removing his shirt again, anyway. We’re going to have all kinds of celebrations, including the naked kind.

  After I set two glasses of wine down on the coffee table, I fling myself onto the sofa beside Wes.

  “Now spill,” he says. “Did you talk to Bill?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but Wes isn’t done.

  “—Did you tell him that you deserved that job? Did he read the story on the Sports Illustrated blog?”

  “Wait, there’s a story on Sports Illustrated?”

  “‘Family Feud’ is the title they went with.” Wes laughs. “There’s a perfect shot of you stopping my shot. We gotta frame that sucker and hang it on the wall.”

  “Yeah. Awesome. Can I tell you my news now? I got transferred. And promoted.”

  “Really?” My husband’s eyes widen. “To Barrie? Please don’t say Ottawa.”

  “No! To Mississauga.”

  “Oh,” he says carefully. “That’s not too far from here, right?”

  “Nope,” I agree. “Only twenty-seven minutes down the Gardiner.”

  His eyes brighten. He dives across my lap, spreading out on the surface of the couch. “Shit. I got really worried when you said transferred.”

  I reach down and fluff his hair. “This is a good kind of transfer. I’ll miss Bill, but it’s all worth it. Don’t you want to know what the job is?”

  He rolls a little so he can look up at me. “Assistant Coach, right?”

  I shake my head.

  Wes’s eyes practically bulge. “What, then?”

  “Head Coach. I’ll be the youngest Head Coach of a CHL team since…ever. Since the league was formed.”

  Wes sits up quickly. “You’re kidding me! That’s incredible!”

  “I’m pretty pumped up. I mean—I’m a little stunned. They’re announcing it next month, and then I’ll be splitting time between Toronto and Mississauga until the end of the season, getting up to speed.”

  Wes is just staring at me now. “The youngest ever.”

  “That’s what the man said.” I think my jaw nearly fell off when the coach told me he was retiring and had handpicked me for the job.

  “Babe.” Wes scoots closer and takes my face in his hands. “You’re a fucking rock star.” Then he kisses me.

  Ah. See? A shirtless Wes climbing into my lap is just the kind of celebration I’d been planning tonight. I pull him in with both hands.

  He smiles into our kiss. “Maybe the pizzas I ordered will be a little late.”

  “Mmm,” I agree, running my hands over his tatted biceps. “Pizza takes time.” I tug on his leg until he straddles me properly.

  “Congratulations on your win,” he says between tongue-tangling kisses.

  “What am I winning?” I tease, my hand coasting over his ass. “This?”

  “Maybe,” he grunts, kissing my neck. “If we have ti—”

  The doorbell rings.

  “WESMIE!” shouts Blake from right outside our door. “This fucking picture! I got a print and a frame! It’s epic!” The sound of a giant fist pounding on our door is deafening.

  We both groan.

  “Stop makin’ out on the couch and open this door!” There’s another sound. A jingle. “Never mind, I got my key.” The door bumps open a second later, and Blake’s silly grin appears in the doorway. “Ooh, wine. Pour me a glass? Look at this!” Blake holds up a framed photo.

  I get up and maneuver around the coffee table so that I can see it better. The photo shows me in full goalie gear, brow furrowed, getting my glove on Wes’s shot. The WESLEY on the back of his jersey is just visible to the right.

  Blake has somehow put a speech bubble over my head that says, “NOPE!”

  I bust out laughing. Because it is epic. There is no better word.

  “Did you guys order some food or something?” Blake asks. “It’s time to put the chow in the mow. And Jessie’s working the night shift.”

  Wes and I exchange a glance. I nod.

  “How does pizza sound?” Wes says with a sigh.

  “Awesome. I’ll just get myself a wine glass.”

  “Thanks for being so good about all this,” I tell Wes.

  “About what? You getting your dream job? How else would I act other than fucking thrilled?”

  “I mean, thanks for putting up with how moody I was over this job stress.” I sit back down on the couch and put my feet in Wes’s lap. “The Head Coach needs a foot rub.”

  “I thought I was the head coach in this relationship.” He gives me a sleazy wink.

  “You can show me later,” I agree with a lewd grin.

  “TMI!” Blake crows from behind the counter.

  We both glance in his direction at the same time. And then back at each other. “Teach him a lesson?” Wes whispers.

  “Yup,” I agree.

  And then we lunge for each other. Wes wraps his strong arms around me and dives into the kiss, sliding me onto the couch and then dropping his firm body over mine.

  It’s supposed to be a joke. But the second Wes’s lips find mine, it’s not all that funny anymore. I love this man, and I am so fucking lucky to have him in my life.

  “Cheezus!” Blake yells. “No tongues! Aw, dudes. Well, I’m choosin’ the TV channel. It’s going to be something Canadian AF. Like the ice fishing championships.”

  Blake babbles on, but it’s just background noise now. Eventually he joins us in the living room and we quit making out, but I can feel Wes’s hungry gaze on me as I sip my wine, and I know we’ll be all over each other again once our friend leaves. But for now, we let the anticipation build and content ourselves with the wine and the company and the joy of just being together.

  Life is good.

  No, it’s epic.

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