All We Want For Christmas Is You: A Reverse Harem Christmas Story

by Anita Maxwell

  And Vinnie, well he was just being Vinnie, showboating as always. The Eagles fans loved him for it. Ever since we had met freshman year, Vinnie had always been a skirt chaser. He had the act down perfect, sweet Italian guy, scholarship athlete, always nicely dressed with a single silver diamond stud in his left ear lobe.

  The girls loved him. They all tried to make him love them. They always ended up heart broken when they realized that Vinnie wasn’t interested in being tied down. He loved the game too much, just like me. But I did have to give it to him, he was always straight with them, told them upfront that he wasn’t interested in being tied down, and that he wouldn’t change for them. It really was their own fault if they got hurt, he never lied to them.

  I looked over at Justin, who had pulled his hood up over his head and had his eyes closed like all of this was boring him. He had his arms crossed over his chest and gave off the impression he was already done with this shit. I have absolutely no idea why he chose to participate last night. I did hope, however, that he was finally getting over his break up with Vanessa last year.

  That chick had done a serious number on him. She had been his high school sweetheart, keeping her talons locked into him when he left on scholarship, knowing that he would make it big. Justin’d had scouts watching him since junior league; his formidable size being evident even back then. The whole time she had kept him true to her with I love you’s and late-night video calls. But the whole time he had been at college building a future for them, she had been fucking his best friend from back home. He’d gone home early for summer break, to find them together in her bed. He’d ended up vacationing with me at my parents’ place in the Hamptons for the summer, just us two hanging out, surfing and relaxing. Vinnie had ended up joining us a few weeks in.

  Davidson called for quiet, “Okay if no one else has an update for the board, let’s hit the ice.”

  Everyone grabbed their bags and headed out of the old change rooms and towards the new ones. Not that they were brand new, they had been in use for a few years now, but they were modern, with chrome finishes, a weight room and a medical room, both just tucked off to the side.

  I dropped my bag by my locker and started getting set up for training, pulling out my pads, stick and training uniform. Once I had everything on and taped into place, I grabbed my skates, slid them on and did them up. About when I finished up, Justin was ready too. I looked at Vinnie across from us to see that he was just taping his stick, talking to Grant next to him.

  Grant Michaels was our goalie and had declared himself as a Whip at the beginning of the season. If we were to call anyone on our team to hang out at our place it would be Grant, but since the girlfriend, hanging out had been awkward because of the Puck Games. Sighing, I stood up and headed out to the rink. Justin followed me out to the hallway, and I could hear Vinnie following too.

  Just as we came out into the seating area of the stadium, a different song than the usual last song of the freestyle session reached my ears. The rink was usually open to students in the mornings before our training sessions, some used it, but very few. I scanned the ice looking to see why the playlist was off and saw a girl flying through the air. As she came back down, I sucked in a breath scared she was going to injure herself, but she landed it like it was a piece of cake, landing on one foot with the other extended out behind her.

  She was amazing.

  Her long, dark brown hair was braided down her back with an aqua beanie holding it away from her face. She was in tight black workout gear, the leggings tucking into her snow-white skates. As I stood there dumbfounded by her grace, I watched her skate backwards and forwards with her matching aqua gloves swishing from side to side, into twisting jumps, spins on one leg, and striking solid poses all to the beat of the song.

  As she finished, I felt Justin step up next to me. Vinnie was right behind us when the music stopped, and she skated over to the far edge where there was a woman clapping for her. The smile on her face was pure exhilaration; the same kind I always felt after I knew I had brought my absolute best to a game and had the points to show for it. It made her shine like a star.

  My heartbeat pounded in my head, as I heard the rest of our team coming down the tunnel, their voices echoing the closer they came. The words “potential” and “score” floated to me, and I instantly realized that I didn’t want any of them to notice my interest.

  I already knew I wanted to find her. The moment she had landed that first jump, I was hooked. I needed to distract them from her, so no one would see her. It was bad enough Vinnie and Justin had seen her.

  I turned to the team, just as I saw her get off the rink out of the corner of my eye, “So who wants to smash the Friars tomorrow night?” I yelled out to them, getting the reaction I wanted as they all started roaring with game fight. I yelled back; Justin gave me an odd look before he joined in. I ignored him.

  Turning back to the rink, I lead the way to the ice, pushing Justin to the back of my mind.

  Chapter 2

  Tuesday 28th November – 27 days until Christmas

  Hayden

  I closed my eyes as the last beats of the song faded away, holding my position with my arms in the air and one skate crossed behind the other, toe pick stabbed into the ice. I was breathing hard, muscles burning, but I felt electric. Skating was my haven; my body sliced through the air as it whipped over my face, causing my hair to trail behind me like a streamer on a kite. The rush from every perfectly landed jump had my blood soaring to the skies, calling for open lakes and sun kissed snowflakes.

  Once I had started to come back to my body, I lowered my arms, turning to see the woman clapping like a mad person. Smiling, I skated over to the edge where Professor Dianne Turner waited for me. Professor Turner and I had met last year when I had stumbled across a local women’s shelter in Boston one weekend. I’d been looking for a skate sharpening store one of the other figure skaters had recommended, when I’d seen a young woman, maybe twenty years old, with two small children head into a nondescript building. As I’d watched them approach, I saw that none of them were in a condition that could be remotely described as “well”. The way the woman hid her face and cuddled her baby girl close made me think she was probably covering a bruise she didn’t want anyone to see.

  My journalistic nature had taken over, and I’d followed her inside to investigate. I would never forget the way my heart had felt as it was obliterated by the scenes I had witnessed in that building. When I’d introduced myself to the receptionist, she’d gone and gotten Professor Turner from the back office. Professor Turner was in her early forties, with a tall and willowy frame. She always wore a scarf tied around her neck which was framed by her blonde pixie cut. I'd seen her dressed both casually and in a skirt suit, it just depended on the setting. We’d had a chat about possibly having an article written in the college paper, which was sent to and read by the students and alumni of Boston College.

  I’d been vying for an article that would land me Editor-In-Chief for the paper for my senior year, and that story had been perfect. Professor Turner had organized interviews with some of the women, police officers and the staff at the shelter, allowing me to write a deep and meaningful article, backed by statistics and quotes. The day after the paper was published, I’d been flooded with emails, some from students wanting to volunteer at the shelter and requesting more information, but the majority were from alumni wanting to donate to the shelter.

  The article had ended up doing way more than just landing me the editor position. It had boosted the funds of the shelter to almost triple what they had received in the previous financial year. The additional money allowed the shelter to provide each woman and their children with care packs filled with the basic necessities since the majority of them turned up with only the clothes on their backs and bruises on their faces.

  “Hayden, you were amazing! I still think you should be competing for the school,” gushed Professor Turner.

  I smiled at her as I re
ached over the rail and grabbed a cloth from my bag to wipe my face. “I wish I could, but this is my final year, and I need to concentrate on the paper. I need it to shine, so I can apply for the Big Five. We’ve talked about this already,” I replied with a wink, so she knew I wasn’t crushing her hopes and dreams of seeing me compete in the Olympics or something crazy like that. I mean, I was good, but I wasn’t that good anymore.

  “I know, I know, and even though I know that, I need to ask you for a favor,” she stated as I stepped off the ice and reached down for my bag. I hefted it over my shoulder and gestured for her to follow me up the aisle towards the female change rooms.

  “Well, I told you if you ever needed anything from me, I would be happy to do it. I still owe you for helping me out with the shelter article. It really pushed me over the edge for editor. I owe you at least three favors,” I joked back with her.

  “How about one really big favor and we call it even?” She asked; her voice held a note of hesitancy.

  I stopped just inside the doorway of the change rooms; the smell of old, sweaty feet mixed with the ice-cold dryness of the air made me nostalgic for my years of competitive figure skating. I’d had to give up on that dream to follow my passion for journalism, for my dream career. Having a career didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the ice any more, it just meant I had to alter my priorities.

  “Big favor? How big? Like, I have a dead body at the shelter I need you to help me discard or can I mind your cat for a month while you go on a cruise to the Pacific?” I asked, trying to elicit a laugh out of her; because now that I looked a little closer, she appeared a bit frazzled. And she didn’t laugh at my joke.

  “I need you to chair the Winter Wonderland Committee.” She blurted out, as she rung her fingers together and shifted nervously from foot to foot.

  Crap. That was a really big favor.

  “Uh…” I stalled, but she jumped in cutting me off.

  “Elizabeth Merriton was supposed to run the committee, but her parents called the administration board and applied for a leave of absence on her behalf since she is in the hospital back home with mono. Apparently, she had everything planned it just needs someone to oversee everything, and naturally, I thought of you, with your multi-tasking editor skill set. And I just…” She continued rambling, beseeching me with her bright green eyes.

  Of course you thought of me; I refrained from rolling my eyes. Sighing, I thought about my schedule for the next few weeks. If this Elizabeth Merriton really had everything all planned out already and all I had to do was follow her instructions, then it should be a piece of cake. And hopefully, her committee had things well in hand anyway. That’s what they were there for right, to carry out the Chair Person’s instructions?

  “Okay, okay, okay stop. I’ll do it.” I cut in, feeling warm and fuzzy at the smile Professor Turner bestowed upon me. I had a serious issue with authority and the need to please people. Probably stemmed from having a lawyer for a mother and a dentist for a father. The fact that I was an only child didn’t hurt either. They never put pressure on me, just only ever asked me to do my best, which had all translated into my becoming an over achiever and loving the praise.

  “Excellent. Thank you, Hayden. I knew you would say yes. Okay, I’ll have my Research Assistant locate Elizabeth’s instructions for you and have her deliver them to your dorm room. The committee meets on Wednesday nights, so tomorrow is the next meeting.” She stated with a grateful smile. I could see her restraining herself from jumping up and down with the relief of having done her part to save the festival.

  “Great, thanks Professor Turner. I’m going to get changed so I can head to class. I’ll email you with any questions I have, once I have read through Elizabeth’s notes and met with the committee.” I waved goodbye as I headed to the showers.

  As I dropped my bag, I could hear a bunch of cheering coming from the stadium and peered through the doorway to see the college’s hockey team entering the ice. In the three years I had been going to this college, I had never once attended a hockey game, even though I shared the rink with the players. Seriously, who wanted to watch a bunch of guys smash into each other on the ice while swinging a stick around? The first lesson I’d learned when I’d started figure skating was not to smash into people.

  Chapter 3

  Tuesday 28th November – 27 days until Christmas

  Hayden

  As I approached the door to The Press, Boston College’s Newspaper Office, a feeling of rightness filled me; the knowledge that I was meant to be here, meant to be the EIC, formed the foundations that would pave the way to my dream career. I was going to work for one of the Big Five newspapers in New York. My name was going to be in print for every New Yorker to read. I was meant to be a journalist. Without fail, every time I stepped through that door, with its gold lettering, I felt a charge run throughout my body, igniting every nerve ending so that my concentration was pin point and in the moment.

  My shoulders straightened as I readjusted the shoulder strap of my black messenger bag and reached for the door knob, only to have the wind sucked from my sails as I walked into the room. Instead of everyone ready and waiting for me to arrive so that the meeting could start like they usually were, they were all surrounding something. As I stepped into the room and shut the door behind me, I peered closer at the huddled group and realized it wasn’t something but someone.

  There was a break in the crowd, and I saw Stephanie Harris, the social entertainment columnist, my best friend, and roommate sitting at the center of the huddle, wads of tissue scrunched up in her hand, and her beautiful, baby doll face with mascara running down her ruddy cheeks.

  I rushed towards her, dropping my bag on my wooden desk as I passed.

  “Steph, what’s wrong?” I asked worriedly as I pushed my way to her side. I knelt next to her chair and gripped her hands not caring about the tissues she clutched. I watched her pixie blue eyes as they filled with tears; her gold curls swayed as she sobbed into a shredded tissue.

  “Well, I…I met a guy before Thanksgiving break,” she hiccupped out, her Southern accent thick with emotion.

  I squashed the sigh that wanted to escape my lips. A guy. It was always a guy with Steph. She was the sweetest girl you would ever meet. Moved to Boston from sweet home Alabama, and she came with every ounce of southern country charm she could drag here in her two suitcases. And every guy she ever met took advantage of her. Granted her radar was a little broken when it came to picking out the good ones; she always seemed to zero in on the players instead. She was completely oblivious to the fact that James Whitt, our sports journalist, had a major crush on her.

  “He was really nice. W…we met at the Coffee House the day before I left for Thanksgiving, and we te…texted the whole weekend. Last night we met up and, and, and…” She choked up, burying her face in her hands as gulping sobs racked her body.

  I rubbed my hands up and down her arms, shushing her and telling her it would be alright. When she was ready, she looked up at me as tears ran down her face; her mascara completely smeared around her eyes, with flecks of it floating in the tears that slide down her cheeks. Steph was one of those lucky people who didn’t look outrageously ugly when she cried: her nose tinged a slight pink, and the glassy look in her eyes made her look like a sad angel. I honestly wondered sometimes if she was sent to a special school that taught her things like that.

  “And what honey, tell me what happened?” I coaxed her, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze.

  “And he was so charming, and we ended up sleeping together. It was amazing, the night was perfect. But then, he,” she stopped and shuddered; her whole body quivered. She looked me in the eye, took a deep breath and just blurted the rest out in one breath; her southern drawl stringing itself together, “he reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out a little black book, wrote my name down and wrote the number seven next to it. I asked him what that was about, and he said it was my Puck rating. He told me that I had just entere
d the Puck Games and that my name was going up on the Puck Board. The whole hockey team was going to want to have a go because I was one of the best lays he’d had this whole season.” Stephanie’s shoulders wilted, and she burst into a fresh round of tears.

  My mouth just hung open. The Puck Games? What the hell was that? And who rated people anyway? Was he still in high school? My blood started to boil at the implications of what Steph was saying, but I tried to stay calm. Steph didn’t need me going into solution mode right now, she needed her best friend. I’d figure out what to do later.

  I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around her upper body, pulling her forward so her head rested on my shoulder as I rubbed her back.

  “Shhh, it’s okay; we’ll work this out. We’ll find out where this board is and get your name removed. Shhh, it will be okay.” I looked around for James and gestured for him to come forward. “Do you know anything about this Puck Board that the Hockey Team has?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck as his cheeks tinged pink. James was a cutie, at about five ten in height, with sandy brown hair and light brown eyes. His build was athletic but not muscular, like he was a runner, and his black, square rimmed glasses rounded out his nerdy sheik look. He tended to favor jeans and a button up shirt, with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows.

  “I’ve heard rumors, but nothing concrete. I can dig into if you like?” He asked; his concern for Steph written all over his face, as he crouched down next to her and held out a hanker chief. A hanker chief for goodness sake, like a gentleman. How Steph didn’t know the guy was half in love with her was beyond me.