Mistletoe Games

by Jaci Burton

  He took her hands and, as he skated backward, because the ice was home to him, he swept her in a circle. “I am surprised.”

  “I skated all the time when I was a kid. When I took dancing lessons, I envisioned myself as a figure skater someday.”

  He skated around her, then came up behind her, sliding his arms alongside hers. “I could see you in those short skater outfits, doing flips in the air.”

  She leaned against him and let him lead her on the ice. “You could, huh? You’re pretty awesome on the ice yourself. There’s a lyrical way to your movement.”

  He stared at her. “Really? I thought I looked kind of tough.”

  “Trust me, you are tough. But there’s also a beauty to the way you move on the ice.”

  “Thanks. Never saw myself as pretty on the ice, though.”

  “I didn’t say pretty. I said there’s a beauty to your movement. It’s the dancer in me. Anyway, we’re both good on the ice. Maybe we could do pairs. Or ice dancing.”

  He laughed, the sound of it rumbling against her back. “No dancing for me. I’m a klutz.”

  “Maybe on the dance floor, but on the ice? You know the ice.” She swiveled in his arms, then assumed the dance position, taking his hand and sliding her other hand to his shoulder. “Come dance with me. You lead, I’ll follow.”

  She thought he’d balk, but he pushed forward, and suddenly, they were dancing, her following his lead as they glided across the surface. There was music playing, and she lost herself in the song and the feel of the man beside her.

  The man could dance. At least on the ice. He twirled her, pulling her tight against him, then pushing her out, the two of them in sync like nothing she’d ever felt before. She was giddy, laughing, and suddenly they had an audience as people stopped to watch.

  It wasn’t like they were Olympic-level ice dancers or anything. They weren’t that good. It was likely that hockey fans recognized Trick. She didn’t care. She was having more fun than she could ever remember having while either dancing or skating.

  It had to be the man, because Trick wasn’t paying any attention to the gathering crowd. He was only looking at her, and it wasn’t in a sexual way. It was a deeper connection, the kind of way a man looked at a woman when he . . .

  She stumbled, and he caught her. She covered by laughing and falling against him.

  “Okay, so maybe the Olympics won’t be calling on us to join their ice-dancing team,” she said, lifting her gaze to his.

  Whatever spell had wound around them had broken. Their audience clapped, and it was as if Trick had noticed them for the first time. He looked around, smiled and nodded, then wrapped an arm around her and they resumed normal skating.

  “Yeah, I don’t think I’m cut out for dancing on the ice. My style is a little more aggressive, and I’m a lot more comfortable with a stick in my hand and a puck to chase after. But you’re a great dancer on or off the ice.”

  She shifted, skating in front of him. “And how would you know that since you haven’t seen me dance yet?”

  “Call it intuition. And I have seen the way you move your body.” He waggled his brows.

  She rolled her eyes. “Not at all the same thing.”

  “Isn’t it?” He gave her a very knowing look.

  “Trust me. Sex and dancing aren’t at all the same.”

  “I guess I’ll have to watch you dance sometime. Then I’ll draw my own conclusions.”

  “You do that.”

  They skated for another half hour or so, an exhilarating workout. Then they called it quits and left the ice.

  “That was fun. Thanks for taking me,” she said as they started their walk back to Trick’s apartment.

  “You’re welcome. You need to get out and play more often.”

  They came across a group of kids playing in the snow pack on the sidewalk. One of them recognized Trick, so he stopped to talk with them.

  Stella stood back and observed. Trick was a natural with kids. He wasn’t condescending, didn’t act like a superstar. He was just a regular guy around the boys. And when one of the kids hit his buddies with a snowball, Trick got into the middle of all of it, like he was one of them.

  She laughed at it, until Trick bundled up a snowball and aimed it in her direction. She shrieked and tried to hide, but he ran her down and smacked her in the back with a soft snowball.

  Then it was on, and they found themselves in the middle of a snowball war with the kids. Before long several more kids in the neighborhood joined in. Stella had never laughed so hard as she lofted one snowball after the other. These kids were good, obviously having gotten a lot more practice than either she or Trick. Trick was definitely a target—a rather large one—something he didn’t seem to mind at all. Removing herself from the fray, she took pictures of the major battle, laughing at the same time as one of the kids hit Trick with a snowball to the back of the head.

  They finally extricated themselves from the bombardment and said good-bye to the kids, making their way back to his apartment.

  “I’m pretty sure one of those snowballs landed inside the back of my coat,” she said as she hung it up, then pulled off her boots. “I’m all wet.”

  “But you had fun, didn’t you?”

  She still had a smile on her face. “I did. It reminded me of building snow forts with Greta when we were kids.”

  “Yeah, my sister and I used to do the same thing. Coffee?” he asked as they made their way into the kitchen.

  “Definitely.”

  He brewed them each a cup, and took the cream out of the refrigerator for her.

  “Thanks.”

  He laid his cup down, then went over and turned on the Christmas tree lights before taking a seat on the sofa next to her.

  “Looks good there,” he said.

  She stared up at the dancing angel, still so surprised he’d thought of her when he’d bought it. She didn’t know what to make of it—or of him. Or of their relationship.

  Dammit. There was that word again, the one she so religiously avoided.

  “Yeah, it looks good.”

  “You and I should spend Christmas together.”

  She nearly choked on her sip of coffee. She shifted to face him. “What?”

  “You said you weren’t going home, and your parents won’t be coming here. We should spend Christmas together.”

  Christmas together? She waited for the panic to clutch her around the throat.

  Nothing came. It always did when some guy asked her for anything that felt remotely like a commitment. And spending a holiday together was a commitment. It was a relationship.

  But Trick wasn’t just some guy. He was becoming more than that.

  She waited again for the terror, the need to end things, to run as far and as fast as she could.

  Nothing. Still, she was going to have to handle this whole thing delicately.

  “I told you Greta’s coming for Christmas.”

  “Yeah. So we’ll all hang out. I’ll cook a turkey. She can adore this awesome tree.”

  He made it sound so simple. It wasn’t. Not to her, anyway. “I’ll give it some thought.”

  “You do that.”

  “Okay, well, I should go.”

  “You don’t want to stay?” He moved over and slid his arms around her waist. “I thought we’d have dinner and you might want to hang out. I could cook for you. Then rub your feet later.”

  He waggled his brows, the invitation quite clear.

  He was almost the perfect man, which meant there had to be something lurking under the exterior. Some bomb he’d drop later to break her heart. She didn’t trust her own instincts, not after the nightmare she’d endured the last time.

  She laid her palms on his chest. “Tempting as that sounds, the only time I have to do laundry and grocery shopping and clean
my apartment is on the weekend. So, sadly, duty calls.”

  He took a step back. “Gotcha. Some other time.”

  “Definitely.”

  He didn’t even pout when he didn’t get his way or she couldn’t spend time with him.

  See? Too perfect.

  She gathered her things and put on her coat.

  “I ordered a taxi for you,” he said. “Should be outside waiting for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He tugged on the lapels of her coat, drawing her toward him so he could kiss her. She fell into the kiss, against the heat of his body as he swept his hands inside her coat.

  She could so easily get lost in him, in the way his lips moved over hers, and forget all her rules about not letting her heart get involved. But her steely resolve had protected her all these years, and for a good reason.

  She pulled back. “I guess I’ll see you after your game Monday?”

  “Yup. Don’t work too hard.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, and that steely resolve melted a little. Inhaling a shaky breath, she moved away from him and grabbed her bag.

  He walked her to the door. “Be careful out there.”

  “I will. Bye.”

  She went downstairs and, just as Trick said, there was a taxi waiting for her. She climbed in and gave the driver her address, then leaned back, already wishing she was still with Trick.

  She’d had fun with him the past couple of days. He was sexy, romantic, and fun. A lethal combination. She didn’t know what she was going to do. Normally when she started to feel things for a guy, she knew the next step—end things.

  This time, though, it was different, because the thought of walking away from Trick and never seeing him again made her heart hurt.

  She was in deep trouble.

  NINE

  Stella got into position and waited for the music cue, her body tense, but her entire being focused. When the music started, she felt it enter her soul, her limbs moving in time to the strains of the recorded orchestra. Her body had memorized every note, her soul embedded in this role.

  This was what she loved the most about dance, the way she could embody a role, letting the music carry her away. After months of practice, she could dance this part with her eyes closed. She knew where she needed to be. She knew every movement, every leap, each turn, and where her partner was going to be so when she threw herself into the air, he would be there to catch her. Because dance was always about trust, especially when you were relying on someone else to be there for you. They had all been working so hard, and it was finally coming together, especially this oh-so-important opening scene. She felt this scene in her bones, dreamed about it at night, made each step in her head when she stood in line at the grocery store.

  The dance was fluid, each of them moving seamlessly around each other. It was a breathless feeling, and she wished she could be on the outside looking in. Even though they weren’t in costume, she felt the perfection of it all, and when it ended, she lay on the floor in her partner’s arms, the two of them looking up at each other and grinning.

  “Good, huh?” Nevin said.

  “Fucking perfect, if you ask me.” Stella grinned back at him, then Nevin pulled her off the floor.

  “Well, that was okay. You all can do better. Take ten, then we’ll move on to the second scene,” Lawrence said, then headed off the stage.

  Lisa walked over. “He said it was okay.”

  Stella found her water in her bag and took several swallows. “I know, right? High praise coming from our esteemed choreographer.”

  “It’s almost like he thought we were good,” Nevin said.

  Stella laughed. “Now don’t go thinking that. You know he thinks we all suck.”

  Nevin nodded. “Alas, so true. Why he chose us, I’ll never know.”

  They spent several minutes going over the next scene while also rehashing how very awesome the opening was. Stella didn’t care what Lawrence said. She’d felt that dance deep inside. They’d nailed it. She’d nailed it.

  “I need to make a call before he wants us up for round two,” Nevin said. “Catch you all in a bit.”

  Nevin wandered off.

  “I need to do the same,” Lisa said.

  “Okay.” Stella just longed to sit down for a few minutes, so she went to the edge of the stage, figuring she’d let her legs dangle and rest.

  She skidded to a halt on the stage when she saw Lawrence in deep conversation with a very tall, extremely good-looking man she recognized right off as Trick.

  What the hell was he doing at the theater? And why was he talking to Lawrence?

  “There’s Stella now,” Lawrence said. “I’ll let you go. Nice talking to you, Trick. And thanks again.”

  “It was my pleasure, Lawrence. Say hi to Jonathan for me.”

  “I definitely will.”

  Trick and Lawrence shook hands—like they were old friends. For Christ’s sake, Lawrence even smiled.

  That man did not smile. Ever.

  What the ever-loving fuck was going on? Had she fallen and bumped her head? Because this had to be some kind of dream.

  She walked off the stage and met Trick.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I sat in the back and watched your rehearsal.”

  “What—how? Rehearsals are closed. Lawrence is a monster about that. No one gets to watch. Hell, he wouldn’t let his own grandmother watch a rehearsal.”

  His lips curved. “Well, I don’t know about that, because I just did. You’re incredible, by the way. The way you dance, Stella? I never knew you were that good. I’m really impressed. But I can see why you complain about Lawrence. He’s really hard on you. On all of you.”

  Ignoring his compliment, her head spun at the information pouring into it. Not only had he watched the rehearsal, but—

  “Oh, God, Trick. Please tell me you didn’t say anything to Lawrence about him being hard on me.” She’d die. She’d not only die, she’d get fired.

  “Of course not. This is your job, Stella. I’d never interfere in that.”

  “And yet here you are. At my job. Don’t you have your own job to go to? You have a game tonight.”

  He gave her a warm smile. He was obviously happy about being here, while she was not. It unnerved the hell out of her.

  “Warm-ups aren’t until later. I had some time, so I thought I’d drop by and see you dance. Is that a problem?”

  “Yes, it’s a problem. It’s a big problem.”

  “I don’t understand why.”

  She didn’t know why, either, other than she knew he wasn’t supposed to be here. Something just wasn’t sitting right with her. “How did you even get in here?”

  “Let’s just say I know people who know people.”

  She laid her water bottle down on one of the seats and crossed her arms. “Explain that to me.”

  “I found out Lawrence’s boyfriend Jonathan is a big hockey fan. So I might have pulled some strings and said I could get them season tickets if Lawrence would let me pop in this morning to watch some of your rehearsal.”

  Stella knew it was really damn hard—if not nearly impossible—to get Travelers season tickets. “It was that important to you to watch me sweat on stage during a rehearsal?”

  “It wasn’t that big a deal, honestly. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. I wanted to watch how hard you were working—which is very hard, by the way. I saw an opening and I took it. Lawrence was happy to let me watch. It’s not like I’m in here with some camera taking pictures that I’m going to sell to competitors or to the paparazzi, and he knows that. I wanted to see my girlfriend dance, and he gets to surprise his boyfriend with season tickets to the Travelers games. It’s a win/win.”

  There were so many things wrong with what he’d just said, but she’d zeroed in on
the one word that made her sweat more than all the grueling hours of rehearsal she went through.

  “I’m not your girlfriend.”

  “Oh, I see. So I should have said ‘that chick I’m fucking’?”

  She rubbed the side of her head. “You’re giving me a headache.”

  “And I don’t get why this is a thing. What’s wrong with me watching you dance? I told you the other day I hadn’t seen you dance yet, and I wanted to. I figured this was a great opportunity. I’m sorry it freaked you out.”

  It had freaked her out. For so many reasons it made her head spin.

  He pulled out his phone. “Listen, I gotta go. You looked amazing up there—like you were born to be on the stage. See you at the game tonight?”

  She nodded mutely, and he turned and left.

  No good-bye. No kiss. No . . . anything.

  Then again, she’d been the one to rain on his parade, hadn’t she? So what did she expect? Flowers and him bending her over backwards with a swooning kiss? He’d tried to surprise her with something sweet, and she’d been a major bitch about it.

  She was a moron.

  A moron who didn’t know what she wanted.

  * * *

  “I don’t understand women.”

  Trick sat in the locker room after an intense late afternoon practice with his team.

  Drew was sitting next to him and nudged him with his shoulder. “Dude. We’re not supposed to. That whole mystery thing is what’s so fun about them.”

  Trick shook his head and stared down at his skates. “I don’t know. This whole thing with Stella is about as mysterious as waking up after an all-night bender with one hell of a hangover, cotton mouth, and no memory of the night before. Only you know you had a shitty night and not a good time.”

  Drew gave him a look. “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wanna talk about it? Maybe I can help.”

  He gave Drew a look. “I don’t know. Stella gives me mixed signals. She’s with me, but it’s like she doesn’t really want to be.”

  “Carolina would likely say that maybe Stella’s scared of commitment.”

  Trick snorted. “Wow, you’ve learned some things.”