A Pucking Wrong Christmas: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series)
A Pucking Wrong Christmas: Chapter 9

I was officially a big fan of Christmas.

Which maybe shouldn’t have shocked me.

If there was one thing that was true about Lincoln, when he set his sights on something…it was going to happen.

And it had happened.

For the rest of the month after we’d gotten back from New York City, Lincoln had continued his quest to make me like all things Christmas. We’d gone through most of the Christmas classics—my favorite being Jim Carrey’s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

Made even better by the orgasm he’d given me at the halfway mark.

I still wasn’t sure about the fact that “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch” was now an aphrodisiac…

In between his hockey games we’d gone to The Nutcracker at Bass Hall, gone ice skating again at The Galleria, and drank hot chocolate as we drove around looking at Christmas displays.

And then there was this morning, Christmas Day, when I’d woken up to what felt like a million presents under the tree.

I’d started crying. Absolutely weeping. Because I’d never had a tree with presents under it my entire life.

I hadn’t even wanted anything, it was just the sight of it. For some reason, it healed even more of the cracks inside me.

“I have one more present for you,” he’d murmured to me after I’d spent an hour opening up an entire store’s worth of gifts—if that store was a mix of Neiman Marcus, Tiffany’s, and Dior.

“What is it?” I asked. “I can’t think of anything you didn’t buy me at this point, Lincoln.”

“Just open it, dream girl,” he ordered in that bossy way of his.

With trembling hands I ripped open the pretty packaging.

And then I was sobbing again, because in my hands…

Was an angel ornament.

“Lincoln,” I whispered, my hand trembling as I touched it.

“There isn’t a part of you I’m not going to heal. It’s the only thing I want in life, to make you happier than you’ve ever been,” he told me seriously, his golden gaze piercing into me.

I carefully put the angel on the tree, and turned towards him, my palms softly holding his cheeks.

“Mission accomplished,” I told him as his lips crashed against mine.

And then neither of us spoke…for a long, long time.

We’d just gotten back from his Christmas Day game and were in the kitchen eating some of Ms. Bentley’s tamales, when the familiar ding of the elevator echoed through the penthouse.

“Oh! I have one more surprise,” Lincoln said as he led me down the hallway to its polished metal doors. I was a little distracted by the sight of his ass in his gray sweatpants.

My own personal thirst trap.

We turned the corner right as the elevator doors slid open, and my eyes widened in surprise. There, standing before us, was Bill.

But this was unlike any version of Bill I had ever seen. He was dressed in a well-fitted suit, a stark departure from his usual rugged…and dirty appearance.

Beside him stood a small group of people, each holding a lyric sheet and wearing expressions of holiday cheer. They broke into a joyful chorus of Christmas carols, their voices harmonizing in perfect unity. Bill, who I had always known to be zany and unpredictable, was now leading them with confidence.

‘Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la,’ they sang, their voices filling the elevator with festive warmth.

I stood there with my mouth open in astonishment, as I watched Bill, with a twinkle in his eye, continue to lead the group in song. His voice, usually affected by a fake British accent, was now filled with genuine merriment. He looked at me with a playful wink, clearly relishing the moment.

And then…Lincoln joined in. His deep voice blending as they sang “Jingle Bells.” I hurriedly pulled out my phone and recorded it.

Because a memory wasn’t enough for this moment.

The carolers concluded their serenade with a resounding ‘Merry Christmas!’ and then all of them left but Bill.

“Merry Christmas, little duck,” he said, smelling much better than he usually did as I gave him a hug.

“Merry Christmas,” I murmured back in a choked voice, my gaze locked on Lincoln.

As we headed with Bill towards the kitchen to feed him some tamales, I caught sight of the glowing Christmas tree in the living room, and the angel sparkling under the lights.

Merry Pucking Christmas indeed…