Page 35 of Merry Pucking Christmas

The naughty things I’d let York do to me if we were ever given the chance. I’d let him lick whip cream off my body, because who doesn’t like whip cream. I’d let him kiss me anywhere and everywhere.

I can’t believe I’m giggling like a little schoolgirl at these dirty thoughts, but truth is, I can’t stop thinking about him. About all the things I want him to do to me.

I mean, I’d let him stick his hockey stick anywhere, if you catch my drift. Anywhere. I’d also let him check all my boxes. I’m getting corny over here. But I don’t care, York drives me completely batty. I want him. I want his hands all over me. I really do. His big, strong hands. I can only imagine how his skin would feel against mine. Late at night, when the whole world is sleeping. We’d be the only two awake, exploring one another. And I’d wish on a falling star to never let it end.

I close the diary, my fingers still resting on the worn leather cover. My heart is pounding in my chest, and my mind is spinning. Noelle had a crush on me—back then, when I was just some young guy trying to make a name for myself in hockey.The thought stirs something deep inside me, something I didn’t expect. It’s like seeing a side of her I never knew existed.

She wrote about me, about how she watched me on the ice, how she admired me. And now, all these years later, here we are. This isn’t a high school crush anymore—this is real. But after reading her diary, I realize that maybe she’s been feeling this way for longer than I ever knew.

I need to see her.

I pull out my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before I start typing.

Me: Meet me in the garage. Now.

I hit send and stare at the screen, my heart racing. Part of me wonders if I should have said more—explained why I’m so desperate to see her—but there’s no time for that. I need to talk to her, to see her face and hear her voice. To tell her everything that’s been going through my head since I read her words.

The seconds tick by like hours, the silence of the room pressing down on me. I don’t know what I’ll say when she gets here, but I can’t stop thinking about that diary, about the way she described watching me on the ice, like I was something more to her than I ever realized.

My phone buzzes.

Noelle: Be there in a minute.

I exhale, my breath shaky. This is it. I tuck the diary back into the drawer and head for the garage, my heart pounding harder with every step.

It’s time to face her. Time to tell her everything.

Chapter 22

Noelle

My phone buzzes in my hand, and as soon as I see York’s message, my heart skips a beat.

York: Meet me in the garage. Now.

I stare at the screen, my nerves dancing in my stomach. What could he want to talk about? My mind races, jumping from possibility to possibility, but underneath all the uncertainty is a thrill. A rush of excitement I can’t deny. I feel like something’s shifted between us, something we haven’t yet put into words.

I slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake my parents, and tiptoe down the hallway. The house is dark and still, but inside, I’m buzzing with nervous energy. My breath catches in my throat as I approach the door leading to the garage, my heart thudding with each step.

What if this is it? What if we finally have the conversation we’ve been avoiding? The thought makes my pulse quicken. I don’t know what York wants to say, but part of me hopes he’s feeling the same way I am—that he wants to tell everyone about us.

I reach the door and take a deep breath before quietly pushing it open. The garage is dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights outside filtering through the window. York’s already there, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, his face partially shadowed. The sight of him, standing there waiting for me, sends a surge of heat through me.

“Hey,” I whisper, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind me.

York looks up, his blue eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. The tension between us is thick, a mix of anticipation and something deeper that we’ve both been dancing around for too long.

I bite my lip, feeling a rush of nerves. “So… what’s this about?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, though I already have a feeling it’s something big.

He takes a step toward me, his eyes soft but serious. “We need to talk,” he says, his voice low and full of meaning.

I nod, swallowing hard. We definitely do.

But before any words come out, he rushes toward me, gathering me in his arms and crashing his lips to mine. I nearly cry out as our lips fuse together. God, I love this man.

I hate that I do. I shouldn’t, but I do.

His hands roam all over my body, like he can’t get enough of me. I grip him tightly, not wanting to let him go, because this kiss almost feels like goodbye.