Christmas In The City (Imperfect Match 1.50)

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.”