12 Days of Christmas with My Brother’s Rival

ANAHERA

The winter outside the venue chips at my exposed skin but inside, it feels like I’ve stepped into a furnace of ego and expensive cologne.

There is enough body heat to melt the polar ice at this point.

“You okay, Ana?” Dominik asks, adjusting his tie for the hundredth time. He looks like a million bucks, I’ll give him that.

My big brother usually looks like he’s been through a meat grinder after a game, but tonight?

Tonight is the Winter Anniversary.

“I’m fine, Dom. Stop hovering and go have fun.” I swat his hand away from my shoulder. “Go be the star. I’m just here for the free champagne and to make sure you don’t do anything stupid before the big game.”

He gives me that lopsided, boyish grin that has half the city swooning. “No promises.”

I watch as he scans the room. This isn’t an official league party. It is the commemorative bash before the final showdown of the year. The calm before the bloodbath on the ice.

Everyone is here. From teammates to rivals and coaches who look like they eat nails for breakfast. There’s no checking anyone here though.

Just expensive suits and forced blend-ins.

“Go on,” I urge him, nodding toward a group of guys near the center of the room who are already waving him over.

They’re holding tumblers of whiskey and looking every bit like people who own the place.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine by yourself?”

I fake a gasp, looking insulted. “Are you kidding me? I’m a grown woman, Dominik. I can handle myself at a cocktail party. Go soak up testosterone.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second. I can see the war in his eyes. The war between his protective big-brother mode clashing with his desire to be with his boys.

Then he nods. “Okay. Stay close enough. And don’t drink too much.”

“I make no promises I can’t keep!” I call after him as he disappears into the throng of broad shoulders and tailored suits.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Finally.

I love Dom, I really do, but sometimes being his little sister feels like a full-time job without the benefits package.

I need to just exist in a space where he isn’t hovering over me and nobody is asking me for a diagnosis. Where I’m not stretching out a pulled hamstring or listening to a patient whine about their recovery exercises.

I have one last assignment on my docket for the year. Just one. One final patient to monitor and then I’m free.

It shouldn’t be that hard, right?

Navigating through the crowd, I dodge waiters and wives with diamonds the size of my fist. There’s a spot near the bar where I go immediately.

It’s quieter on this side. And by quieter, I mean no cackling men.

“Champagne, miss?”

“You are my favorite person in this room,” I tell the bartender, accepting the flute. The bubbles hit my tongue and I feel my shoulders drop an inch.

I lean back against the velvet-covered wall and sip my drink. The music is loud enough to vibrate in my chest but low enough that I can hear the roar of laughter rising from where I can see Dom.

I pull my phone out to text Bella. Wish you were here, I type. Then I delete it in another second.

What’s the point?

She is currently living her best life at her billionaire father’s condo in Australia, probably sipping a mojito on a beach while I’m freezing my toes off in a room full of–

“Anahera, you need to stop moping. Enjoy the glitter and the free booze,” I scold myself.

Someone slides in next to me for a glass, muttering something I don’t listen to because I’m watching a rookie player try to impress a veteran’s wife with a magic trick that goes wrong.

I burst out laughing.

Across the room near the towering Christmas tree, a woman in a red sequined dress catches my eye. She’s pointing at…me? I glance behind me.

Wall. Okay, so she’s pointing at me. She waves.

I’ve never seen her in my life but the champagne has made me generous and the holiday spirit is contagious. I smile and wave back, giving a little toast with my glass.

Her face lights up. She grabs the arm of the man next to her and points to me again. Then she points above my head.

I frown. What?

Then I hear it. It is a low murmur sweeping through the crowd.

“Kiss…kiss…”

Did I walk into a ritual?

The chant catches fire. It spreads from their group to the next, jumping across the room faster than a flu virus. Suddenly, half the room is looking in my direction. People are grinning and chanting in unison.

“KISS! KISS! KISS!”

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!

I take a look up. You’ve got to be kidding me.

Hanging above my head, tied with a velvet red ribbon to the sconce on the wall is a sprig of mistletoe. A massive, unavoidable sprig of mistletoe.

My stomach drops to the shiny floors of the room. I am standing UNDER the mistletoe. Alone. Wait. Not alone…

Before my brain can fully process the geometry of the situation, before I can turn to see who has been lurking in my blind spot, the world tilts.

An arm wraps around my waist. It’s solid as a rock and possesses a heat that sears through the fabric of my dress.

“Don’t leave them hanging, sweetheart,” a deep voice murmurs right against my ear.

I gasp, but the sound is swallowed immediately by his mouth on mine. I expect it to be sloppy or aggressive, reeking of stale beer. I expect to hate it.

But for the love of all that is holy…it is none of those things.

The kiss is mind-numbingly soft. His lips move against mine with a confidence that makes my toes curl in my heels. He tastes like peppermint and high-end whiskey–a dangerous and intoxicating cocktail.

For one second, I forget where I am and let myself feel. Then reality comes crashing back when the whole room explodes in cheers and applause.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING, ANAHERA?!

My eyes snap open. Fingers splayed over soft wool, I’m ready to shove him off all the way to New Year’s day but I don’t even get a chance to use my force.

One second, I’m being kissed by the best lips of my life. The next, there is a roar of rage that sounds like a grizzly bear’s and someone rips the warmth away from me.

Violently.

“Get your filth off her!” Dominik.

I stumble back, catching my balance against the bar counter. My heart pounds hard. “Dom, wait!”

But it’s too late.

Dominik doesn’t ask questions or wait for explanations. He swings.