Season's Schemings (Cyclones Christmas, #1)

by Katie Bailey

Basically, I woke up a few minutes ago in a strange bed (fully clothed, thank the Lord), but also wearing pizza and cuddling my new husband’s traffic cone (which is not what the meme is about, also thank the Lord). That was all a little startling, but then… I fished my phone out of my bag, and my day got a whole lot crazier.

Hello. It’s Seb Sebastian Slater Your new husband

Because that’s what this is all about: Hockey. And revenge. Not marriage.

“I’m a jealous man, Madelyn,” he whispers in my ear. “So you’ll be wearing my name tonight, or nobody’s.”

Why does my husband have to be so damn sexy? And why does he have to know it? I can tell that he knows how flustered I am, but he seems to take pity on me, because he simply nods. “See you tonight, Mrs. Slater.”

But even when I don’t see her, she’s everywhere. There's the sneakers stacked by the doorway, even though there's a perfectly good closet to put them in. And the girl's hair. Don't get me started on her hair… it's on the couch, on the rugs, on the hardwood floors. It's like living with a shedding dog. But then, there's the fresh flowers on the table. The butter sitting beside the toaster. The orange juice in the fridge, and the bagel crumbs scattering the counters. And sure, I pick up after her, but these little pieces of her, scattered like confetti around my apartment, feel nice and homey.

I’m suddenly fueled with a bigger drive than ever to perform tonight. To score. To lead my team to a win. To make a certain someone in the crowd proud that she’s wearing my damn name on her back.

My wifey not for lifey, so we may as well enjoy spending time together while we’re in this.

“You look at her like my daddy looks at my mommy. And they’re super happy together. So, I’m going to go with yes. She is lucky to be married to you.”

“You are too much.” But she’s not. She’s exactly the right amount of… everything.

“Well, I’m bringing a new tradition.” Seb shoots me a cheeky grin. “Voodoo cookies for anyone who upsets my wife.”

A disaster. Catastrophe. Travesty of the highest order (yes, I was a dramatic child, if you hadn’t already gleaned that).

“Thank you,” I cry into his chest, any embarrassment at my display being drowned by gratitude. His hand tightens on the back of my neck, holding me ever closer. Somewhere in the far, far distance, Dot applauds. “Now, THEY would get a sign that says ‘Live, Laugh, Love.’”

“You deserve to be celebrated, Maddie. Deserve to be praised. Deserve to have all of those people look at you and talk to you with way more respect. And I’m pulling double duty as your husband to help you get everything you deserve.”