Page 2 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

After that, she’d stopped at the convenience store on the corner, bought two bottles of wine, then spent the rest of the night getting shit-faced drunk with Ethan and Allyson, the three of them reimagining the run-in a hundred different ways, most ending with Chelsea either karate-slamming two-timing Rick to the sidewalk or throat-punching runway-worthy Vanessa before completely wrecking that perfect blonde updo of hers.

Since then, she’d been saying “good riddance” to the asshole, trying to believe she was well and truly over him.

And for the most part, she was.

Probably.

Sort of.

Chelsea had been asked out a few times, but none of those dates had led to a second. Her ability to trust was in the gutter, and her heart simply wasn’t into giving romance another try.

She took a sip of wine and pushed the negative thoughts away.

They served nothing.

Ethan and Allyson had been her godsends since June, swooping in and basically taking over her life.

They’d convinced Chelsea to move out of the apartment she’d shared with Rick and in with Ethan, who had an extra room.

They had consumed gallon after gallon of ice cream with her, drunk enough wine to float a boat, and comforted her as she cried and raged.

Her best friends had done everything right.

Given her time to grieve.

Practiced patience after every backslide.

Dragged her out of the house and back into the social scene—mostly kicking and screaming.

And then last week, the two of them sat her down over salted caramel cold brews at Starbucks and helped her plan the next chapter in her life—Paris—even though they were devastated she was leaving.

Best. Friends. Ever.

Chelsea was starting a new life in a new country, and Ethan was convinced some hot French guy was going to sweep her off her feet.

While she was bummed Allyson had only scored two tickets, which meant Ethan couldn’t come tonight as well—the event had been sold out for months—she did what she’d been doing for months and allowed Allyson to take the wheel, dragging her two hours north on a frigid December night.

She’d much rather be sacked out on the sectional in her living room, wrapped up in a fleece blanket, watching Hallmark Christmas movies with Ethan and enjoying his hilarious running commentary about how different the movies would be if both leads were gay men.

Chelsea drained the rest of her wine, then tried to decide if she wanted to fight her way through the crowd to the kitchen for a refill. It felt like a long walk through a shit-ton of people.

But the need to remain alone was overridden by her desire for more alcohol.

Only wine was going to get her through this night, because she didn’t doubt for a second Allyson would be one of the last men standing.

It was her friend’s M.O. First to arrive, last to leave. The FOMO ran strong in Allyson.

Chelsea started to make her way across the living room, but she had to stop short when a burly guy, who’d clearly already over-imbibed, stumbled in front of her. It was a back-up-or-get-crushed situation.

“Oof!”

She twisted quickly, intent on apologizing to whoever she’d just bumped into.

“Ouch!” she cried, her scalp stinging. Her head didn’t manage to make the full circle, jerking back hard enough to pull a large section of her hair roughly.

“Shit.” A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her still. “Hang on. Don’t move. Your hair got wrapped around my Christmas lights.”

Chelsea turned her head more slowly this time, then looked up and up and up until she saw—holy fuck—the hottest, largest guy she’d ever met, grinning down at her. His eyes landed on her face for a moment before sliding down to check out her sweater.

That was when his sexy grin got even bigger.

She reached up to unwind her hair from the holiday lights, but too much of it was tangled close enough to her scalp that she was basically plastered to his chest, his sweater tickling her cheek.

The guy tightened his grip on her shoulder, then tugged her hand away with the other. “Let me do that.”

She lowered her hand and waited, then narrowed her eyes when he made no move to free her.

“Well?” she asked.

The big, friendly giant with the world’s greatest smile gave her a shameless shrug. “I’m thinking.”

“This isn’t rocket science,” she mused. His smile was so infectious, she found herself returning it. “You just unwind the hair from the lights,” she added.

“Oh, it’s not the process I’m pondering. It’s the wisdom of letting the gorgeous girl I just trapped escape too quickly. When you catch a fish, you admire it, maybe even take a picture with it, before you toss it back.”

“Are you comparing me to a fish?” Chelsea pretended to be annoyed, though she loved that he’d called her gorgeous.

She was a curvy girl, thanks to her love for dessert…

and wine. God, she loved wine. No matter how many times she tried to lose weight, she ultimately failed because of macarons, baklava, glazed croissants—sweet Jesus, she adored glazed croissants.

As well as Cabernet, Malbec, Shiraz, and… well, the list went on and on.

Once again, she reached up, determined to free herself. And once again, he brushed her hand away.

“Bad analogy.” He had an amazing laugh to match that smile. “So, what brings a nice girl like you to a place like this?”

“Seriously? You’re going to drop bad pickup lines on me while I’m stuck to your chest?”

The guy used his grip on her shoulder to tug her closer. “Didn’t like that one? How about this? What’s your sign, baby?”

She sighed, then realized she didn’t really mind this close proximity. The BFG smelled good, his cologne not too potent or overpowering, just the faint scent of Armani.

“I’m a Virgo. Um…the lights are sort of hot.” The sudden heat she felt probably had fuck-all to do with the Christmas lights wrapped around his chest, but she wasn’t going to say that aloud.

“Oh shit.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and turned them off. “Sorry about that. Better?”

Nope.

Not even a little. Which confirmed what she thought.

It wasn’t the lights making her hot. It was the man.

True to his word, he began to unwrap her hair, taking care not to pull it as he did so. “Damn, when you get stuck, you get stuck.”

Chelsea giggled, aware he probably had his work cut out for him. “I have ridiculously thick, curly hair. I’m also long overdue for a haircut.”

“Seems a shame to cut it off, but I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty woman with long hair. What do you do for a living, Joy?”

“Joy?”

He pointed to her sweater.

Ah. Two could play that game. “Very funny, BFG.”

Now it was his turn to be confused, until she said, “Big friendly giant. Roald Dahl. It was one of my favorite books when I was younger.”

He laughed loudly. “BFG. Hey, I like that. So, seriously, what brings you to the party?” he asked again. “Please tell me you’re not here with a guy. My heart couldn’t take it.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, though his playful flirting amused, and even flattered her.

He continued to free her hair from the lights as they talked. She didn’t think that much had gotten wrapped up, which meant he was taking his time, untangling it a strand at a time to keep her close. Not that she was complaining.

“That’s not an answer,” he murmured, reminding her of his question. “Put me out of my misery.”

“I came with my friend, Al…lyson.”

He chuckled at her well-placed pause.

“She scored a couple of free tickets from a friend of a friend. How about you? Here with a girlfriend?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I love the jealous type.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not jealous. Just making sure no one is waiting in the wings to kick my ass for…” She waved her hand toward where she was still plastered to his chest.

“I’m here stag, so I’m all yours for the night.”

“I wasn’t looking for a date. Just freedom.” She tried to tug her head loose, though she wasn’t exactly hoping he would hurry.

BFG raised his hands, palms up. “If that’s true, then I’m going to have to stop here in case you run away the second you’re free.”

“Keep working,” she said, trying to infuse some level of warning in her tone. She failed completely. Since when did she sound so breathy and flirty and feminine?

“Let me buy you a drink and I will.”

“It’s an open bar,” she joked, as he unwrapped another strand. “Wine and beer were included in the ticket price.”

He bopped the tip of her nose. “Even better.”

She rolled her eyes, but mercifully, he kept unwinding her hair.

“Alright, I think I’m just about…there.”

She felt her head give way, free at last. And suddenly, she regretted that he’d let her go so quickly. It had been a long time since she’d been this close to a man, felt someone’s arm wrapped around her, holding her.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Ethan was a big hugger from way back, but given the fact he preferred guys and considered her a sister, he didn’t count in the way she needed.

She sighed, overwhelmed by the all-too-familiar loneliness she’d struggled with since being left at the altar.

“You okay? Does it hurt?” BFG clearly misunderstood her sigh, running his hand through her hair, strong fingers stroking her scalp in what she knew was meant to be comforting. He missed the mark by a mile, however, as her girl parts perked up and paid attention.

“I’m fine.” Then her gaze slid down, able to take in his sweater for the first time, and she laughed. Then she laughed even louder when he put his finger under her chin, drawing her eyes back to his face.

“Up here, Joy,” he joked.

Chelsea shook her head. “That sweater is…wow.”

He was wearing a festive green and red sweater, adorned with the lights that had trapped her.

If it had just been that, it would have been cute, if boring, but he’d gone the extra mile.

A huge stocking was safety-pinned to the bottom hem, covering the crotch of his jeans, drawing her attention exactly where he wanted it.