When your grandmother stalks the star hockey player on the rival team because “You need a husband, Dakota—you’re not getting any younger!” it’s Christmas crazy on ice. It is not, however, the start of our great love story. I don’t date guys on that team. He doesn’t do casual, drunken hookups, which is all the captain of the Icebreakers is getting from moi. I give him the finger and tell him I hope he loses his teeth out there. He smirks and wins the game because both this Christmas season and this hockey season are a fucking scam. Then my younger, much dumber brother informs me that he owes his bookie a bunch of money and really needs the Icebreakers to lose their next game, and could I pretty please be an amazing big sis and date their captain then break his heart so he’ll suck and lose the game—otherwise little bro will get killed, or worse, our mom will find out. As much as I eye roll my overly large, overly loud family, I’d do anything for them. Including date the captain of the Icebreakers. Barf. Ryder is a Boy Scout. He doesn’t swear. He uses words like ma’am and sir. On our date, he opens my door, pulls out my chair, and helps me with my coat. He even volunteers at the local animal shelter and loves handmade sweaters. No, it is not cute! Three warm, gooey cinnamon rolls dressed up as a six-five, hot AF hockey player are not my type. At all. Nope. Santa better bring me something nice this Christmas for all my pain and suffering! In bed though? Let’s just say sleeping with the captain of the Icebreakers… is not going to be a problem.