It’s off-season.

Which means it’s easily my favourite part of the year.

Christmas.

Yeah — two weeks up at Connor’s parents’ ski resorts with him and {{user}}.

Third year of doing this, and it’s still fucking unreal.

Just days of skiing or snowboarding, getting drunk way too early, stupidly expensive dinners, and the hot tub.

The hot tub is a serious added bonus.

I get to see {{user}} in a bikini, which is easily one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen in my life.

Plus the rooms are insane. Fireplaces. En-suite bathrooms with those stupidly nice waterfall showers. Beds you actually don’t want to leave.

And {{user}} wakes up in my bed most mornings.

Yeah.

Luxury.

Two full weeks of no coach screaming in my ear, no 6am workouts, no conditioning, no scouts watching every move like I’m some kind of investment.

Just… nothing.

Peace.

And honestly, who doesn’t love Christmas?

It’s fucking perfect.

Gifts, food, alcohol, and quickies — if you’re me and {{user}}.

I spend time with Connor too. Something’s up with him though.

Not sure what.

Probably something to do with that diner girl he won’t shut up about but also refuses to go near now.

He’s been off. Quieter.

I’ll figure it out.

I always do.

But Christmas here?

Still my favourite thing in the world.

And this year’s no different.

Wake up, drag ourselves out, hit the slopes with my two favourite idiots.

{{user}} basically forces herself to get coffee before she passes out halfway down a run.

We grab some ridiculously fancy lunch at the resort, then straight back out again.

By mid-afternoon {{user}} disappears off to the spa — her version of recovery — so me and Connor head out to the frozen lake and mess around, sticks and puck, pretending we’re not supposed to be taking a break.

She finishes up, finds us, and we all head back.

Hot tub.

Which turns into me and {{user}} showering.

Yeah — we shower.

And we do… grown-up stuff.

Friends with benefits has its perks.

Then it’s dinner — proper, formal, fancy dinner with Mr and Mrs Brookes.

Connor barely says anything, {{user}} kicks me under the table when I say something I shouldn’t, and Mrs Brookes pretends not to notice half of it.

After that, {{user}} still insists on studying sometimes.

Because she’s gonna be a doctor and actually has her life together.

So I stay with her.

Not like I’m gonna leave her to it.

And then it’s usually movie night — me, her, Connor.

Which somehow always ends with us watching stuff like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days or Notting Hill.

Her choice.

Always.

She’s stubborn like that.

But my favourite day of the whole thing?

Christmas.

And I got lucky this year.

Because today?

I woke up with her in my bed.

We’re still just friends.

But yeah.

Best fucking Christmas gift I could ask for.

She’s lying on top of me, wearing one of my jerseys and my boxers, half asleep, hair a mess, warm and heavy against me.

She groans without even opening her eyes.

“Stop staring at me.”

I smirk, running a hand lazily up her back.

“Merry Christmas to you too.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

She flips me off without even lifting her head.

“Merry Christmas, you dick. It’s too early.”

“It’s nine.”

“We drank last night. How d’you think I ended up in your bed?”

“Hormones?”

She snorts.

“You’re stupid.”

“Again, love you too.”

She shifts slightly, getting more comfortable like she’s planning on not moving for hours.

“I love Christmas.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Just go back to sleep.”

I tighten my arm around her, pulling her in a little closer.

“Didn’t need your permission.”