On the sixth day of Smutmas, Santa brought to me . . . a Festive (if not Forced) Fake Romance - a review of Logan Chance's Merry Pucking Christmas

Nothing like a Christmas confession, so I’ll start with that. 

As much as I love me a steamy romance, preferably of the rom-com, madcap variety, I’ve never read one by a male author. I feel like I should have whispered that but I don’t think I’m alone in this. When I dropped this truth-bomb on my book club besties, they too admitted that for as much romance as they consume it’s entirely of the lady-penned variety. 

It’s not that I didn’t like this book, per se, I just wanted to like it more than I did. And, I can’t help but wonder as I nitpick in hindsight if I’m not perhaps the teensiest bit sexist. 

Did knowing this book was written by a man prior to reading it color my reading? To wit, my major complaint about the story is that it’s just too damn cutesy, dare I say adorable, for my taste. The dark moment / inevitable breakup before the makeup is pale grey at best and, like the rest of the story, is just too rushed for me to feel really invested in the HEA and epilogue. Don’t get me wrong, I want - nay, need - the HEA and epilogue that lets me know how my couple is doing in the not-so-distant future. We all do. That’s what we’re here for. That said, I was left, on the whole, with a relatively meh feeling about Noelle Pearl, soon-to-be college graduate, and longtime crush manifested into fake (soon-to-be real) boyfriend, York Steele, hockey superstar who’s so famous he can’t seem to shake the paparazzi. Like ever.

It’s not the pretty glaring plot holes (say, for instance, why York is spending Christmas with his coach if the story takes place in his hometown with at least one relative - a cousin - who also lives there and makes a perfunctory appearance). My real issue with Noelle and York, who, despite the nearly decade age gap (not that there’s anything wrong with this or it’s uncommon, especially in the romantic-sphere), have both been nursing long-time crushes on one another, is that their story reads like a Hallmark Christmas movie for 95% of the book. (No judgement - I binge those TV gems like Santa’s holding a glock to my temple a la John McClane this time of year.) 

The other 5% of the time, however, it’s Showtime After Dark. Again, this is my wheelhouse. I’m here for the smut, obviously. But, I got whiplash going between the murmured confessions of what amounted to a middle-school crush and the (literal) banging sex scene on top of a Zamboni. Which I received as the gift it was. I’m all for pondering the physics of a wacky sexual encounter - I’ve already waxed poetic about a motorcycle quickie in a previous post - and the fact that Noelle and York get in on for the first time in what has to be a freezing rink is only topped by their acrobatics on the machine. So lost in the throes of passion are our lovers, that they don’t realize the Zamboni, having been turned on and thus turning them on, has carted their naked selves, limbs akimbo, to center ice, giving Noelle’s dad (who’s also coach / surrogate father to York) an almost-show and thus putting their now real fake romance in real real jeopardy.

That’s rom-comedy gold right there.

And I want more of it. Admittedly, I like my rom-coms witty, weird, and with a heavier dose of smut than sweet. So, Merry Pucking Christmas’s genuinely untroubled heroine and too-good-to-be-true hero aren’t exactly my cup of tea (or, more accurately, Diet Coke, since that’s what I’m sipping on as I write. In a can not a cup. People who drink cold beverages out of hot beverage vessels can fuck right off). 

Aforementioned plot holes and whiplash aside, I couldn’t get behind certain elements - like, oh say, when York (the perfect, yet unattached, hockey player superstar who’s wielding a stick of his own in his pants) is reading Noelle’s high school diary (!) in which she confesses not only her love for this grown ass man but also how and where she wants him to lick various substances off her body. Would I have probably read my crush’s secret diary if I had unfettered access to it? Yes. Yes I would. Does that make it any less creepy? Nope. 

Rather than spending so much time noting just how pretty (yup, her cheeks are pinkening again and her eyes are so sparkly blue) Noelle is, how about developing more of York’s backstory? I’m going to take this moment to interrupt myself, as is my wont, and note that some of the descriptions fell flat and lacked personality to the point that I’m not unconvinced they weren’t AI generated. Maybe it’s the teacher in me constantly being on the look-out for AI drek, but I don’t know . . . 

I’m eschewing spoilers because I was given an ARC, but if York’s dark moment is, in large part, due to his parents’ own relationship and the parts that might mirror his current fake / real relationship with his love interest, why didn’t the author do something crazy like, you know, actually write about it instead of making it a convenient cause for tension?

Should you read it? If you don’t mind the saccharine nature of Noelle and York’s relationship, which runs about as deep as the hockey rink ice on which they skate, go for it. If you want more heat (or less, if that’s your thang) and humor and characters whose problems seem more real than boxes to be checked, it’s probably not for you. That said, I’ll read another (and, who am I kidding, probably another) book by Logan Chance. In the eternal words of Trooper, I’m here for a good time, not a long, or intellectually-stimulating, time, so I’ll keep skimming those surface reads. Probably wondering if I do, in fact, suffer from misandry. (Look it up.)   

Rating: 3 / 5 Zamboni Sex Scenes