Page 26 of Hockey Halloween
Or maybe it’s because of the dimple.
He finishes the drinks and wonders, “Does it need a stir?”
“One or two swirls usually does the trick.” He shoves the cups into my hand and disappears around the corner, returning shortly with a spoon in his hand.
“Can I do the honors?” Eagerness comprises his question. I can’t deny him this.
“Sure.”
“What’s going on in here?” Shelton Fruin wonders, his gaze darting between the two of us. A small crowd gathers behind him.
“Making drinks,” Xavier says simply. Like this is an everyday occurrence for the two of us and not this remarkable act on his part.
“What’s in it?”
“Iced tea and lemonade.”
“Okay, but what alcohol?”
Xavier pauses his stirring of the second cup, glancing at Shelton with a curious stare. “None.”
“Oh, an Arnold Palmer,” Cody spouts.
“Heavier on the lemonade, but yeah,” I confirm.
Xavier finishes and holds out a cup for me. “Moment of truth.” I’m not even nervous. If he doesn’t like it, I won’t sweat it. More for me. He looks around. “Uh, this is between me and Weidman.”
“And the rest of us,” Isaac Baron says. “We’re invested now.”
“Wow, like no pressure, guys.” I’m surprised it’s me who voices the comment. I’m not usually so bold with people I don’t know well. Heck, even with people I’m well acquainted with. But a part of mefeels bad for Xavier. He’s already in the hot seat tonight with the whole costume bet thing. If he hates it, how will they react?
A collective hush falls over the group as he brings the cup to his mouth. Why they’re so invested in him trying a nonalcoholic drink is beyond me, but if there’s one thing I’ve gleaned about hockey players the last few years is they’re weird.
And unpredictable.
Sexy, too.
Don’t forget cocky.
Xavier takes a sip and swallows, his expression unreadable. Then he takes another. And repeats it a third time, all while we watch with bated breath.
“Well?” Diego says, exasperated when Xavier doesn’t give his opinions.
“Gotta hand it to Weidman. It’s good.”
I shouldn’t preen at his praise, but hell if I don’t want to. Especially when he throws his arm around my shoulder, tucking me against his side. A burst of invigorating citrus tickles my nose. Coupled with the “sporty” aroma Xavier exudes, it overwhelms me, and the urge to flutter my eyes closed is high. I refrain. I’m not trying to make a fool out of myself. Even if it’s not messy this time, I’d love to leave this party as composed as when I arrived.
“Glad you like it,” I say with confidence.
He clinks our cups together and leans closer, his mouth an inch away from my ear. Shivers erupt at the proximity. “Ready to hang out yet?”
His question processes slowly, one word at a time. I’m not sure how to answer him. I flash back to our earlier, unfinished conversation in his bedroom. I never got his definition of what “hanging out” means.
And yet, the word “Yep,” immediately falls from my mouth.
This time, instead of his fingers on my wrist, he entwines our hands together. His hand dwarfs mine, but he doesn’t seem to care. He stops when we’re in the dining room, a table full of Halloween-themed foods laid out on display.
“Okay, seriously. Who did all this? First, the decorations. Now, the holiday-themed food.”
