Page 22 of Hockey Halloween
“From a costume?” I ask incredulously. “What is it?”
His gaze shifts to the left and down, embarrassed by whatever it is. He exhales sharply before returning his head up. “I lost a bet.”
“A bet?”
“Yeah, with my roommates. They got to pick my costume.”
His cloak of vulnerability intrigues me. He’s let it slip through his mask of cockiness a handful of times, but he’s more exposed right now. He seems less like the hockey player and tough guy he portrays and more like a child who’s about to be reprimanded.
“Can I see it?” I’m not sure who the question surprises more—me or Xavier. The nerves dissipated, and despite having to go inside the house to see his costume, I have to know what it is.
“You can’t laugh,” he states, a seriousness in his tone.
“Sure. I won’t,” I promise. Though if it’s terrible, I’m not sure how I’ll contain it. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” The possibilities of what it could be are endless.
Inappropriate.
Juvenile.
Sexy.
The last one sends a shiver up my spine. I’m not sure Xavier could be more sexy if he tried. Though a g-string and an oiled up torso a la Magic Mike might do it.
I’ve never seen his bare torso, but I’ve seen the way he wears fitted T-shirts. And I’ve seen him on the ice and in a suit. In clothes, the man’s body is a piece of art. My imagination runs wild with what he looks like without his clothes.
The image of him as Magic Mike parades across my mind, and I’m lost about what he’s saying.
“I guess I can show you.”
Before I know what’s happening, he wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls gently. I go easily, the feel of his fingers on my bare skin sending jolts of electricity zapping through my entire body, not only where we’re connected. The touch is gentle, and I allow him to guide me up the stairs onto the porch and through the door into the entryway of the house. Halloween decorations assault my vision. Skeletons, black and orange banners, white spider webs, and even carved pumpkins adornthe entryway. Scary music enhances the vibe.
For a moment, I forget I’m standing in a house where hockey players live. In the house where I embarrassed myself two years ago. It’s like I’m instead transported to Salem.
I spin around, taking in the view from every angle, my eyes needing to see every decoration. “Wow,” I breathe. “Wasn’t expecting this.”
“This is nothing. You should see the game room.”
I’m conscious of the fact that his hand is still around my wrist, that he hasn’t let me go even as I move around taking in the sights.
He breaks the spell with, “Want a beer? It’s Halloween-themed.”
I tear my eyes away from the decor and meet Xavier’s gaze. Do I want a beer? Delia from two years ago says, “Hell no.” But if I’m ever going to fully get over this fear and prove to myself it was a onetime fluke, a rookie mistake, then I have to accept at least one. One I can handle.
“Okay, sure,” I say, much to Xavier’s amusement.
He finagles his fingers so instead of holding my wrist, our pinkies loop together. The gesture is subtle yet somehow sweet. This side of Xavier isn’t expected nor someone I’m acquainted with, yetit’s refreshing. My guard lowers further. Long as I don’t get drunk, tonight won’t be a huge bust.
Oh, and I still haven’t seen his costume.
“Don’t forget I want to see your costume.”
We arrive in the kitchen where a bunch of the hockey players congregate. Xavier drops my hand like it’s on fire, the glimpse of the guy he showed me vanishing under a mask of hardened granite.
I can’t tell if it’s my question about the costume or the other players’ presence causing the shift. Whatever it is, I don’t think I’m going to like it.
Xavier
When I invited my lab partner to the party, I didn’t think she’d show up. She hasn’t said why she won’t attend hockey parties, but there’s a reason she stays away. Curiosity finally got the best of me and I needed to know.
