Page 27 of Hockey Halloween
He waggles his brows. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Well, yeah. Kinda why I asked.”
He’s not expecting my comeback, but he recovers quickly, hiding away his surprise. “Uh, yeah, but I’m not allowed to say. It’s a secret.”
The way he emphasizes secrets makes me want to know even more. But I won’t push for that. I’m here to enjoy myself, not make an enemy of Xavier. There’s still plenty of the semester left for us to work together, and he’ll probably end up in at least one class next semester.
Plus, I want to get to know him better.
“Okay.”
Again, he questions me with a look. His eyes are searing, seeing into my soul. “Really? Just like that? You’re dropping it?”
“If you wanted me to know, you’d tell me. Besides, I’m sure you’ve got deeper secrets. Maybe I want to know those.”
“Deeper secrets?” He stumbles over the words. I’ve hit on a sore spot. Like this Halloween thing, I won’t push now. We’ll see what happens next time.
As if there’ll be anexttime.
Instead of continuing this conversation, I grab a plate and load it up with several options. The mummy wrapped hot dogs are adorable, and I can’t pass them up.
“Food and drinks secured. Let’s go hang out.”
“Weidman, you are full of surprises tonight.”
“And secrets too,” I blurt, chastising myself for being so transparent. Because I avoided the conversation about the last time I was here, but no doubt he’ll circle back to it. I’ll only have myself to blame for being in this position.
“Right,” he agrees. “Secrets.” He lets the subject drop for now. “Too cold to sit outside? We’ve got a firepit and if you’re into it, the other Aspenridge hockey house has a haunted hallway.” His eyes cast down on my outfit. “You’ll probably need something to keep you warm for the walk. I’ve got just the thing.”
After we gorge ourselves on the yummy foods, he ushers me up to his room again. I go willingly. Again. At this rate, at least there shouldn’t be a repeat of last time.
I didn’t expect Xavier’s hoodie—his last name splashed across the back in huge letters—to be “just the thing.” When he holds it out for me, I’m hesitant to take it.
“Is this some kind of code or something? Some hockey tradition I don’t know about but am going to regret accepting? Like you giving me your hoodie is claiming me?” I’m uncertain where the ideas and words come from, why I’m even questioning him. But a part of me is unsure where this “hanging out” is leading.
His brows furrow. “Uh, nope. Unless you want it to be a thing.” His feet bring him closer. “Do you want it to be a thing, Weidman?”
“No one’s ever given me their hoodie before, but I kinda feel like there’s a precedent set. What if it’s so comfortable, I don’t want to give it back?” I have zero intentions of keeping the sweatshirt—I always thought the notion was strange—but it’s fun to watch him think through my proposal. He plays stupid, but underneath the layer of bad boy and dumb jock is a smartie. He wouldn’t be here at Aspenridge. And he’s a junior at that.
He contemplates my question for a moment before answering, “I hear what you’re saying. I’ll take the risk.” He practically shoves it against my chest. “Put it on. It’s cold out there.”
Okay, but his demand does things to me I’m not expecting, a shrill of arousal shooting through me. It’s the only reason I can explain why I suggest, “Why don’t you do it for me?” I hold in my gasp. I voiced the words, but I didn’t mean for it to sound so seductive. So commanding.
Except Xavier takes my words to heart.
Instead of shoving it over my head, he takes his time. He positions himself so we’re merely inches apart. With nimble fingers, he bunches up the material, making sure the opening fits easily over my head. I suck in a breath when the material covers my face, hoping tohide my shock. When it clears my face, he smirks. The dimple doesn’t show, but the smirk lowers my inhibitions.
Next, he raises my left hand, fitting it into the sleeve, repeating with my right arm. When I think he’s done, he steps so our toes are touching. Even though there’s extra material because it’s meant to fit him and not me, his hands contact the sides of my torso as he slides it down, fingering the hem that reaches to my thighs.
“I think I’m safe. It’s huge on you.”
“I like ‘em big. Huge, even.” Bold Delia has entered the room. Or an unfamiliar person has taken over my body. I am not this girl. I don’t “hang out” with college guys in their room. Hockey players or otherwise. Yet, here I am. Telling this brute and robust man I like things huge. Do I correct my slip of the tongue? Nope.
“Do you now? So I have reason to worry?” His words have a playful lilt, but his expression remains curious and stoic.
I shrug. “Guess you’ll find out at the end of the night. Shall we go now that I’m warm enough for the walk?”
“I suppose if I keep you in my bedroom any longer, people will wonder.”
