Page 50 of Hockey Halloween
But that declaration she made never left my head. Every time I was alone with her. Every time she smiled at me. Even when she held my hand during the movie night or danced with me, wrapped around me tightly, during the last camp party. Because Geoff was tallandfilled out. He didn't have pimples to hide and he was good at everything we did, from painting to hiking to water skiing to tennis—her favorite sport. I was borderline atrocious at everything except ball hockey, where I was a pretty decent goalie. So decent, I was thinking of changing positions from forward to goalie when I got back to my school team in a few weeks.
“Geoff is not you, Palmer.” She blinks and bites her bottom lip. “I wanted my first kiss to beyou.”
She stands up, brushing the dirt off the back of her jean shorts. I scramble to my feet beside her, almost sliding off the side of the half-buried boulder we're on. Someone calls her name from the other side of the thick brush. Probably our counselor, Matilda. She's waiting for the arrival of all our parents in the parking lot.
“Now it’s too late.”
She looks so disappointed that it makes me feel nauseous, and I hate myself with a force I never knew possible. Considering I live on the brink of complete self-loathing, that says something. She's about to turn away. Turn away and walk through the brush and out of my life. Most likely forever. Yeah, we've exchanged emails, and sheswears she's going to make her parents send her back here next year, but…
I reach up and cup the sides of her face. “It’s never too late.”
I press my lips to hers.
Palmer
I regret ever picking up a hockey stick at this exact moment. Maybe that’s what I want, subconsciously. Since this sport cost me every damn thing. Since, for the hundredth time in my professional career, I feel like giving it up.
“Come on, Huddy!” Theo Richard barks at me.
He's annoyed I'm lagging behind and being generally slow. Well, too bad. I feel like an absolute moron in this get-up. I tug at the skin-tight polyester one-piece suit. I try to loosen the tie, but it's not a real tie, so it doesn't budge. I sigh, and he rolls his eyes and adjusts the headband in his dark brown hair, which holds up his enormous, fuzzy brown dog ears. He's very proud of them. He made them himself. He also painted the dark brown nose on the tip of his and the other face paint that makes him look like Scooby-Doo.
"Chill out," he says. "It could be worse. I originally wanted you to be Daphne, but they don't make little purple dresses that fit your obscenely wide shoulders. Also, you're the only one with blond hair."
"If only I had wider shoulders," Evan Matheson mutters as he falls in step beside me and tugs on the ends of the very short, very purple dress he's wearing. He's our Captain on the Las VegasVipers. He's also not a redhead. In fact, he's got a shaved head, and it's so short I'm not exactly sure what color his hair is, but I guess the shaved part makes it easier for him to wear that hideous orange wig he's got on. Lopsided.
"If one of you losers had a girlfriend, two of us wouldn't have to be in drag to pull this off," says Garrett Choochinsky. He's a rookie forward and was given the Shaggy costume because the dude is all long, awkward limbs. He's somehow coordinated on the ice, though.
He’s in a plain green t-shirt and brown pants. His already long hair is messed up and hanging in his eyes.
“I’d rather wear a dress than have a ball and chain again,” Tyson Michaels announces and fluffs his wig. “Besides, I have great legs.”
He does a very clumsy spin in front of all of us, because he may have decent legs, but he's as graceful as a drunken bear. His antics do manage to pull my lips into a small smile.He’s not as coordinated as you, I remind myself. He’s our goalie. One of them. I’m the other.
Two months ago, if you'd asked me to be more specific, I'd have said I was the starter and he was the backup, but now… I'm not sure.
“We better win this thing,” Evan grumbles.
Theo's dark eyes land on him, and he grins. Theo's got this grin that is pure trouble. You don't want it directed at you, especially on the ice because it probably means he's about to knock you on your ass. Off the ice it means he's about to make you do something you might regret. "We will, honey. Just smile and look pretty for me."
He winks and lets out awoofbefore he walks through the doors to the massive ballroom. The place is packed. Who knew so many Las Vegas locals loved Halloween? This event is being held at the Bellagio by the mayor of Las Vegas herself. It's filled with heads of companies, celebrities, affluent locals, lucky tourists with enough money to afford the $250 ticket prices, and us, members of the local sports team. Our team owner and the General Manager are also attending, so I've been told. The event is for charity and includes a silent auction, but there's also a take-home prize for best group costume. You needed at least two people to enter.
The room is hot, and it makes me hate this costume even more. Polyester doesn't breathe. Also, for some dumb reason, it's a very tight one-piece thing where the white shirt turns into the blue bell-bottom pants, with a thick polyester tie sewn on the front and a belt sewn around the middle. A zipper runs down the back to get me in and out of it, which Theo had to zip for me because I obviously can't reach.
And I had to go commando because there was simply no room for underwear.
As soon as we walk in, I'm panicked everyone is looking at the outline of my dick. I tried to tuck it away, but I'm ridiculously self-conscious, especially after two women dressed as Marge and Lisa Simpson raise their eyebrows and grin as I walk by. I promise myself that as soon as they announce the winner of the contest, I'm out. I'll go home and peel out of this stupid thing and try to figure out answers to all the what-ifs that cycle through my head every day. What if I keep under-performing? What if I get pulled again in our next game? What if they trade me? What if I'm just done?
I beeline for the bar and Theo follows. No surprise there, he’s the team’s biggest party animal. We pass Mario and Luigi and Princess Peach, a bunch of girls dressed like the Pink Ladies from that old movieGrease, and a bunch of guys dressed like Minions. At least, I think that's what they are since they're covered in yellow body paint and wearing jean overalls.
“Smile, Huddy,” Theo says after he orders us both beers. “We got this in the bag.”
I give him a half smile, but I’m really not feeling it. I’m not feeling anything right now except mildly itchy because of this stupid costume.
He hands me my beer and he clinks the neck of his bottle against mine before taking a long sip. “You can’t let work go even for a second, can you?”
“I’ve never heard anyone call hockey work,” I reply and pause to take my first sip. “Not a player anyway.”
Theo seems to think about that as he takes a long pause and his mouth turns downward in a rare frown. Kid is always upbeat andthe life of the party, even when there is no party. I’ve seen him frown maybe a handful of times in the year and a half I’ve been playing with him. Even now, after a moment of reflection, he says, “It’s my family’s business after all.”
