Page 53 of Hockey Halloween
I check my makeup in the bathroom as I wash my hands. Luckily, everything is holding up because there isn't even one pocket to keep a lipstick in. As I make my way out of the bathroom, I run into the last member of the Vipers' Scooby Gang. Fred. I literally run right into him.
My shoulder hits the wall as I stumble back. And his hands plant on the wall on either side of my head. We're face-to-face, and he looks… familiar. Why?
“Hey. Oh my God. I am so sorry! Are you okay?”
His eyes are lovely. Big, warm, dark brown. His hair is a rich, dark dirty blond. He's a wall of a man who towers over me and smells warm and spicy. He's… well, gorgeous. "I'm fine. Are you?"
"I'm…" He chuckles and glances down at his outfit. His cheeks are slightly pink, and he smiles sheepishly. And yep… he just got hotter. "I'm not able to move well in this. Who knew skin-tight polyester was so… inflexible."
“Probably every person who lived through the 70s?” I reply, smiling. My eyes can’t help but skim the whole polyester jumpsuit up close and personal as he pushes off the wall and takes a small step back from me. The outfit almost looks like it was painted on and shows off hisveryfine form.
“I think I ripped it going to the bathroom,” he confesses and glances over his shoulder.
“Turn around.”
He does as I requested, and sure enough, there's a small tear in the seam that runs down the back of the costume with the zipper. I touch it. The hole is about two inches, right between his shoulder blades. I grab each side of the ripped seam and tug them toward each other. "I need a sewing kit or, at the very least, a safety pin."
“I don’t have either,” he confesses and swears under his breath.
"Neither do I…" I tug at the fabric, and it gets even tighter around his very broad, very muscular arms and shoulders. I shouldn't be impressed by hockey bodies. My brother has one. But somehow Ryan is not very bulky. In fact, he's downright lanky compared to this guy. "How did you manage to do this?"
His shoulders sag a little, and I let go of the fabric as he glances over his shoulder at me, expression sheepish. “I… relieved myself.”
I pause, like my brain, my heart, and my head all latch on to that information and stutter. That can be taken… more than one way… and he blinks as soon as he realizes it, clears his throat, and mutters, "Went to the bathroom. I peed not… just a pee! And all it took was…"
He turns to face me and starts to move his arms forward, hunching his shoulders and mimicking reaching for his…
Heat blooms across my cheeks, and he stops because there's a distinct ripping sound. Despite the embarrassment on both our faces, I grab one of his shoulders—it's like wrapping my fingers around marble—and turn him around. The undone seam is half an inch longer than it was a second ago.
“I hate to break this to you, but you aren't allowed to pee for the rest of the night. Or probably sit or dance or… do anything other than stand there and look pretty." Oops. I blame the two monster mash beverages I've consumed because normally, I wouldn't say that to a complete stranger. He lets out a laugh, and our eyes meet again. "If it makes you feel any better. I can't peel out of this to relieve myself either. I'm strictly monitoring liquids."
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice deepening. “I’m still stuck on the fact you called me pretty.”
I laugh. Shit. He’s not going to let that go. “Whatever. You know you’re hot. All hockey players know they’re hot.”
His eyebrows lift. Two women dressed like mermaids brush by and enter the women’s bathroom, but not before giving Fred the once-over. I motion toward their backs before the door closes behind them and look at him as if they just proved my point. “How do you know I’m a hockey player? Did your boyfriend tell you?”
“You mean Batman?” He nods, and I shudder. “Notmy boyfriend.”
That earns me another smile. He’s ridiculously attractive. The kind of stupid attractive that isn’t even dulled by a silly polyester onesie outfit or the fact that he is a hockey player—something I swore off as a pre-teen because all of Ryan’s friends were dirtbags. Every last one of them.
“What is he then?”
I shake my head. “Someone helping me try to win money for charity.”
“Then can I buy you a drink?” he asks.
I feel like I should say no, but… I'm not going to. It's been a long time—too long—since a hot man has offered to buy me a drink. "Yeah. Why not?"
Palmer
She says he's not her boyfriend, but he left his team during the season to come here and help her try to win this contest. So if Ryan Moore isn't dating her, he wants to be. And me buying her a drink will definitely annoy him.
We head across the ballroom together to the bar set up in the far corner. I ask her what she wants, and she orders the specialty drink. I grab another beer even though it will likely make me want to piss and tear this costume to shreds. After we get the drinks, I gently tap my glass to hers.
“So… who was the genius that picked the Scooby Gang?” she wants to know after she takes a sip.
“My teammate Theo,” I explain. It hits me I haven’t told her my name, and I also don’t know hers.
