Page 57 of Hockey Halloween
He pauses, most likely because I’m staring at him like I just saw a ghost. Because I think I did. Same hair color. Same deep, dark, soulful eyes. But he's so much taller and so… filled out. And he's got a more defined jaw, and everything looks… bigger. Slightly different but… the same.
"Palmer," I say his name at the exact same moment it leaves his mouth.
He blinks and nods slowly. “You know? You follow the team?”
I shake my head, drop the sewing kit onto the table, and walk over to him. He thinks I’m coming to get the costume and extends his arm to hand it to me. I look up into those eyes that I think… I think I’ve dreamed about on-and-off since my fourteenth summer on this earth. “Camp Magog.”
The costume slips from his hand, which seems to have stiffened like the rest of his muscles. “Wh... What? How do you know that name?”
It occurs to me that I haven't told him my name, and Ryan has only called me D. God, how is this happening after all these years? I reach up and gently grab the lapel of the robe, tugging it back to reveal his left collarbone. Same birthmark—a pale brown splotch I decided back then was the shape of the state of Maine, where the camp was located. My friends teased me when I talked endlessly about him when I got back from camp. My best friend Lauren, laughing as she said, “I bet you think the universe branded him with the place he was going to meet his future wife. You’re such a sap, Delaney.”
“Is your name Dee? He called you Dee.” His voice is faint.
“D is for Delaney,” I clarify and smile up at him. “Hi again, Palmer. You’ve grown up.”
“Holy shit…” The words hiss off his tongue as he stares.
“Yeah.” I blurt out the next part even though I’m pretty sure it’s stalker-level ridiculous. “I never thought I would ever… get to kiss you again.”
“I’d like to kiss you again now, when I know who I’m kissing,” Palmer says as his hands cup my face.
I just nod and wrap my arms around his neck as his lips ghost over mine lightly before he presses harder, his tongue parting my mouth. It’s surreal and amazing and so damn… perfect.
He moves his tongue into my mouth with a confidence and expertise he lacked as a kid. He palms my ass through the tight costume, and when his wide palm slides down the back of my thigh, I lift my leg and hitch it over his hip. He pushes into me, our cores bumping and his erection making itself known as it presses into my center.
My God… there's so much to say, but it can wait. I didn't have this level of desire when I first met him, but as I grew older and became more sexually experienced, I occasionally wonder what it would have been like to see him and kiss him again.
I never in a million years thought it would happen. I never even tried to make it happen. I didn’t know his last name. The email address he gave me was [email protected], and although I sent him several emails, he didn't respond, so I stopped after the first three months. I never got one from him, even though I gave him my email address too.
“You never wrote,” I murmur as he breaks the kiss to move his lips to my jaw and trails kisses down my neck.
"Your email was in the pocket of my shorts," he whispers. "My mother demanded I take a shower as soon as I got home. Said I smelled like wildlife. When I got out of the shower, my clothes were gone from the bedroom floor. She'd tossed them in the wash, and the paper disintegrated."
I sigh as his tongue traces my earlobe. “I wrote you.”
His whole body stops moving. He pulls back so our eyes can meet. “I never got anything, I swear.”
“Hockey Palmer ten at Hotmail.”
“No. O the letter, not zero. Hockey Palmer one-o at hotmail.com”
“You should have clarified.” I feel a wave of annoyance even though the incident was decades ago.
"I was going to, but then I kissed you and everything just imploded in my mind," he replies and brushes his fingers over my cheek where the mask hits. Can you take this stupid thing off so I can see you again? Really see you."
I let go of him, and he lets my leg drop to the floor. His robe is now precariously loose and on the verge of falling open in the front, and I can't say I mind. In fact, I'm eagerly anticipating it. I reach up and pull the headpiece off my face, dropping it on the edge of the bed to our left.
His smile could light up the Vegas sign. It's so big and bright. "Damn, you got even more beautiful. How is that possible?"
The compliment washes over me with a warmth that feels old and new. Like he feels. It's intoxicating and making me braver, bolder, and happier than I've felt in a while. I step into him, and he immediately cups my face. "We have…" I glance at the clock on the bedside table. "Thirty minutes until they announce winners. I can sew that costume really well, and we can get back downstairs in time. Or I can sew that costume haphazardly, and it will barely hold together, but we can use the extra time to get reacquainted. Your deci?—”
His lips crash into mine before I can finish my sentence, and God, I'm so happy with his choice.
Delaney
We make-out like the teenagers we once were. Like we would have, over and over again, if we hadn't been torn apart. And the next thing I know, I’m pushing my hands under his robe, feeling the cool, taut skin of his chest, abs, and back.
“I’m not wearing anything under this,” he reminds me, like he’s worried I forgot.
