Page 80 of Hockey Halloween
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Romeo.” I cut him off, fast and sharp, like that will make it true.
He clears his throat and gives a tight nod. “I was just saying,” he backpedals. “I never thought I’d live to see the day Gunther Wolf, Boston Bucks’ six-foot D-man, rocking a skirt.”
I take a long pull of beer, thankful that he’s not calling me out. “Technically, it’s a battle kilt.”
He snorts and leans in like he’s inspecting the fabric. “Nah, bro. That’s a skirt. A short one at that.”
“Fine,” I say with a shrug. “Call it what you want. But if I end up throwing down later…” I flick a glance at Jaxon. “…then it’s obviously a battle kilt.”
His gaze follows mine, narrowing. “You planning on throwing down? Someone bugging you?” He chuckles. “I’d offer backup, but something tells me Wonder Woman can handle her own battles.”
I glance down at the red tank top, a shimmering gold “W” stretched across the chest, and the blue pleatedskirtthat barely covers my quads. “Don’t pretend you’re not into it, dude. You told me Wonder Woman was your first girl crush.”
“Sure,” he says with a shrug. “If it was on Paisley, or literally anygirl in the room. But I’m not into it when it’s on a guy with thighs that can crush watermelons.”
The sudden image of Paisley with Roman—the team’s rookie who came dressed as a firefighter, because apparently girls dig it—races through my brain. I work to tamp it down.
“You know,” he begins eyeing me up and down again. “I figured you’d go with the Big Bad Wolf. Last name Wolf. Nickname Big Bad. It’s kind of a no-brainer.”
“That was too obvious, and nothing screams zero effort more than a sweaty faux-fur onesie and dollar store fangs. Not exactly a power move for the karaoke costume crown.”
He laughs. “Right. I forgot you treated karaoke like game seven of the playoffs. Good luck, Big Bad.”
The door chimes and a very pregnant, and positively glowing, Gina calls out, “Oh, good, she’s here.” I glance around, curious.Who’s here? Before I can ask, my eyes find Paisley again. She’s saying something to Melanie, laughter dancing on her lips, and then she starts heading my way. She gives her sparkly, pointy witch hat a little tug, and it's a miracle I manage to keep my gaze above neckline level. That costume is damn sexy. Tight. Tantalizing. All curves and magic. No wonder Jaxon looked hypnotized before he got conveniently distracted by one of the bunnies.
Gina swings open the door, and in steps a woman in a flowing, jewel-toned fortune teller outfit—scarves, bangles, a long dress, and a whole lot of mystique. Grinning from ear to ear, Gina leads her into the living room like she’s unveiling the guest of honor.
“Everyone, this is Tamara,” she announces proudly. “A real-life fortune teller. She’s the best in the business.”
Okay, this should be interesting…
“Yeah, it’s abusiness,” Roman hollers moving across the room, clearly not sold.
“She’s the real deal,” Gina fires back, wagging a finger at him, a warning to play nice.
Roman coughs into his fist and mutters, “Fraud,” loud enough to be heard but soft enough to feign innocence.
Paisley leans in close, her voice low and teasing. “You don’t believe in this stuff, do you?”
Her orange blossom scent wraps around me and I try to focus. Try being the key word.
“Not really,” I admit, forcing my eyes to notdrop to the very obvious view beneath her neckline. The only thing missing from her witch costume is a broomstick. But I can help her out there, considering I’m packing wood between my legs. Unable to help myself, my eyes dip anyway. Jesus, all those tiny buttons lining the front of her dress. It must have taken her at least an hour to do them all up. But I bet it would only take me a second to undo them—with one fast tug. “You?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it can’t hurt to hear what she has to say, right?”
I laugh. Too loud. Too fast. What I really want to know is what Melanie was whispering to her earlier. Was it about Jaxon?
“Is there something specific you want to find out?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
Her eyes shift to Jaxon. Then she bites her bottom lip.
Shit.
I force myself not to react. Jealousy is loud, and I need to keep mine on mute. Across the room, Tamara the Fortune Teller takes Roman’s hand. She says something I can’t hear, and the color drains from his face like she summoned a ghost. And didn’t hejustsay he was afraid of ghosts?
Okay…maybe she isthe real deal.
One by one, people take turns. A few women. A few men. The whole thing is weirdly riveting.
