Page 66 of What Are The Odds?
I took her gym bag, slipping it over my shoulder. “Luckily my house does.”
She hesitated, her gaze falling to the floor. “Are you sure? I’ve been there a lot lately. I don’t want to overstep with your friends.”
“Please, Grace,” I said dismissively. “You’re not overstepping with the guys. Tripp practically begged me to come today. And besides, I fucking love you being at my place.”
Relief overtook her apprehension.
“You swear too much, Holloway.”
She was probably right.
“So, dinner at my house?” I confirmed.
She grinned. “Bloody oath.”
*
“Good. We’re all here,” Ryan said, stalking into the kitchen.
At the first scent of food cooking, Will and Tripp had emerged. Despite having eaten on their way home, they were ready for round two. Luckily I’d anticipated this and brought extra ingredients when Grace and I stopped at the supermarket on the way back.
“Not another TikTok,” Will groaned.
“No. Let’s talk Halloween. I’ve got some ideas.”
I smiled, amused. “Here we go.”
Last year he’d somehow convinced the whole hockey team to dress as Where’s Wally. The year before that it was Spiderman. Twenty guys in what were practically morph suits – very revealing morph suits – was comical, but also very hot. I’d been a sweaty mess all night. I was vetoing any ideas that covered me from head to toe again.
“The Dothraki.”
“Dothraki?” Tripp asked, eyebrows raised.
“From Game of Thrones.”
Will shook his head in disagreement. “Not everyone would get it. And I’m not going to wear a costume again where we have to explain what it is.”
That had been the case when we dressed as the army men from Toy Story. The main problem was the suits Ryan ordered were orange, not green. People had mistakenly called us Ompa Loompas all night.
“We need a Khaleesi, then they’d know,” Tripp said.
“Hughesy could be our Dragon Queen,” I suggested.
Grace looked up.
Ryan regarded her for a moment. “She does have the hair for it.”
Tripp smirked. “And we do get to see her tits a lot.”
The warning glare I shot his way had the smirk falling quickly. Laughing, Grace leant against the bench beside me, wiping her hands on her pants. They were covered in garlic bread crumbs.
“What about dalmatians?” Ryan said. "Grace can be Cruella.”
“How did I get dragged into this?” Grace asked.
I placed my hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly. “Just go with it.”
“Or The lost boys,” Ryan went on. “Grace can be Wendy. Or Average Joes? There was a blonde girl on the team.”
