Page 15 of Hockey Halloween

Xavier

I knew there were more sides to Delia than she shows, but I wasn’t expecting her. Perhaps there is a portion of tonight’s festivities we can dedicate to doing things other than hanging out and talking.

If she’ll come back to my room after the haunted house, maybe she’ll let me take off her costume.

Harris thwarts our exit. He’s carrying the stupid pumpkin head, and I internally curse, knowing what’s coming.

“Laitmon, going somewhere without this?”

I bite my tongue, holding back my snarky comeback. My mouth got me into this mess. The least I can do is learn from it.

Ripping it from his hands, I tuck it under my arm, training my narrowed gaze at him.

In case he wants to give me trouble about not wearing it, I bite out, “If I fall and hurt myself on the way to the haunted house because I can’t see, who’s going to tell Coach why I can’t play in the next few games? ”

“Good point. Be safe.”

“Make sure you put it on when you get there. Micah will be on the lookout.”

I don’t give Fruin’s words a thought, instead holding up my hand above my head, my middle finger pointed to the sky .

Outside, the streetlights are the only illumination because the clouds hide the moon. With my free arm, I tuck Delia against me, enjoying the feel of her there. If anyone asks, I’d lie and say it’s to keep her warm.

“They’re taking this bet thing seriously, huh?” she muses.

“Uh, yeah.” I flex my jaw. If I want a chance for more with her, I should tell her. She’ll never consider giving me a shot at anything more than being her lab partner, maybe attending another hockey party, if she doesn’t think I’m truthful or trustworthy.

Which is a problem. Since I’m hardly either of those things.

Or I wasn’t.

I’m trying to clean up my image, head down more of a straight and narrow path. I have Coach Ferguson to thank for that.

“Tell me about hockey.”

My ears perk up at her statement, my mood immediately altering. Talking about hockey is my favorite pastime, after playing it.

I fold her tighter against me. “I’ll start at the beginning, Weidman.”

By the time we make it to the other hockey house, I’ve only gotten through about half of the highlights of my favorite sport.

“Wow,” she breathes. “I wasn’t prepared for a hockey thesis.”

“Did I hurt your big brain with too many facts?”

The girl’s smart in every subject. Even though we’ve only been in two classes together, she knows all the answers and barely ever has to study for tests and quizzes.

She’s super organized, with a touch of OCD.

Luck was on my side the day our professor paired us up as lab partners.

I pull my weight and don’t slack off, but I defer to her about almost everything.

Another kid in our class tried to argue with her about something, and she tore him down so fast, I got whiplash. It’s one reason I’m attracted to her.

“You’re always complimenting me on my smarts.”

“And?” Where’s she going with this? Where is it stemming from?

“It’s usually the opposite. ”

“Like people criticize you for being smart?” Assholes.

“They think I’m showing off. But not you,” she adds quickly, to cover up the nerves trying to peek through.

“Delia, why would you waste time on people who are jealous of the way your mind works?” She shifts from one foot to the other as we stand in line to enter the house, a shocked expression blanketing her face. “What?”

“You called me Delia. Not Weidman. It’s weird, and a bit . . . unsettling?”

“Did you think I didn’t know your name?”

“I’m not questioning that. You’re not oblivious to your surroundings, and my name gets tossed around enough in class, you’d literally have to have the IQ of a rock not to know it.”

“I was unaware rocks had IQs,” I deadpan. I might be trying to curb the habit of not running my mouth, but her comment begged for a rebuttal.

She stares at me, her eyes unblinking. After an awkward minute of silence, one side of her mouth tips up into a smirk. “Good one. Glad your brain understood my analogy. The dumb jock role must get tiring after a while.”

I’m uncertain how she’s got me pegged, but damn if she’s wrong. I’m not smart like her, but without my intelligence, my application to Aspenridge would have been denied, no matter how much pull Coach Ferguson had in getting me in.

I knock my hip into her, careful not to send her off balance. “Don’t go spreading my secret around, yeah? ‘Cause if you do, I’ll be like a terrier on the scent in uncovering yours.”

“Code green,” she mutters under her breath, so low, I barely hear it. And even then, I have no clue what it means.

“I’m going to need a little more than that.

” I rest the pumpkin head on the stone wall.

She stares at the ground, and with a gentle finger, I lift her chin, regret swimming among the blue orbs.

Red stains her cheeks, and it’s not from the cool air swirling around us.

Despite how she’s feeling, all I want is to kiss her.

To smack my lips to hers, erase the guilt from her expression.

No matter it’s not my place, I want to make this better for her .

Delia Weidman has my head twisted, my heart scrambled, and she doesn’t even know the half of it.

Her shoulders drop from her ears, and she blows out a breath.

“At my first hockey party, my only party, hockey or otherwise before tonight, I got so wasted, I puked all over the floor. I was so out of it, Cody and Liliana brought me home, and I don’t remember any of it.

Just waking up in my dorm, my stomach revolting, needing to get all the contents out of it, my head pounding like a train barreled through it. ”

It’s not the words but how she voices them, the remorse in them, that makes me bend down to her level and press my mouth to hers. I’m gone instantly, lost in the feel of her mouth against mine.

Until she rips her mouth away and puts several inches of space between us, the shock of my actions written all over her face.

“Xavier,” she hisses. “What are you doing?”

I can’t tell if anger hides under her confusion, but it’s not in her words.

“Kissing you.”

“Why?”

I run a hand through my hair, prepared to have her walk away angry, find a way back to the hockey house, and leave the party. Sure, she’ll have to deal with me in class, but she’s professional enough to separate the two.

I’m not sure I am.

“Because I wanted to. Possibly ever since you corrected the professor last year about his take on social media. And every day since.” My heart in my chest, I admit the truth.

My mouth gets me into trouble often, and if this time is no different, so be it.

The pressure of not kissing her, of not knowing what she tastes like, got to me.

“Why now?”

“Why not now?”

“I was talking about puke, reliving my worst nightmare, and you kissed me.”

Her innocence so adorable, I chuckle. “To take away the memory.” I don’t pose it as a question, though it is one. “Besides, it’s not like you’re going to puke now.” If I’m honest, she looks a little queasy. Which is probably my doing. “Wait, are you?”

“I mean, I might. You kissed me without my permission. Who said I wanted to kiss you? Maybe I think it’s gross. Eww.” She shudders, playing the part well.

I take her performance as a challenge. Instead of walking away, ending this conversation, I gather her in my arms. She steadies herself with her hands against my chest, her eyes widening at the feel of muscles through my shirt. Or I’m guessing that’s what shocks her.

“All kissing is gross, or the thought of kissing me is gross?” I push the mask to her forehead so nothing impedes my view of her entire face.

I’m reminded of our surroundings when a rowdy group of Aspenridge students passes us.

Should I stop? Forget the fact of me kissing her, I didn’t consider where we are.

Perhaps this isn’t the best place to act on my feelings.

While my bedroom would be ideal, I have to work up to that.

“We should test the theory.”

“What theory?” Thank goodness my mouth isn’t waiting for my brain to connect the dots.

“The theory, whether it’s kissing you or in general. First, you kiss me. Then if I like it, I’ll go find another willing guy?—”

Fuck no.

My mouth crashes to hers, swallowing whatever scientific bullshit she was going to spew and her gasp of surprise. This time, she goes pliant in my arms, relaxing into the kiss, becoming a participant.

I sink into it, the feel of her lips against mine soft. When the urge to deepen it hits, I don’t bother asking for permission. I take what I want and what she’s giving.

She lifts to her tiptoes, her tongue seeking entrance into my mouth. I grant it immediately, needing the feel of her pressed against me like I need skates strapped to my feet for hockey.

It’s everything I thought it would be and more. Sweet, innocent, yet sexy. Every side of Delia wrapped into one moment. A moment I hope never stops .

Delia pulls away first, the distance between our mouths feeling like a crater of the Grand Canyon, though it’s merely inches. I stare down at her, her lip gloss smeared, her lips swollen. My ego puffs knowing I did that. Her breaths are heavy pants, mine mirroring hers.

“Yay or nay? Gross or not?”

Her head bobs from side to side, drawing out the suspense. A tiny smirk gives her away, and the nerves all but disappear. “So gross.” She rolls her eyes, the smirk deepening. “Don’t ever do it again.”

I lean in close to her ear, eliciting a hitch in her breath. “You bet your ass I’m doing it again.” She sucks in a breath. Having her right where I want her, I prattle on, “Think maybe you want to skip the haunted house?”

“Whatever will we do instead?” she drawls, a Southern accent creeping into her tone.

“Oh, it’ll be kissing. Just not your mouth. Better pucker up, pumpkin.”