Page 30 of Hockey Halloween

Delaney

"Aren't you two just the best-looking couple in here," she declares, and I cringe.

“We’re not a couple.”

She laughs, batting at me like I'm an adorable mosquito. "Shame! You do look the part with those incredible matching costumes."

She turns to make someone else’s drink. My brother leans in when she’s out of earshot and says, “Remember, this was your idea.”

“It’s a good chance to get some easy money for the charity,” I say and try not to let my arms brush my sides as we move away from the bar, in the opposite direction of the well-meaning bartender.

The costume kinda squeaks if it rubs against itself.

“I didn’t know it would cause me emotional distress too. ”

Ryan makes a small snorting sound and lifts his whiskey on the rocks to his lips.

“You know how many women would kill to be mistaken for my girlfriend?” Ryan tells me.

His eyes, visible through slits in the headpiece of his pleather costume, are focused on something across the room.

"I'm leaving as soon as we win. I was lucky to get time away from the team for this.

They get here tomorrow, and I don't want to show up to afternoon skate hungover or with bags under my eyes.”

“Oh, no. Whatever shall I do without your incredible company?” I reply, my voice and tone drier than burnt toast. I don’t exactly regret it.

Ryan and I have never been close. We might be siblings, and only eighteen months apart, but we didn't exactly grow up together. I mean, we lived in the same house from birth to thirteen, but then my twin sister died. Grief took my parents down a dark path that didn’t include each other or raising their remaining two children.

So we were shipped off to different boarding schools.

At fourteen, Ryan went to an all-boys school in Minnesota, and I went to an all-girls school in California. In the summers, we went to camp, but different ones. We saw each other for a few holidays every year between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. And after that, even less.

But I do have to give him credit for showing up tonight. “Thanks again for doing this.”

He nods. “Yeah. I mean, she was my sister too.”

A heavy silence blankets us. It's still so hard talking about Hadley with him.

Not just because she was my twin, and obviously Ryan's sister, and died in such an unexpected way—hit by a drunk driver while riding her bike—but because we didn't know her the same way, and we definitely didn't grieve the same way.

And I doubt we remember her the same way either.

But he's here. We're united tonight in winning money for the charity I started in her name, and that feels like a step in the right direction.

“So…” I start, looking to move the conversation in a less heavy direction. “Who do you think our biggest competition is for the prize money?”

Ryan draws in a long breath and exhales loudly. “Probably the damn Vipers.”

I lift my eyebrows, which is actually hard to do with the latex head covering that comes down to the bridge of my nose with just holes for my eyes. “There’s a group here dressed as vipers? ”

My eyes dart around the room, but Ryan shakes his head. “Nah. I mean the hockey players.”

“There’s a group dressed as the hockey team?”

"No. Actual, literal hockey players are here," Ryan huffs out, clearly annoyed at my failure to catch on quickly. "They're dressed like the Scooby Gang, and it's both ridiculous and, well, kind of brilliant. Plus, everyone knows who they are. They've got the hometown hero advantage."

“Hero?” I scoff and roll my eyes. “Vipers haven’t won a Cup in fourteen years. They suck.”

Ryan grins appreciatively at my hockey knowledge, but he shouldn't.

I don't follow the sport, but a couple of other pros at the tennis academy I teach at do, and they're constantly griping.

One of them barked out that fact about not winning the cup a few days ago, and it stuck in my head.

"Yeah, but when they're all you've got, they're still considered heroes. "

I make a face and he chuckles. My eyes scan the room again, and I spot a man in a purple polyester dress and red wig.

He's got to be Daphne. Why do men's legs look so great in heels?

Bastard. Also, he's got a great hockey butt rounding the back of the dress.

He's talking to one of the judges. Damnit.

The judges are the Mayor of Vegas, the deputy mayor, the GM of the hotel, and a local comedian who has a residency here. So yeah, the local hockey team may have an advantage. I feel the hope in my heart deflate like a leaky balloon. Damnit. I really wanted this prize money.

I sip my cocktail, which is the specialty of the night, called Monster Mash. I don't know what's in it, exactly, but it's purple and fruity. And strong. "I'm gonna go say hi. See if I can find their goalie and make his night hell."

“Why would you want to do that?” I ask.

Ryan smiles coldly. "Because I play them in two nights, and I want to see if I can fuck with his head. Last two times I played him, I scored a hat trick on his ass. I wanna make that three times."

He turns and saunters off. Who knew psychological warfare was part of what made Ryan a good hockey player?

I didn't. But then again, I don't know much about Ryan's hockey life… or any part of his life. I wonder sometimes if that would have been different if Hadley had lived. I always draw the same conclusion. It wouldn’t be different. He’d be as uncommunicative as he is now, still living his hockey dream, and I would be on the pro tennis circuit with Hadley by my side. That’s what would be different.

I would be living my dream and wouldn’t even have time to think about Ryan, just like he doesn’t have time to think about me.

Instead, I'm a high-level tennis coach here in Vegas. I don't hate it. In fact, I love it. I love guiding and training young, fresh talent, and it leaves me time to run the charity, which is doing so many good things in my sister's name.

I take a bigger sip of my cocktail and decide to do a tour of the huge ballroom to see more of our competition.

I was right, that dude was Daphne. And now he’s talking with a guy dressed like a dog with a collar around his neck with a giant tag that says Scooby .

How the guy makes the silly outfit look hot is beyond me, but he does.

By the bar is another guy dressed as Shaggy, and after I down my drink and weave my way through the crowd to the bathroom, I run into Velma.

Our only other competition is really the group dressed as Ghostbusters because they went all out with the coveralls and cardboard packs on their back, but they also have one member dressed as the Stay Puff ghost. Luckily, that costume is worn by a woman, and she tried to make it sexy.

Stay Puff is in a crop top with bulbous white plastic arms and legs.

It is not sexy and doesn't help their effort.

I think we have them beat. I bought our costumes from a shop in Hollywood, California, that claimed to have the best replicas ever.

They cost more than I care to admit, but it will be worth it if we win. The prize is five grand.

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 his very fine 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 mutt ers, "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. “ Not my 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?"