Page 45 of Hockey Halloween

Gunther

If that idiot had even one working brain cell, he wouldn’t be laughing with my girl.

Okay, technically Paisley isn’t my girl.

She’s my childhood best friend visiting me here in Boston.

But if Jaxon thinks I’m just going to stand here and watch him flirt with her like he’s auditioning for The Bachelor: Dumbass Edition, that grinning mouth of his will be having a different conversation… with my fist.

Don’t get me wrong. I like Jaxon. He’s my teammate. Talented forward. Nice guy. But the dude has more women in his phone than Noah has goals this season, and he’s currently leading the team. Those damn dimples are a weapon of mass destruction, and somehow they’re working their magic on Paisley.

Paisley.

Brilliant, grounded, no-bullshit Paisley. She plays four instruments and writes symphonies, for crying out loud. Not flirty Instagram captions. She doesn’t play games and is not the kind of girl who falls for a smile and a wink.

Or at least…I didn’t think she was.

But maybe I’ve been sending the wrong message. Maybe saying we’re just friends on repeat made the guys think she’s fair game. Maybe I’m the idiot here.

One thing is for sure. I’m not changing the story tonight. No matter what’s boiling in my gut, no matter how badly I want to storm over there and stake a claim I have no right to. I won’t risk what Paisley and I have.

I didn’t do it back in high school, when we were at a friend’s party and she whispered that she liked me—I laughed it off and walked away with Suzy-freakin’-Sizemore.

Of all the girls to toss my arm around. Yeah, that was hurtful, but I had no choice because I needed to send a clear message that there will never be romance between us. I will never mess up what we have.

We never spoke about it again. Just buried it. Deep. Which means I officially have zero claim on her. She’s single, and she can do whatever—whoever—she wants.

Fuck me.

“What’s up, Big Bad?”

Speaking of killer dimples. Roman comes from down the hall, firefighter helmet askew, as he fixes his suspenders—and I don’t want to know what, or who, went down in the bathroom with him.

“Nothing,” I grouch.

He squints at me and I get it. Why would he believe anything coming out of my mouth?

I’m standing here in the corner of the room scowling when everyone else is enjoying Gina and Ash’s Halloween party.

“We won our last few games,” he cajoles, nudging me.

“And tonight we’re celebrating one of my favorite holidays…

” He paused to mock shiver. “…except for ghosts. Ghosts scare the crap out of me.” He rubs his stomach like he hasn’t already devoured half the snack table.

“There’s food, fun, costumes…what could possibly be ruining your night? ”

I grip my beer glass tight, tight enough I might shatter it, and force a swallow.

“What part of nothing didn’t you understand?”

“Dude, you look like someone just kicked your puppy.”

“I don’t have a puppy and if someone kicked it, I’d break their fucking legs. ”

“Okay then,” Roman says, dragging the words out as his gaze sweeps the crowded living room, landing exactly where mine is.

Paisley.

Laughing.

With Jaxon.

And not just any laugh. That laugh. The one that crinkles her nose and makes her green eyes sparkle. Everything about it hits me like a goddamn slapshot to the chest.

I force my focus back to Roman. One eye on him. One eye glued to her.

Because I’m just watching out for her, obviously. Friendly vigilance. That’s all.

Yeah sure, buddy. Whatever you need to tell yourself.

“Ah,” Roman murmurs, low and knowing. Like he’s cracked the code. Like my face is an open book and he just read a secret chapter.

But no, he can’t know. At least that’s what I have to tell myself, because if he did, it’d be a problem.

The last thing I need is for the guys thinking I’m into Paisley, because that would get back to her.

When it comes to the team, gossip spreads faster than a free buffet announcement.

Christ, even the backup goalie’s grandma knew Gina had turned Roman on to a new fabric softener a couple of months ago.

Wanting to nip this now, I grouch, “What do you mean by…’ah’?”

“Paisley,” he begins as Melanie comes from the kitchen.

“What about her?” My voice comes out harsher than intended. But maybe that’s good. Maybe it will shut him down.

“Who wants eyeballs?” Melanie asks as she carries a tray of grapes made out to look like eyeballs. Appealing…not. Okay, maybe I’ll have just one. I pluck one from the tray. Anything to keep my hands busy while I pretend not to watch Paisley like a hawk.

Melanie saunters over to Paisley as Jaxon throws his arms around Dania, a puck bunny who just showed up wearing his number.

Good. He’s moved on. Excellent. But speaking of puck bunnies…

Maddy, who is a good friend of Dania’s, wanted to come to this party with me.

She wasn’t too pleased when I told her Paisley was in town and we’d be hanging out.

It’s not like Maddy is my girl or anything.

We hooked up a few times, and well… Okay, fine, who am I to say anything about Jaxon’s rotating door when I have one myself?

Melanie leans in to say something to Paisley. I can’t hear it. But whatever it is, it makes Paisley glance my way…and smile. Just a little. Just enough to make my heart do something it hasn’t done since…well, since she last visited and smiled at me like that.

I immediately look away, like she didn’t just pull the floor out from under me with a glance. I turn my attention back to Roman and pretend Paisley isn’t the gravitation center of my freaking universe.

“What were you saying?” I ask.

Roman grins. “Hey Big Bad, if you and Paisley?—”

“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 pleated skirt that 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 any girl 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 a business ,” 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.

Then Paisley nudges me. “Let’s go.”

Before I can say no, her fingers lace through mine and she’s dragging me forward. Tamara’s eyes lock onto mine, and bam. It hits me. Oh hell. She knows. I don’t know howshe knows, but she definitely knows I’ve got it bad for my best friend.

Dude. That ship has not only sailed—it’s doing laps around the Bermuda Triangle .

Tamara lifts a ringed finger and points. “You,” she says to Paisley. “Come to me.”

Paisley lets out a tiny, nervous squeak and slips away, settling into the chair across from Tamara. Tamara takes her hand, starts tracing her fingers, and I swear I feel every single touch in the depths of my soul.

Shit, w hat if she tells Paisley I’m in love with her?

What if it ruins everything?

We’ve worked so hard to get here, to this good, safe, post-high school zone where everything is fine.

But is it fine, Gunther?

Paisley turns. Her teeth graze her bottom lip. Her eyes flick to me…then glide right past me.

To Jaxon.

Okay, this is good. Totally fine.

She clearly told the fortune teller she’s into Jaxon. Probably asked all about their future—matching tattoos, white picket fence, baby hockey players. And judging by the way she’s grinning, she likeswhat she’s hearing.

Awesome.

But like I said, this is good, totally fine, because Tamara isn’t outing me, so our friendship is still intact… but the idea of her with Jaxon—one of my friends—makes me want to punch a wall.

Goddammit.

“Hey,” Melanie says, suddenly beside me.

I glance over and nearly flinch. Great . The last person I need sniffing around my emotional wreckage is the therapist in the group.

“Hey,” I say, slapping on the fakest smile I can muster. “Everyone seems to love the fortune teller.”

“Are you going next?” she asks, eyes gleaming.

I back up half a step. “I’m good. I prefer my future to be… unknown.”

“Oh yeah? You like surprises?”

“I guess,” I say, but her smirk makes my stomach twist. Like she knows something I don’t .

“That’s good,” she replies.

“Why is that good?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

But before she can answer, Paisley swoops in and grabs my arm. “Can I talk to you?”

I nod, dazed, and as she pulls me away, I catch a quick, pointed look between her and Melanie. Okay. What the actual hell is going on here?

Paisley’s eyes shimmer like she can’t contain herself. She tugs me down the hall, into the bathroom, and shuts the door with a soft click that rattles my insides .

“What’s going on?” I ask, my nerves lighting up like the ghoulish skeleton on Gina’s lawn.

She’s fidgety, jittery. Her energy zips through the small room, and I shift on my feet while setting what’s left of my beer on the counter. Then she snatches the glass and takes a big swig like she needs liquid courage for what she’s about to say next.

But my gut already knows.

This is about Jaxon.

“Jaxon,” she starts.

Fuck me.

“What about him?” I ask, pretending I didn’t just die a little inside.

She slides past me, stops in front of the mirror. Pulling off the witch hat, she fluffs her curls, cheeks flushed, lips parted. She’s so goddamn gorgeous. They call me Big Bad, but honestly Roman is the biggest hound dog here tonight. Why isn’t he chasing her?

Because he knows what I’ve been trying to hide.

And that begs the question—who else does?

The fortune teller definitely does and she told Paisley to go after Jaxon.

“She said I need to make the guy I want jealous.”

I blink. “Jealous?” I try to channel my inner Best Friend of the Year. Just be cool. Chill. Supportive. Dead inside, but supportive. “I don’t really get it.”

She steps toward me. Closer. Closer. Until I’m pinned between her and the sink, my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to make a break for it.

“Yeah. Jealous. And I need a favor.”

“Of course. Anything.”

She takes a breath. A big one. Like the girl who hates heights is about to go skydiving.

“Tonight… will you pretend to be my boyfriend?”