Page 24 of Unmasking Love (D.C. Renegades #1)

Aiden

Get A Clue

“Alright Colonel, time to put the wig on.” Felix says as I pocket my phone.

I just placed an order for Harper’s half-caf, shaken latte, with almond milk and an extra half pump of brown sugar syrup.

I smile because my honey sweetened latte this morning was still too strong for her and I could see it in her face as she forced herself to drink it.

Wes told me her order and then ended it saying as long as I order whatever coffee drink didn’t taste like coffee she’d drink it.

“Is the wig really necessary?” I ask. “I’m wearing mustard from head to toe and carrying a magnifying glass. I think people will get it.”

I catch Bryson gasp in surprise. “That’s the most words I’ve ever heard strung together out of your mouth.”

“Shut up.”

“He might be exaggerating, but not by much.” Duncan adds as he re-ties the fur around his neck.

“Yes, you need the wig. The costume is Colonel Mustard, not Aiden in dark yellow.” Felix informs me as he wags the wig in front of my face.

Felix is Professor Plum in maroon pants, a purple button down, brown sweater vest and tweed jacket with purples and reds in it and elbow patches. I think he might have had it custom made.

Duncan is Miss Scarlet in a red strapless, mermaid style dress.

Crosby is Mrs. Peacock in a green iridescent ballgown and Gucci loafers.

Bryson is Mrs. White in a black dress, white apron, and grandma wig.

Emm ett looks fly as fuck as Mr. Green in a emerald suit.

And I am Colonel Mustard.

The color I’m wearing reminds me of a wet post-it note. I’m glad I got Harper in bed last night because she definitely wouldn’t be attracted to me in this get up.

After I made her scrambled eggs with onion and zucchini, she slipped her skirt on and tucked the t-shirt I gave her into it before sliding on her boots.

I had a tough time letting her walk out the door without sinking into her again but she insisted on getting out of my hair so I let her go.

All day I’ve felt like a piece of me is missing. Like I’m incomplete.

One night together and I’m already mooning over her absence. I know it sounds pathetic but I like her. I like everything about her.

And I hate to admit it but I like that she didn’t say anything about my scar. She didn’t ask any questions about it, my heart, or whether it’s safe for me to play.

I can’t do anything without thinking I could collapse again and everything could end.

It isn’t even a thought that crosses most players' minds.

I was lucky. Believe it or not. Because when I went into sudden cardiac arrest before a game, we were at the arena closest to the hospital.

Some of the games in the province were way the fuck out but this game was downtown.

Its location probably made all the difference between life and… the worse case scenario.

All I remember was suiting up and starting to walk down the tunnel when everything faded to black.

The next day I woke up in the ICU. My parents told me my coach’s chest compressions kept me alive on the way to the hospital.

They put me on a pump that kept my body functioning while my heart was stopped.

For three hours the surgeons worked to repair an aortic valve and then they stitched me back up.

Whe n the doctor came in and started to explain the recovery timeline I felt numb until I caught a tear roll down my dad’s cheek.

My dad was the one who got me started skating. He took me to a local high school game when I was five years old and I was hooked. I spent the entire game asking questions and trying to figure out the gameplay.

Dad got me signed up for learn-to-skate and from the very moment I stepped foot on the ice, I loved it. The glide, the way my eyes would tear up with wind whipping past my face, the cold sting of the rink.

I even loved the smell of the wet rubber.

After learn-to-skate, Dad got me into beginner hockey and even though we rotated through positions I always found myself hanging back to protect the net. The coach noticed and asked us to get some pads. The next week I suited up and when the coach sent pucks my direction I moved and blocked them.

And thus a goalie was born.

My parents were so proud when I was selected to join the Alberta Juniors League at 14. There are families who volunteer to house players so I settled in with a host family and everything was hockey.

Until it wasn’t.

I couldn’t keep my spot after my heart attack so after rehab I went back to Minnesota to play in the NAHL. But the team wasn’t the team closest to my parents so they sold their house and bought a condo that was closer to the hospital than the rink.

All my doctors told us I would be fine. That the surgery was a success and I had taken my recovery seriously. I wore a monitor and kept my heart rate in check. My bloodwork was solid. But I wasn’t treated like the rising star anymore.

No, I was treated like the best available backup goalie and that title has stuck.

College scouts didn’t care about my pre-episode stats.

They didn’t care that I was performing as well as, if not better than, before my surgery.

I had become a player with baggage. Someone a team might have to worry about.

I was drafted in the late rounds and went on to be a second string goalie at a D1 school, but then it was a few years in the minors before being bounced around to seven different teams in the NHL.

I’ve been on the move, living in different cities, countries even, for hockey for half my life.

And now I’m here in D.C. and I have joined in a group costume for halloween.

They’re treating me like a teammate even though we’re 12 games into the season and I’ve played once. Not much of a team player.

I’ll admit, that isn’t too unusual but it seems the management here is more of a 20% backup team instead of a 40%. Most of the teams I’ve been on are that way. There are a few franchises that have more of an even split.

The difference is that here in D.C., I’m involved with the boys. I’m on the group texts, I’m invited to parties. Locker rooms have always been friendly enough but Felix and the boys take it off the ice unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.

We have a game tomorrow so Felix is hosting this party at his place, no club scene for the team tonight.

There is only light beer and not a lot of it.

He did stock the drink buckets with a wide assortment of sparkling waters.

I’ve known guys who won’t drink at all during the season.

Some who will but only the night after a game.

Since I don’t know when exactly I’m going to be playing I haven’t developed a tight pregame routine.

I also don’t pay attention to drinking or not since most nights are off for me.

And Felix decided to start this party early. It’s just after 3 and he wants the team here by 4:30. Plus ones are welcome whenever. I told Harper 6 which was the latest I was willing to push it but the closest to a normal party time as I could get.

Some of the guys bring their kids and partake in trick-or-treating and Felix has a giant cauldron of king-sized candy bars to hand out to anyone who st ops by.

His neighborhood is exclusive but not gated off so I imagine once word gets out, his house will become a destination. That’s probably exactly what he wants.

***

I haven’t heard from Harper since she sent me a photo of the drink I sent her.

That was almost three hours ago. My ugly ass mustard suit is starting to itch and the halloween themed music is getting annoying.

I have moved to the front room where I had a clear view of the door because I would rush to the foyer every time the doorbell rang.

I was starting to feel a little obsessive.

And I was right about Felix’s house being a destination.

Luckily we have only been pulled in for group photos a few times. Mostly when older kids are at the door and want to post they came to Felix Fornier’s house.

I chug back the rest of my blueberry lime sparkling water and head to the kitchen to recycle it. The doorbell rings again and I force myself to finish my task before running to check if it’s her.

I hear hellos as Felix answers and then calls out, “Young Gun, Harper is here!”

“Ohmygosh are you Stanley Ipkiss?” Harper’s voice warms me like sunshine on a cloudy day.

“The Mask?” I ask as I gesture to my non-green face. “Unfortunately no, I am the famed and revered Colonel Mustard.”

“From Clue! I love it.” She grins. Fuck, her smile is electric.

Even under cat whiskers. She’s wearing a black bodysuit, tights, and another little skirt.

It’s similar to the one she wore last night but this one is black and has a cut out on her thigh.

“Should I be looking for mustard color motifs? Would that make you more likely to want to see a property?”

“Probably not.”

“True, your place was…” Harper trails off.

“What?”

“Bitch, do not pretend you didn’t describe every detail to me on the way over. Hi, Aiden.” Wes interrupts. “Why isn’t there any booze here? Did someone decide to go as the sister wives and force their beliefs on us?”

“Uh, not that I know of. There’s a game tomorrow so we’re on a curfew.”

“Really?” Harper asks.

“Yeah, it’s not strict for me since I won’t be playing but most of the guys will be heading home soon to get to bed.”

Wes checks the time on his watch. “Huh, professional hockey players are boring.”

“During the season, yeah, kinda.”

“Gross. I’m gonna go take a lap.” He grabs Harper by both shoulders and tells her, “Don’t wait around for me, are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

He kisses her on the cheek and heads towards the backyard where Felix hired a DJ and pushed the furniture out onto the lawn so the patio could be used for a dance floor.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Harper says and my attention snaps back to her. My look is menacing at best because the idea of Harper with one of my teammates strikes a fury in my chest that is nearly impossible to contain. “Oh, gosh, sorry, not like that, I sold this house to Felix.”

“Oh, ha.” Of course. I laugh at myself and rub the back of my neck as I feel my ears heat.

They get even hotter as she steps up close to me and walks her black nails up my chest. I don’t stop her as she loops her hands around my nec k and as I lean in closer to her mouth I can smell the tequila. “Did you get a head start tonight?”

“Maybe a drink or two while I was getting ready.”

“Can I interest you in some water?” I say into her ear and she groans light heartedly but agrees.

We walk over to the fridge and she picks out the drink she wants and I pull out the first thing I see.

I guide her out to the patio and I see Wes and Duncan chatting.

Dunc does a full circle showing off his costume and Wes claps for him.

Harper leans against the support beam that holds up the balcony off Felix’s bedroom and I slide up next to her and flick one of her kitten ears.

“Hey,” she says as she bats my hand away. “You’d never do that to a real cat!”

“True,” I admit and then I purposefully lower my voice, “but I might to a pussy.”

Her eyes widen and after she swallows, she looks up at me. I like getting a rise out of her so I shrug my shoulders and take a sip of the pineapple sparkling water trying not to spit it out. Gross.

She takes a deep breath and regroups while looking out at the dance floor. “What’s your favorite trick-or-treat candy?”

“Ooo, that’s tough.” I rack my brain because I haven’t had candy of any kind for sixteen years. A memory of me dressed up as a zombie hockey player surfaces and I smile because I can almost taste the candy I was enjoying way back then. “I love those caramel apple suckers.”

“Oh!” She gasps in delight. “Yes! Me too. Those are so good.”

“And I like that they’re a little sweet and sour.”

“Agreed. If I can, I mix my flavors. Sweet and sour, sweet and salty. Sometimes just full sweet is too much.”

“Except your coffee order?” I tease.

“Hey now, coffee is bitter so it counteracts the sweet. And, thank you again for sending one over this afternoon.”

“ You’re welcome,” I tell her and as I stare down into her face. I realize I don’t want to look at anything else, ever again. “Did you have a good day at work?”

“I did,” she smiles, “Closed on a house with a client and then talked to another who is interested in using me as their selling agent. Did you have a good day at, uh, practice?”

I smile. “Practice was good, conditioning was tough but necessary. D.C. has a state-of-the-art facility and I’m trying to make the most of it.” While I still can is what I don’t say.

“Cool, cool,” Harper says and she kind of bobs her head.

Shit. I let this conversation get boring.

No one wants to talk about training for hockey except other hockey players.

I really just wanted to hear more about her day.

I want to know everything I can about her.

I don’t know how to do casual hookups. All day long she’s been in my mind and I am going to tell her.

“So, umm…” she starts but I cut her off.

“My day also sucked because I was just waiting to see you again.”

Her wide eyes drink me in and in their depths I see trepidation but also, determination.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask her, hopefully keeping my desperation to get her alone concealed. When she nods I take her by the hand and pull her with me into the house. “Did you have dinner yet?”

“No, not yet.” She says as I help her slip into her coat.

“What do you feel like?” I ask her as we step outside and I pull up my rideshare app.

“Italian?” She asks.

“Are you asking me if you want Italian?” I smile to let her know I’m teasing.

“Har har, I want to have Italian for dinner.” She lifts her chin in mock defiance.

“ Do you have a favorite place?” I ask.

“Yeah, Filomena Ristorante.” She says and I type the destination into the app. “It’s a little far, it’s in the city, so the closest place would be,”

“No, we’re going to your favorite place.” I cut her off. “It’s our first date and since I just planned it now and we’re dressed like this we’re at least going to your favorite place.

“This is our first date?”

“Yeah. Unless you want to count last night.”

“What about when you brought me lunch at work?”

“I didn’t eat then, both parties have to eat for it to be an official date.” I tell her and when I catch a faint blush on her cheeks I realize the pure mention of eating around her is an innuendo now.

“I can’t wait for my cannoli dessert.” She says with a smirk as the car pulls up and the glint in her eyes tells me she’s thinking the same thing I am.