Page 48 of Unmasking Love
“A few meetings, a photoshoot for a new listing. I don’t get to trick or treat with kids and have fun like you do.” She playfully pouts.
“Ha, that’s just like thirty minutes of fun. Trust me, practice and conditioning and team meetings are all work. No play.”
“Somehow with Felix at the helm I don’t believe you.”
“You might be right,” I admit. “Alright, we’re about to take off. Have a good night Harper.”
“Good night Aiden.”
***
“I don’t get it,” the gap-toothed kid dressed as a pickle says. I can’t blame her. I’m half dressed in my costume, half in my gear. The penalty kill meeting went long because we’ve slipped in the PK rankings lately and Coach wanted to tighten things up.
“It’s from a board game, Clue?” I venture as I toss some candy into her trick-or-treat bucket. I’ve got the safari helmet on and the mustard colored jacket over a white turtleneck but my bottom half is still in goalie pads. I didn’t think it was appropriate to strip down to my compression shorts with kids about to walk in.
I look up around the room and see that the rest of the guys are getting questions about their costumes and while Duncan is proudly strutting around as Miss Scarlet in a mermaid style gown, he’s mostly eliciting laughter from the kids in the room.
We have a game tonight and tomorrow Felix is hosting a Halloween party. I have wanted to invite Harper to the party but never figured out exactly how to do it. Every text I’ve drafted has sounded immature or forced.
Hey, what are you doing Friday night?
Do you want to come to my friend’s house?
Felix told me to invite you to his party.
I just don’t know how to get the conversation between us to a point where I can ask her to meet me in real life.
It was easier when she was still showing me homes. Then we had a built-in excuse to see each other. She’d call it a reason not an excuse, since I’m technically her client. Maybe that’s what I’ll do. Ask her to show me a home and then try to spin it towards an invite to the party.
The Monster Mash starts playing and I inwardly groan because I’ve been dreading what we’re about to do since Felix told us about it two days ago.
“C’mon boys, line up!” He hollers as the parents huddle their kids on one end of the locker room. By the time the first refrain hits, we’re in formation and the kids are splitting their pants in laughter as we dance.
It was a team effort choreographed by Felix and Duncan. Then Emmett made them remove more than half of the hip thrusts reminding them this was a visit from a children’s hospital.
They’ve stolen moves from all the top boy band videos from the early 2000s and a few line dance elements. Based on the number of phones recording us I have a feeling this is going to be everywhere. Luckily, I am somewhat competent on the dance floor, even if it is a talent I rarely share. My mind starts to drift to the image of Harper dancing with me in a club. Or even better, for me in the bedroom.
I snap out of it when Bryson bumps into me and I realize I stopped moving. Get it together man.
With a few grapevine steps right, a twirl, and a heel kick (this was the line dance heavy portion), Boris/Bobby Pickett’s voice fades out and the room erupts in applause. The giggling kids and their delighted parents bring a smile to my normally neutral face.
I look over at Bryson who is breathing heavily like he just completed a dance number on broadway and when he turns to me his eyes fucking sparkle.
“Dude! That was amazing!” He claps me on the shoulder as I walk back towards my locker.
“Yeah, it was a lot of fun.”
“We gotta make sure we do it early at the party because if I’m tipsy there’s no way I’m going to hit my marks.” He says, totally serious. No hint of humor or sarcasm to be found.
“Right,” I reply because I’m not sure what else to say. Thankfully he continues.
“And, with GT there I really want to do well.”
“Who’s GT?” I ask, not familiar with this nickname.
“E.T.'s Grandma Turner!” Duncan chimes in. “She’s the freaking best. She comes to the Halloween party every year.”
“It’s her favorite holiday.” Emmett mutters.
