Chapter 1 – Brianna #2
This is a bust. I dance with Alexa while watching the group of large men from over her shoulder, trying to see if any of them look unoccupied or half interesting and that’s when I spot him.
A guy in a costume that’s so shocking it’s both terrifying and hilarious.
He’s dressed in a Sloth costume from The Goonies.
Lopsided eyes. Crooked ears. The missing, yellowed teeth—which I really hope are prosthetic and not the result of too many years playing professional hockey. The man is committed to the holiday which I appreciate. No hair, either though I think that’s from the mask he has tugged over his face.
God, he’s a vision. And not a good one.
Now, you’re probably wondering why, out of all the rugged, muscled, ridiculously attractive professional hockey players in this bar with their broad shoulders and matured bodies, that’s the one I find myself drawn to for a planned one-night stand.
Just know that I don’t make the rules in this life.
I trust my intuition, I follow with my gut, and the Sloth feels right.
I slide up to the table where he’s perched, nursing a glass of ice water like the world’s most menacing designated driver.
He turns to me slowly, and I swear to God, the mask moves so naturally it almost looks like his real face.
I swear if this guy doesn’t have a face underneath the plastic, I won’t be surprised.
Some kind of poltergeist shit or something.
“Hey,” I say to him, resting my palms on the table and leaning in so that I can press my tits together in my cropped top and give him a good show. “I love your costume.”
He looks at me and I notice softer, hazel eyes behind the mask he’s wearing. Have I always had a crush on the Sloth?
His smile slowly morphs into a grin and whoosh, sweet relief—I catch a brief glimpse of perfectly straight, normal teeth. At least I think they are. It’s hard to tell what’s underneath the prosthetic ones he has in his mouth, but they’ve shifted enough to tell me that’s just part of his costume.
“Think you might be the only female in here to say that tonight” he replies, voice deep enough to send a ripple down my spine. This guy’s voice just rewired something in my mind.
I smile at him. “It’s the commitment for me. Big Sloth fan?”
He chuckles, low and rich. I feel it in all the delicious places you want to feel it in before you sleep with a guy you just know fucks hard.
“Wore it for my daughter,” he says, swirling the ice in his almost empty glass. “Watching The Goonies used to be the only thing that would get her to stop crying and take a nap. She had a soft spot for Sloth. Not sure what that means for her future.”
Daughter? Swoon.
He’s a dad dressed as a character his daughter loves even though it’s easily the least attractive costume in the bar tonight. Adorable.
Ugh. My ovaries.
This is supposed to be quick. One reckless night of pleasure. One giant fuck you to my father by sleeping with someone on his precious team, the same way he’s always chosen a sport over me.
The problem is, I don’t do one-night stands.
Before my recent breakup, I was in a committed relationship for years.
I’m a relationship girl. A romance girl.
A lover girl. So now I’m standing in the middle of this bar listening to this giant hockey player talk about dressing up as Sloth for Halloween because his kid thought it was funny, and it would put her to sleep, and I’m dangerously close to crying over how good of a dad he sounds like.
Lock it in, Bri.
The last thing this man needs is me getting emotional just because he seems sweet and stable and then asking him to take me home anyway and fuck me hard.
But that smile does something to me I wasn't prepared for.
There's a tenderness behind it. The quiet pride of a parent who knows their kid better than anyone else and celebrates their interests.
My mom used to look at me like that. I wish she were still alive so I could ask her if she'd think this was a terrible idea or the best one that I've ever had. Probably both.
“That’s really adorable,” I say, my voice softer now as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “How old is she?”
He hesitates. “Twelve.”
That’s unexpected. This guy looks like he’s in his early to mid-thirties, so that means he would have been young when he had her.
Hold on. How old is he? Because the Sloth mask isn’t really telling me much about his face but from what I know about hockey, he can’t be too much older, or he’d be retired or traded.
“Did she see your costume before you left tonight?”
He nods, a small smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “She did. She loved it.”
That smile. The way it’s so genuine and proud, almost makes me forget where I’m at and what I’m here to do.
I’m not here to bond with this guy or learn more things about his daughter that will only make my heart soften toward him more.
I’m not here to romanticize this night. This night is about pure, raw, fucking and nothing more.
I take one slow breath and let myself do the thing my mother always warned me I'd do someday: romanticize the wrong moment with the wrong person at exactly the right time. On second thought, she’d hate this.
She'd also understand it completely. I wonder if this is how she felt the first time she met my dad and thought he was her future.
I hold out a hand. “I’m Brianna.”
“Seth,” he says, taking my hand in his firm grip. The name doesn’t sound familiar, but I haven’t memorized the team’s roster. Maybe he’s a new trade? This will work.
I grin, my decision made. “Do you wanna dance, Seth?”