I huff out a laugh anyway. “Come on,” I add, stepping in close enough to nudge the front of his chest pad with my glove. “I’m just trying to help you.”
The muscle on his jaw jumps. “I don’t need you checking up on me.”
He adjusts his glove, pulls off his mask, and pushes off before I can decide whether to say something else.
I watch him skate off and catch the tiny hitch when he plants that left leg, the brief moment where his body betrays him even though he refuses to.
He keeps going anyway, because of course he does.
I stare after him for a beat longer than I should, then finally force my legs to move.
If he doesn’t want my help, then… great. Awesome. Fantastic.
There’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.
I don’t give a shit anyway.
I shove through the locker room door and pull up short because Nathan’s got one hand on the bench, the other digging into his thigh, his lips pressed into a thin line like he’s trying not to make a sound and I get that pinch of worry I’ve been trying to ignore.
So much for not giving a shit.
14
NATHAN
Ifucking hate Halloween.
Sure, it was great when I was a kid—free candy, no bedtime, running around high on sugar. But now? I’m standing in the middle of a packed house, surrounded by fake cobwebs and plastic skeletons, dressed as fucking Luigi.
The fake mustache itches like hell and keeps peeling off my lip. The suspenders dig into my shoulders, and if one more person yells “It’s-a me!” I’m ripping off this mustache and setting it on fire.
There are way too many people here. My palms itch just thinking about how much of this mess I’ll end up cleaning up tomorrow.
I push off the wall, ducking through the crowd toward the kitchen, only to smack my head against the orange string lights Austin hung up.
I bat the lights out of the way and let out a sigh, weaving past the rookies playing flip-cup. They shout for me to join, and I shake my head, adjusting the fake wrench on my belt that knocks against my leg as I walk—yes, I have a prop—and Iremind myself how the hell this whole matching costume idea was Ryan’s fault to begin with.
And speak of the devil…
I find him by the stairs, his red cap crooked and his mustache hanging on for dear life.
He looks me up and down and lets out a scoff. “You look fucking ridiculous.”
I level a look at him. “You’re wearing the exact same thing.”
He shoots me a grin. “Yeah,” he says, taking a swig from his cup. “But I make it work.”
I huff out a laugh. “Don’t you have a girlfriend to annoy?”
He starts to reply, but the front door swings open and in walks my sister and her roommate.
They walk past a group of guys dressed as zombies, all of them turning their heads at once. Of course they do. The white corset over her silk dress is practically lingerie. I drag a hand down my face, groaning. The flimsy wings on her back are the only things making it clear she’s supposed to be an angel. I almost laugh. Angel, my ass.
Aurora walks beside her in a matching costume, but in a short, tight black dress instead, with matching black wings.
“Fucking Christ, Izz.” I groan, shaking my head as she spots me. “You couldn’t find something other than underwear to wear?”