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In between trick-or-treaters, Deanna lobs questions at me. The most recent being, “What’s something on your bucket list?” That’s something I have to think about because there are a few hockey-related things up there and I certainly can’t mention those.
“To buy my mom a brand-new Corvette,” I finally answer.
Deanna tilts her head at me. “I need more than that.”
I take off the head of my costume. “She was a fantastic single mom and she loves Corvettes. She’s always wanted one. I have the means to buy her those things, but the woman is stubborn and too independent. She doesn’t want me to do it. She’s insisting that she buy her own Corvette one day, so if I could convince her to let me do it, then it’d make my fucking year.”
“You are too sweet,” she whispers.
I grin. “Don’t tell anyone.” I settle the head of the snowman back into place just in time for another round of trick-or-treaters to come to the shop. I knew I needed something that would hide my identity. No way did I want to chance getting recognized. “What’s something on yours?” I ask when the little kids leave.
Her voice is far more serious than I’d expect it to be, but it matches what she says. “I want to make my family proud. I want to be something other than Difficult Deanna.”
“You can’t be that bad.”
She snorts. “You have no idea, Brayden.”
“Tell me.”
Her cheeks redden. “I’d rather not. It’s not pretty and it’s often embarrassing.” The bell over the door jingles as two kids and their parents walk in. She seems relieved, but she’s not getting off that easy. I’m curious now.
“Tell me,” I repeat when they leave.
“Where do you want me to start?” she snaps, annoyed that I’m pushing her. “I didn’t go to college, even though I’m doing exactly what my grandmother wanted me to do and that ended up being the best decision for me. I’ve gotten high from marijuana on multiple occasions. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t touched the stuff in years. I have a DWI on my record because I drove drunk once. There was a pregnancy scare in high school and Mom hasn’t let me forget that yet. Then, there’s the string of bad boyfriends, one of whom nearly cost me this business because he was stealing from me and I was too busy thinking I was in love to pay attention. A bad decision looks just like a good one to me, but I pick the bad ones way more than the good. I can’t do right.”
Damn. That’s a lot to absorb. Deanna reaches up to swipe a fallen tear away. I grab her wrist and pull her against me, though it’s a bit awkward with my costume.
“I think you’re doing pretty fucking awesome right now.”
“Thanks. I wish my grandma was here to see it. She was really worried about me and the path I was on.”
I bet she was. There is so much more to Deanna than I ever realized or thought to consider. I’ll be damned if she doesn’t intrigue me even more. She pulls away from me, glances at her phone for the first time, and a slightly fake smile slides onto her face.
“Trick-or-treat time is over. We can get you dropped off back home. Thanks for coming to hang with me.”
“You’re not staying with me tonight?” Shit, I was hoping she would. I probably won’t see her until next week because we have two away games this week and then a home game.
Deanna avoids looking at me as she puts away the candy and coupons she had for the parents. “I decided not to.”
Which means she was planning on it and changed her mind. “Why?”
She shrugs, but that’s unacceptable.
“Give me a fucking answer, Deanna,” I demand as I yank off the head of the snowman.
Her spine stiffens, but she faces me. “You know way more about me than any of my other fuck buddies past and present combined. I know more about you than any of them. That sounds like a string is attaching. Don’t you think we should take a little break?”
Now, I’m confused. “Deanna, you’re the one who fucking asks me the questions for me to answer, so you can know all that shit about me. If you don’t want to know, don’t ask. If you want no-strings-attached, then why the fuck am I here with you, handing out candy
to kids? Why am I baking damn cookies with you? I’m not the one initiating that shit; you are and I’m following along because I don’t see a reason not to. If you want fucking only, I can do that, but make up your mind. I’ll find my own way home.”
I leave her behind, wishing I was wearing something other than this stupid fucking costume. I really wish it when it’s annoying getting into the taxi and the driver recognizes me and is snapping a selfie before I can stop him. I can’t wait for that to make its rounds on social media. I’m becoming more and more convinced that the Internet is the brainchild of the devil.
When I get home, I take off the costume and wonder about going to my own party, which is being held at a banquet hall. Any potential plans with Deanna for tonight are obviously not happening. But if I show up to the party now? And in this mood? I can only imagine the shit I’ll hear and the questions they’ll ask. No fucking way am I going.
Instead, I clean up the mess I made with the flour. That only makes me grouchier. Flour is a bitch to clean. It’s like I can’t get all of it up. What pisses me off about this entire thing is I didn’t even want to see Deanna right now and somehow, I still am. Somehow, I haven’t minded that things aren’t as strictly no-strings-attached as she wants them. Yet, she wants a break because of shit that’s her fucking fault?
This is why I don’t deal with women during the season! Who needs this stress and annoyance and drama when I have a job to do?
