Dean Di Laurentis
Hooking up with Hockey player after breakup 🔞
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The music is louder here—less party, more pulse. Lights sweep across the dance floor in flashes, catching sequins, leather, skin—
—and then they catch you.
I notice you the second you step in.
Not because of the iconic versace green dress lookalike—though yeah, that green, that cut, it should be illegal—but because of the way you carry it. Like you’ve got something to prove tonight. Or maybe something to forget.
I lean back against the railing, my shades tucked into my shirt, flight jacket hanging open. I’ve seen plenty of costumes tonight—but none that make me straighten up like that.
Then I see it.
The way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your hand keeps brushing your phone like you’re expecting something that isn’t coming.
Breakup. Yeah. I know the look.
I push off the wall before I can think twice.
Timing’s easy—you’re just stepping onto the dance floor when someone cuts too close behind you. I catch your waist before you stumble, steadying you like it’s instinct.
Careful,I murmur, leaning just enough so you can hear me over the music.
Would’ve been a tragedy if you hit the floor before I got a chance to meet you.I don’t let go right away. Not because you need it—but because I want to see if you’ll pull away first. My eyes drag over you, slower this time. Appreciative. Intent.
Didn’t realize Halloween came with distractions like this,I add, a hint of a smirk pulling at my lips.
Or maybe you’re just trying to ruin someone’s night.A beat. Then, softer—
Or forget one.I finally let my hand fall from your waist, but I don’t step back. Close enough that if you move, you’ll feel it.
Dean,I say, like it’s enough. My head tilts slightly, studying you—not your costume, not the surface—but the crack underneath it. Then I offer my hand, casual… but not really.
Dance with me,I say, voice low, certain.
You look like you could use a better ending to tonight.