I spin around. “You better fucking not.”
Theo, the team’s left wing who plays on my line, walks out of the hallway bathroom and looks at all our teammates frowning at me.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“I got a stripper for the bachelors,” I say.
Theo groans and rolls his eyes. “Dude, they said they didn’t want one.”
I head to the front door of my house, ignoring my teammates’ protests.
When I open the door, there’s a woman around my age standing there wearing a huge, bright purple princess dress. Her blonde hair is so long, it touches the ground. Oh, wait. I think that’s a wig.
I’m instantly confused. When I requested a princess theme on the exotic dancer website, I figured she’d be wearing something a lot…skimpier.
“Hi, are you Aaron?” Her voice is so melodic, so sweet-sounding.
I gave a fake name on the booking website because I didn’t want anyone to recognize my name in case they were a hockey fan. As a professional hockey player, I don’t mind at all when people come up to me and want autographs or photos. I love it, honestly. The fans are the reason I get to play the sport I love for a living, and I’m happy to engage with them however they want.
But a couple of the guys are pretty private, especially when it comes to their downtime, and I knew they wouldn’t want people bothering them during their bachelor party.
“Yeah, I’m Aaron. And you are…”
“Rapunzel.” She beams.
I look at her floor-length wig again and try not to laugh. Maybe she’s just really into the role-playing part of this.
She pulls over a roller bag that looks like a small suitcase. I study her pretty face. She looks familiar. I feel like I’ve seen her before, but I can’t quite place her.
One thing’s for sure: she’s fucking gorgeous.
I take in her features. Delicate button nose. Full, pink lips. Creamy skin. Big, blue eyes the color of a robin’s egg. She really does look like a Disney princess come to life.
“I brought extra makeup and face paint, depending on what you feel like doing tonight,” she says.
“Oh…” Now I’m even more confused. I clear my throat. “Do you normally bring that stuff with you?”
She nods, that beautiful, bright smile still on her face. “Yeah. People love having so much variety. I can do almost any character. And I can sing songs too, if you want.”
My brow lifts. “What?”
“I can sing any song from the movieTangled. If you want a song from a different movie, I know most of the ones fromFrozenandThe Little Mermaid.”
“Okay…” I tug a hand through my hair. Are singing strippers a thing now? I had no idea.
I clear my throat. “So do you, like, sing the song while you strip?”
Her smile fades, and her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just a little confused. The strippers I’ve seen before never sang.”
Her cheeks flush. “I’m not a stripper.”
“You’re not?”
She shakes her head. “Why did you think I was?”
“That’s what it said on the website when I booked the reservation.”
