Behind the Mask: Philadelphia Power, #3

By Susan Scott Shelley and Chantal Mer

Ryder Stone loves making people happy. He's worked hard to turn Striker, the mascot for the Philadelphia Power, into a beloved fixture and fan favorite. Being Striker has given Ryder his livelihood, his friend group, and his best friend Sawyer, who's been Ryder's biggest cheerleader in their nearly decade-long friendship. But now, he's seeing Sawyer in a new light. A romantic one.

 

Starting goalie for the Power, Sawyer Garcia, is a dog lover passionate about pet adoption, painting, hockey, and his friendships. The veteran hockey player has spent the last nine years in Philly, and his best friend Ryder is the reason the city feels like home. He's a planner, but doesn't know what to do about the feelings he's developed for Ryder, the most important person in his world. 

 

One impulsive kiss changes everything and turns their worlds upside down. They've always clicked so well together and know each other better than anyone. Crossing the line from best friends to lovers has the potential to ruin their friendship, but also to give them more than they ever thought possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Scott Shelley
• Release date: Sep 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960707093

Book preview

Chapter One

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Ryder

Elbow resting on the desk in the lobby of Sawyer’s building, I sip my chai latte and take in the small group waiting for the Halloween pet parade of the condominium’s favorite occupants. The friends I arrived with are garnering as much attention as the costume-clad pets, but they take it in stride. That Axel Lavigne and Leif Larsson, two of Philadelphia’s hockey greats, are spending one of their few free Saturday afternoons here speaks to the friendship we have with the Philadelphia Power’s star goalie.

The tinted glass of the expansive windows lining the front of the old renovated building mutes the bright sun shining outside. The cold snap that brought temperatures dipping below freezing overnight has taken a drastic turn, and I passed more than one person on the street wearing shorts and a t-shirt. A kid sporting a tee adorned with Striker, the Power’s mascot I bring to life, darts past me and does a double-take at Axel, the Power’s captain.

Bending so he’s closer to the kid’s level, Axel chats with him and the kid’s eyes grow wide. Without my widely recognized yellow costume, I get to be just a regular guy, and I like that as much as I love connecting with people when I’m Striker. Leaving Axel to his fan, I stroll through the expansive space, checking out dogs, cats, and ferrets dressed as bees, hot dogs, cowboys, and pumpkins.

Mrs. Sander, the crotchety woman who lives above Sawyer and complains incessantly about the building’s pet policy allowing dogs, is crouched down with her precious Cleo on her lap. Dressed in a tiny tiara and a pink princess dress, silk bodice and tulle skirt adorned tastefully with rhinestones, the cat has the elegant glamor of royalty. Mrs. Sander’s face shines as bright as the rhinestones while she talks to five-year-old Thea. Thea’s dad, Leif, defenseman for the Power and my good friend, has a hand on Thea’s shoulder, nodding at the pair’s animated conversation.

Do you think Mrs. Sander’s face will crack from smiling? Axel sidles next to me, his voice a mere whisper. It doesn’t matter that my friends are all giants and professional hockey players. They’re all a little intimidated by her.

She’s not that bad. There was a time I gave the old woman a big berth because she would stare at me with such intensity I swore she was making a mental spreadsheet of every flaw and discoloration of my skin.

Not that people staring is anything new. When you grow up with vitiligo, you learn to ignore the whispers and sideway glances. Especially when you’re in elementary school and have a strip of white running through your dark hair. The jokes about being part skunk are aplenty.

Then one day, I was stuck in the elevator trying to ignore the severity of her scrutiny by scrolling through Striker’s social media account when she blurted I reminded her of her first love. She can’t be all bad if she’s talking to Olive. I bring my takeout cup to my lips, savoring the rich spices mixed with the creamy sweetness. Though I worry her smile muscles may atrophy for lack of use.

Axel chuckles and raises his hand to get the newest member of our team’s attention.

Calder MacKinnon’s platinum locks stand in spikes atop his head, and his chest rises and falls as if he ran here. The youngest member of our crew spots us, grins, and heads over to Axel and me.

Hey guys. He pulls me into a back-slapping half-hug and does the same with Axel.

You’re late, Axel, ever the captain, says. There’s no heat to his statement, but he’s lectured everyone on the team about the importance of punctuality on more than one occasion. Hell, he’s even included me in his speeches.

Calder’s gaze scans the growing crowd lining the lobby. If it hasn’t started, I’m not late.

I’d like to hear you tell Coach that. Axel ruffles Calder’s hair.

Huffing good-naturedly, he swats Axel’s hands away. You never will. I’m not late to anything team related.

Axel nods, pride painting his features. Since Calder’s rookie season last year, his drive and commitment to the team have earned him respect from fans, seasoned players, and coaches in a short time. Where’s Riggs?

He has a fitting. Calder practically pouts. His boyfriend is a tailor who is becoming a favorite among the professional hockey set because he understands how to make clothing, specifically pants, that fit the proportions of hockey players.

Axel pokes Calder in the ribs, then tips his chin toward a basset hound in a banana costume. You look like that sad banana over there. Is it that tough being away from your man?

If you had a man, you’d know. Calder’s tone is teasing, but Axel stiffens, his blue eyes darting to me before he’s back to his relaxed self. At least as relaxed as Axel ever gets.

Mr. Calder! Thea runs across the marbled floor, her strawberry blonde braids bouncing, and throws her arms around Calder’s legs. He picks her up, tossing her in the air and her giggles peel through the lobby. I catch Mrs. Sander’s mouth tip up as she watches. Calder sets Thea back down and straightens the tutu skirt of her orange and purple dress. Are you and Mr. Riggs coming over today? Daddy, Jay, and I are making Halloween cookies when Jay gets home.

Leif smooths his palm over the top of her head. To clarify, we bought pre-made tubes of dough with designs in the middle.

My phone pings with a message from Sawyer that he’s on his way down. A strange flutter waves in my stomach and I wonder if the yogurt parfait I ate earlier was spoiled.

We have bats and pumpkins. Thea hops from one foot to the other. You can come, too, she says to Axel and me.

Thanks, Thea, but I told Mr. Sawyer I’d hang out with him and Zeus after the parade. I turn at the sound of the elevator doors opening.

Sawyer’s here. A larger-than-life man. Dressed in a furry, yellow onesie.

I cough out a laugh, joined by guffaws from Axel, Calder, and Leif.

Thea squeals and races to Sawyer. The substantial tawny dog next to him is wearing a matching onesie. They step off the elevator and, with the coordinated movement of a professional dancer, Sawyer flips up the hoods on both costumes. The round heads have gigantic eyes and the same wide mouth smile that’s on the Striker costume I wear at every Power home game. Zeus wags his tail and barks a happy greeting at Thea.

Sawyer holds out his long-ass arms, the sleeves of his costume ending well above his wrists, leaving a wide expanse of skin. Who’s ready to get this parade started?

Cheers erupt, followed by people and their pets getting in line behind the big goofball creator of this event.

Sawyer came to the Philadelphia Power a year after I took over the mascot position as Striker. He’s intelligent, fun, and the most interesting person I know. When I was expanding Striker’s role, trying to make it mine, Sawyer was always willing to join me in doing silly skits. Because he didn’t take himself too seriously, other guys on the team started helping. We became friends almost instantly, and after nine years, he’s as important a part of my life as my brothers. He’s one fifth of the tight group he, Axel, Leif, Calder, and I make up, but out of everyone, he’s the person I’m closest to and spend the most time with.

He looks ridiculous. Axel crosses his arms over his chest, his mouth turned up.

Leif chuckles. Do you think he’d look less absurd if the pants were longer and didn’t end above the fluorescent Striker ankle socks?

Nope. Calder bites his bottom lip, his eyes filled with mirth.

The same weird warmth spreading through my chest occurred last summer when Sawyer showed me his new helmet design with Striker’s face covering the entire right side. It’s been happening more and more frequently, like when I look at my best friend and his dog dressed in homage to my alter ego. I bring my cup to the affected area and hold it there, but nothing I do shields me from the strange sensation.

Once the final parade participants are in line, the six-foot-four goalie points to the concierge on duty. Hit it, Ralph.

Ralph taps the screen on his phone and the familiar beginning notes of Ghostbusters float through the lobby. Sawyer bops his head to the beat, wraps his enormous hand around Thea’s, and marches through the lobby, weaving around chairs and couches.

Did Sawyer pick out this music? Calder wrinkles his nose. He couldn’t find anything from this century?

Leif tilts his head, listening. I don’t know… It has a fun Halloween vibe to it.

But the eighties? Really? Calder snorts. Sawyer’s thirty, not fifty.

Thea waves to us spectators. Zeus jumps on Sawyer, trying to grab the leash from his hand like he wants to walk himself. Even Mrs. Sander gives me a nod as she passes us, pushing her cat in a pet stroller decorated to look like a royal carriage. We clap and woot, Leif snaps pictures, and Calder lets loose an ear-piercing whistle which causes two dogs to howl. Sawyer leads the parade toward the front door, winking at me as he struts by.

A flutter that feels a lot like a flock of seagulls dive-bombing unsuspecting beach-goers to steal the last of their lunches takes hold in my chest, and suddenly my lungs won’t fully expand. I sip my latte and my traitorous eyes home in on my friend’s backside. Even in a ridiculous onesie, one can make out the high, tight ass that rests on long, muscular legs. I lick my lips.

You coming? Axel’s hand claps my shoulder with enough force to propel me forward. Stumbling, I nearly spill what’s left of my latte, pulling me from my very inappropriate thoughts about my best friend.

Hearing the commotion, said best friend looks over his shoulder and slows at the doors, his gaze assessing me in a way that shouldn’t make me want to spread my legs for him, but does anyway. Are you okay?

Fine. I wave away his concern and tamp down the tightening in my balls. We’ll be out in a sec.

He gives another nod and says something to Thea that has her jumping up and down beside him. Ralph holds the door open and Sawyer gives him a deep bow, pulling the costume tight across the ass I should not be salivating over.

I need to get laid, I mumble to myself.

Tell me about it, Axel says as we follow the parade outside and onto the sidewalk.

Brow raised, I glance up at him. He shrugs his big shoulders. It’s been awhile.

He looks like he wants to say more, but he shakes his head and we walk in silence onto the sidewalk. The afternoon sun warms my shoulders and bakes the top of my head. My hair is so dark it absorbs the sun’s rays. I wish I’d remembered to bring a hair tie. Not that pulling my hair up would give much relief, but at least my neck wouldn’t be sweating.

Pedestrians stand aside, some taking pictures of the menagerie of costumed animals trooping by. One guy from Sawyer’s building has a lizard wearing a red plaid kilt and a matching plaid beanie with a green pompom on top. We spectators from the building become part of the parade as we march to the end of the block to the small park Sawyer and the other dog owners use.

Sawyer leads us along stone pavers, circling a grassy area, which today has two tables covered in plastic Halloween tablecloths. One table has juice boxes, water bottles, cupcakes, and tiny gift bags filled with candy. The other has bags filled with treats and toys for cats and dogs. Many of the leaves are still green, but some are starting their transformation. Pops of gold and orange streak the trees, reminding me of the painting hanging in Sawyer’s living room.

The parade dissolves into pandemonium once the kids in the parade spot the candy bags and break ranks. A Dalmatian dressed as a knight lifts his leg on a nearby tree, hitting a Chihuahua in a hot dog costume. The Basset Hound is rolling on his back, much to his owner’s dismay. And a golden lab in a tuxedo is barking and nudging his human to throw the ball so he can play fetch. Leif is with Thea at the candy table, Axel and Calder have been roped in to taking pictures with some of the residents’ pets, and the lizard parent gestures wildly, cornering Sawyer at the other end of the park.

I grab two bottles of water and a bag from the pet table. Catching Sawyer’s attention, I hold up the bag. He nods, says something that seems to calm the guy, then leads Zeus toward the tree I’m standing under. Zeus spots me and yanks on his leash. The Striker hood falls from his head as he races to me, pulling Sawyer behind him.

Hey, bud. I cup my hand in front of my groin, but wince when he jams his big dog nose into my balls. Do we have to do this every time? I ask, but he just licks my denim clad leg and wags his tail. I manage to save the water and treats from toppling to the ground by wedging the bottles and the bag into the vee of two thick branches.

He knows what he likes. Sawyer’s chestnut eyes glint, the sun highlighting shades of honey in them. His mouth tics up. Smart dog.

My fingers, scratching Zeus’s ears, still. What is that supposed to mean? If it were anyone but my best friend, I’d think he was flirting. But Sawyer and I don’t flirt. I’ve never looked at him as anything other than my friend. We won’t count the last few months when thoughts I should not want pop into my head uninvited. And I know for a fact, Sawyer only thinks of me as his buddy. He’s a gorgeous, fun-loving, kind, professional athlete and could have anyone he wants. Zeus noses my crotch again and I put my fingers to work, focusing on the feel of the smooth coat under my fingertips instead of wondering if the waxen skin on the underside of Sawyer’s wrist is as soft as it looks.

Here. I toss Sawyer a bottle of water.

He catches it easily, twists the cap off, and guzzles the liquid. I do not notice the way the long column of his throat works, or the bob of his Adam’s apple. And I certainly don’t think about licking the trailing bead of sweat from his neck.

He finishes the water, the crinkle of the bottle sounds when he crushes it in his big hands. He flips the hood off his head, his dark brown hair darker from sweat, and unzips the onesie exposing pale skin and a hint of the dark hair that covers his chest. Why is it eighty freaking degrees at the end of October?

Why didn’t you tell me you were dressing as Striker? I flick the silver zipper slider but jerk my hand back when my knuckle inadvertently brushes his skin.

His lips quirk in a playful smile, which seems to be Sawyer’s default. The man always looks like he’s up to something, and most of the time, he is. I wanted to surprise you. He hands me the empty bottle, then squats down and unfastens Zeus’s costume. There you go, buddy. Who’s a good boy?

Tail wagging, Zeus gives him a slobbery lick on the cheek. It’s gross and sweet at the same time. Sawyer loves Zeus, and it’s a good thing because the dog is a menace. He’s failed out of three doggy training classes, and has taken down an entire Thanksgiving dinner, among other things. Though, I have to admit, he’s usually good with me, and he’s the biggest sweetheart.

Sawyer stands, and presses his hands to his lower back, bending backwards. He straightens, then twists from side to side. Do you mind going back to mine so I can shower? I’m sweating my balls off in this thing.

Sure. I turn to say goodbye to the rest of our crew but they’re all occupied, so I take Zeus’s leash and we head through the park.

Why does he walk so well with you, but is a maniac with me? Sawyer watches his dog as he trots next to me, not once trying to tug the leash from my hand.

I deposit our empty water bottles into the large blue recycling bin next to the park’s trash can. Because we’ve established I’m the alpha. You can do the same thing, but you have to be consistent.