SHIVER

Thirteen Sexy Tales of Humor & Horror

DEDICATION

St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital.

100 % of all proceeds for the life of this anthology go towards St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital.

Better The Devil You Know

by Belle Aurora

When you know, you know

Prologue

I remember the exact moment I fell in love with Bastian Lee.

It was a warm summer’s night.

Not that he had been there or anything. But that’s beside the point.

We had been dating a single week. A short time, I know.

But when you know, you know.

Insert dreamy sigh here.

He had been working late at the bar, the one we met at. I was just getting in from a girls night out. Stacey drank three too many and blew pretty pink chunks all over my brand new Manolo Blahnik knockoffs.

And I gotta admit. I was cheesed.

I paid a fifty for those babies.

Never to be worn again.

So there I was, wasted, slightly pissed, and mourning the loss of my new pumps, when my phone chimes.

Bastian: Wish you were here, beautiful. Sleep good.

And that was that. The exact moment.

It shook me like a thunderbolt through the heart. Suddenly, my body felt squishy and pliable, like warm vanilla pudding. A huge smile hit me so hard, my cheeks had to stretch painfully to accommodate it.

When a guy is at work, and at that workplace he’s surrounded by a plethora of gorgeous women, most of them easy, and he texts you to let you know he’s thinking of you…

That right there, ladies, is a keeper.

Stumbling around my apartment, bumping into furniture, I attempted parking my ass on the edge of the sofa. And ended up using the arm of the chair as a slippery slide all the way down to the floor, landing with a hard thud.

Whee!

I meant to do that. The floor looked lonely.

Lazily blinking through furrowed brows, I used my Jedi mind powers to focus on the cell phone screen and write back something equally as sweet to my new beau.

Me: My butt hurts.

His immediate response cemented my already strong feelings for him.

Bastian: I’ll kiss it better tomorrow.

Smiling like a loon, I drifted into a peaceful sleep on my living room floor, mouth open, forehead planted firmly on the hardwood floor.

Somehow, I knew we’d be together forever.

The Story

Our story

A cool hand gently squeezing my hip roused me from my sleep.

My smile was small and sleepy. The moment that hand moved lower to slide up my nightgown and lips connected with my tush, I jumped and squeaked. But he held me firm. His rough rumbling chuckle hit me right in the solar plexus.

I was so in love.

“Bastien, get your lips away from that. You have no idea where it’s been,” I mumbled sleepily through a smile.

His slow kisses stirred something inside of me. It never took long for Bastien to set me alight.

We’d messed around a lot, but we’d never been there. Not just yet anyways.

Hey, I’m a lady.

It would take him at least another thre- Okay, another two weeks to get there.

If foreplay was anything to go by, Bastien was a very giving lover. I couldn’t wait to take it there. But the anticipation of waiting would make it all that much better.

He placed gentle kisses on my hip, trailing up further, kissing the side of my breast, then my shoulder, up my neck, along the underside of my jaw.

When I suddenly realised something.

Bastien didn’t have a key to my place.

My eyes snapped open. “How did you get in here?”

I wasn’t really pissed about it when I was being woken up the way I was, more curious, was all.

His breath caressed my skin as he spoke against my cheek. “Security in this place is shit, babe. Took me all of twenty seconds to work the lock.” Suddenly, his green eyes were all up in my biz. “You didn’t even attach the chain, Em.”

I blinked. Then pouted. Was I seriously getting a lecture at this time of the morning? “In my defence, I was hammered when I got home.”

His full lips curved into a soft smile as his eyes softened and searched mine. “What am I gonna do with you?”

My fingers touched his shirt-covered stomach and lingered there. My voice turned to a hoarse whisper, “I have a few ideas…” Lightning fast, I was on my back, arms pinned. I scowled, “Hey, I wasn’t ready!”

The tip of his nose touched mine. I felt his smile against my lips. “Never are, babe.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re super fast, and quiet as a cat. You’re like a superhero or something.”

A choked sound escaped him. “Uh, no. Very no.”

I pulled away to get a good look at him. “Why no? Superheroes are awesome. They help people and make sure the bad guy always gets what’s coming to him. And you’re hot. And they’re always hot. It’s like a rule or something.”

Without asking, he lifted the covers and slid under, still holding himself above my body using his strong arms as leverage. “I never really liked superheroes. I always liked the villains.”

I made a face of mock disgust. “Seriously? We are so going to have issues over this.”

The moonlight struck his face and my stomach dipped.

I had never seen a man more handsome than Bastien Lee.

It was almost as though God ran out of ugly to give so he gave Bastien the whole package.

If I had to put together a list of the things that would make up my dream guy, Bastien would have fit the bill. With dark hair stylishly cut, bright green eyes, full lips, high cheekbones and a beaming, white smile, he was — without being able to find a better work — perfect. His tall, built body towers over mine. And I didn’t just like that. Oh no.

I loved it.

I kept asking myself how someone like me was able to land a man like this.

I was no Scar-Jo, that’s for sure.

Being average height and average weight (a little more in the boob area) with long average brown hair and average brown eyes to match, I was not lying when I said I thought I was punching above my weight. But he never made me feel that way.

To think we only met a week ago. It felt like a lifetime ago.

I thought back to last Saturday…

Stacey, Laura, Ally and I had been talking about going to Frost for months. The problem with this was that Frost was an extremely popular cocktail bar and rarely let in people off the street. You could wait in line all night long and get nowhere.

This just wasn’t a risk I — or any of the other girls — was willing to take.

So as a group, we decided if we ever got someone to vouch for us, we’d go together. We made a vow that neither of us would go without the other and we stuck to it.

Thursday night came along and just as I stepped out of my extremely glamorous workplace, my phone started buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out and answered. “Yo, yo. What’s up?”

I smirked as I heard Stacey’s cringe. “Ugh. Must you talk like that? It’s gross, Em.”

Even though she couldn’t see me, I started nodding. “I must. I really must.”

“Whatever. How was work?”

I walked on to the bus stop, my shoulders slumped. “Awful. I swear, it’s like every time I ask my boss to stop doing something, he does it twice as much.”

Sounding none too impressed, she asked, “What was it this time?”

Last week, I had asked Mr. Vozzo to stop calling me sweetheart. The week before I asked him — ever so kindly — if he could please stop tapping me on the tush every time I walked passed him. Every time I bring something up, he has the same response. “I didn’t realise I was doing it… sweetheart.”

I wouldn’t mind so much if Mr. Vozzo were an eighty year old. The fact is that Mr. Vozzo is barely forty, married and thinks he’s God’s gift to women. The sad thing is, I need this job. Yes, it’s a crappy office job, but the pay is above average, I get four weeks of vacation a year plus dental. A far cry better from working in the diner I had been working at.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Just that he please only ask me to lunch if it’s business related.”

Stacey gagged. “The little worm! He’s married!”

“Oh, I know. I reminded him. Subtly, of course.”

Yeah. About as subtle as a mule wearing fishnets.

Stacey sighed. “I’m sorry your boss is a dick.”

Smiling, I muttered slyly, “Are you sure you don’t work for Hallmark with phrases like that?”

At least that managed to get a laugh out of her. “Okay, enough chitchat. You’re gonna freak when I tell you what we’ve got.”

That peaked my interest. “We’ve got something?”

She responded in a singsong voice. “We’ve got something!”

“Alright then. Lay it on me.”

She puffed out a long breath. “Are you sitting down?”

I shook my head. “No.” Taking a long look at the questionable stain on the empty bench next to me, I muttered, “It doesn’t look safe to sit right now.”

Completely ignoring me, she let out a shrill, “Good! Are you ready for this?”

“I’m ready, baby. Sock it to me.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

I rolled my eyes and let out a long drawn, “Stacey!”

She giggled into the phone. “Okay! Alright! I’m just giddy. Sorry. I’ll tell you.”

“You better because I’m about to hang up on yo’ ass.”

She let out an exasperated. “There you go again!”

I burst into laughter. “Oh my God, will you just tell me!”

She blurt out. “We got vouched!”

Confusion crossed my expression. “What?”

“We got vouched. We’re vouched!”

Clearly not following, I mumbled, “Uhhhh…”

“Frost! We’re finally going to Frost!”

I gasped, “Really?” I gasped again, “Really really?”

She laughed in my ear. “Really really! The guy vouching us uses the family business. His name is Christopher Robin.”

I bunched my nose in an attempt to not laugh. “Isn’t that the kid from Winnie the Pooh?”

“What? No. He’s a real guy. He’s real. And he’s vouching for us this Saturday!”

I shook my head in disbelief. “How did this come about?”

She sighed. “Well, he’s been trying to get me to go out with him for a while and every time he asks, I tell him I can’t, but when he asked me to Frost…”

I wince. “Oh, Stacey. Tell me you didn’t. You did not whore yourself out so we could go to Frost.”

Her hesitation is as clear as day. “I- Um- Okay. I won’t tell you then.”

I can’t believe she did that. “Stacey! Don’t you even like him a little?”

Her words tumble out in a rush. “I do! I really do like him and he’s a total fox, Em, b- but every time my dad’s around he’s a total kissass, and I hate that.”

Oh. I saw the problem.

No one wanted a man without backbone.

But I always believed in giving people a chance. “Maybe you should make Saturday a day to see him on neutral ground. It’s true that he might only be doing that because of the business your dad offers. Give him a chance.”

“I told him I’d have a drink with him. That’s all.”

And he accepted that? Holy cow, he must really be into her. “Then you have that drink. And you drink it good.”

A voice calling Stacey sounded in the receiver. “Listen, I have to go. Be ready by seven. We’re having pre-drinks drinks at Joes. Love you!”

Finally, Saturday came and I spent my day relaxing. I gave myself a manicure and pedicure, I put a face mask on, shaved and scrubbed myself till I was near-raw.

I needed to wash the weeks stank off of me.

Friday after work, I went to my favourite boutique, Safira, because I needed something new and way out of my price range to wear to Frost.

You didn’t go to Frost wearing rags. You wore diamonds, emeralds and rubies.

Of course, all I had were my zirconia’s to match my pleather handbag.

This would not do.

As soon as I walked in, I spotted Tina, the owner. What I loved about this place was that Tina always treated you more like a friend than a customer. She remembered people by name and what they bought the last time they were there. She truly has a passion for fashion.

She beamed. “Emma! Black and white strapless cocktail dress!”

I smiled back. “I need your help.”

Her smile fell. “What are we looking for?”

I pursed my lips. “Something to wear to Frost.”

Her eyes widened. “I love that place!”

Hold up. What? “You’ve been there?”

She rolled her eyes at me. “Uh, yeah. My husband and I own part of it.” She chuckled. “You should’ve said something earlier, I would’ve vouched for you.”

My mind started to tear up.

All this time. We could’ve gone all this time.

Never mind. I sighed. “What does one wear to Frost?”

She dragged me over to the long mirror and stood behind me. “Look at it this way. You’re the cupcake. And it’s my job to frost you.” Giggling, she leaned forward and whispered, “I might’ve had a part in naming Frost.”

Lifting my arms up by my sides, I uttered, “Do what you do. But I’m on a budget.”

She winked as she walked over to the clothes racks. “I think we can work something out.”

That’s how I came home with a little black dress. And I didn’t come home crying poverty either.

Tina is the shit.

I curled my hair, leaving it down in loose waves, added eyeliner, mascara and glossed my lips.

That was it.

I’d never really been one for a lot of makeup.

I slipped on my new dress, slid on my white pumps, and waited. Seven oh five, my phone vibrated.

Stacey: Get your butt down here!

Rushing down, I squealed when I spotted the taxi right out the front of my door. “Oh my God, I’m so excited!”

We headed to Joes, our local bar for a few drinks then close to ten pm, we walked the two blocks to Frost. As soon as I spotted the lineup, my stomach dipped.

Something was going to go wrong. I could feel it in my very soul.

I’d always been able to tell when something big was about to happen. My grandmother called me sensitive. I called it being a worry wart.

Stacey, Laura and Ally stared at the line in the same way I did. Probably because it went all the way down the block then circled down a side street.

Ally asked, “Are you sure we’re getting in?”

Laura aired her own concern. “Are you sure this guy is legit?”

Suddenly, Stacey lost some of her confidence. “I- um- I think so.” She straightened. “We’re on that list. He said we are. Let’s go.”

Stacey led us to the front of the line. The first thing I saw was him.

Oh sweet Jesus.

He was divine.

Dark hair, green eyes, strong chin, taller than me by a solid foot, his arms crossed over his broad chest looking something like a Greek god.

Oh mama.

My stomach flipped and flopped around.

Maybe I shouldn’t have had those pre-drink drinks. I was feeling a little too loose, mainly in the leg area.

Stacey approached the other man I’d failed to notice, pulling me up by her side. But I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of the brooding security guy.

I vaguely heard Stacey say, “We’re vouched for. Party of four. Stacey Voors.”

The security guys looked over at me.

I smiled and mouthed, “Hi,” lifting my hand in a two finger wave.

He looked momentarily confused, then he looked away.

The other guy said, “Voors. I can’t see a Voors here. Who vouched for you?”

Stacey swallowed hard. “C–Christopher Robin.”

Still looking at the gorgeous man in front of me, I heard the other guy utter a confused, “Christopher Robin? The kid from Winnie the Pooh.”

A laugh burst out of me, hard, spooking my crush. “Ha!” I turned to the other guy and stated, “I said the same thing!” Then I looked back at the security guy who now looked at me like I’d done gone and lost my mind and repeated more mildly through flaming cheeks, “I–I said the same thing.”

But the other guy shook his head. “Sorry ladies, you’re not on here. Back of the line.”

I piped up then and only God knew why. “But he vouched for us. We’re vouched!”

The other guy shrugged. “Maybe you got your wires mixed. Maybe it wasn’t for tonight.”

I placed a hand on my hip. “Of course it was for tonight. He vouched for us. Hell, I’d vouch for us! Look at us!” I waved my hand out to my friends… who looked like a bunch of cowering kittens in a dark alley.

Nice job, guys. Nailed it.

The other guy opened his mouth to speak, and then I suddenly remembered. “Tina Leokov vouches for us too.”

Hot security guy asked through narrowed eyes, “You know the Leokovs?”

I shook my head. “No. Just Tina.” I didn’t know why, but I decided to curtsey. “She helped me find this dress. I shop at her store.”

The security guy’s eyes slid down my body. He rumbled, “It’s a nice dress.” And I felt my heart race.

Whoa. Finding it hard to breathe over here.

I stuttered, “Th- thank you.” I relay what Tina told me. “While I was there, she told me if I needed someone to vouch for me, she’d do it. She also told me she and Nik own part of Frost and that she even helped name it.”

I felt all eyes on me.

My friends looked at me through wide eyes.

“What?” They gaped at me. I blurted out, “I know people!”

Although the other guy looked torn, he held up his ledger. “If you’re not on the list, I can’t let you in. Sorry, ladies. Maybe Tina can vouch for you next weekend.”

My face fell.

I smiled sadly and muttered, “That’s okay. I know you’re just doing your job.” As we turned to walk away, I lifted my hand to the security guy and mouthed, “Bye,” forcing a smile.

A rough, “Wait,” stopped us.

Snatching the ledger from the other guy, the security guy looked over the page. “Wouldn’t you know it? You’re on the list.”

The other guy and all the girls asked a confused, “What?”

Security guy nodded. “Yep. Right here. Welcome to Frost.”

The other guy argued, “I looked. Twice. They’re not on-”

Security guy pinned him with a glare so fierce that he stopped talking mid-sentence. When he looked back up at us, he smiled a thin smile, “I was wrong, apparently. You’re on the list.”

Stacey let out a long breath. “See? I told you! Let’s go.”

But I couldn’t take my eyes off of the security guy, and from the way he looked back at me, I knew something was happening here.

Something big.

While the girls headed inside, I stuck my hand out without a thought. “I’m Emma.”

Security guy looked down at my extended hand a moment before taking it in the giant mitt he called a hand. “Bastien.”

I shook his hand and smiled softly in a daze. “Hi Bastien. I’m Emma.”

At that, his lips twitched. “Hi Emma. I’m Bastien.”

Still shaking his hand, I told him, “Bastien is a badass name. Which makes sense, because you seem like a badass with all your muscles and broodiness and such.”

He didn’t release my hand. Just responded, “I’ll have to tell my parents they did good.”

My smile widened. “Yes. You do that.”

His body shook in silent laughter. “I will.”

A hand pulled at me. Stacey stood there looking at me with an expression that said ‘I’m not sure what the hell you’re doing’. “Come on, Em. Let the nice man go before he changes his mind.”

I barked out another laugh, spooking Bastien once again. I looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I should let go now.”

But as I moved to pull away, he held me firm. “I like you, Emma.”

My heart fluttered. I blinked a moment before I responded quietly, “I like you too Bastien. I think.”

Finally, we parted but it was only as I walked inside that I realised a piece of paper was in my hand.

A piece of paper with a phone number on it.

* * *

The very next day, I sent Bastien a message.

Me: Hi Bastien. It’s Emma.

I wasn’t sure what else to write so I left it at that.

Bastien: Hi Emma. It’s Bastien.

I laughed through my response.

Me: Ha! It’s funny because that’s what we did last night.

My phone chimed a second later.

Bastien: I know. I was there.

Oh dear lord, I wanted to see him again. Now. Right now. Before I lost my nerve, I asked him out.

Me: If you’re free, I’d love to meet you for lunch? On me:)

His response was immediate.

Bastien: I can’t do lunch. Sorry.

My heart fell. That sucked.

Maybe I only imagined the chemistry from last night.

My phone chimed once more.

Bastien: Dinner tonight?

I bit my lip and typed as fast as I could.

Me: I’d love that! What time?

He told me he’d pick me up at nine. We exchanged details, he picked me up and took me to a nice little Sushi bar. We ate, talked and laughed. A lot.

Bastien was funny. He had a dry sense of humour I loved, and I was comfortable with him from the second he picked me up. There was no awkwardness. As soon as I opened the door, he smiled down at me, took my hands and tugged me to him, pulling me close and hugging me. While he squeezed me, I kissed him on the cheek and told him how handsome he looked (and he did). He told me I looked exquisite.

He used that word.

Exquisite.

Can you imagine?

Swoon.

As soon as we left my apartment, I took his hand, entwining our fingers together like we had done it a hundred times before. We held hands all night, and if we had to separate for any reason, Bastien made sure he had a hand on me at all times.

It was so sweet, and super hot.

I would imagine Bastien would be a possessive male. And I had no problem with that.

When our date ended, we took ourselves back to my apartment where we talked some more about work, friends and family.

Bastien’s family were originally from France. No wonder. He looked like he had culture.

I told him my family were All-American, and he didn’t cringe. Point for me.

He told me he was thirty-four, that he had two sisters and a brother, both parents still alive and kicking.

I told him I was twenty-nine, an only child with my parents both alive and happily married. I told him about Stacey being my best friend since forever and our other two stooge friends, Laura and Ally.

He told me about ‘the other guy’, Stu, his cousin and more about his close friendship with the Leokovs. Turns out he knows Tina personally.

And wouldn’t you know it? She vouched for me.

Two points for me.

We stayed up way past midnight chatting while subtly touching. Eventually, he stood up to leave. As I walked him through the door, my chest began to ache.

I was starting to feel depressed. And as though he felt the same way, he pulled me into a warm hug, cradling the back of my head in consolation. “I want to see you again.”

As I buried my face into the crook of his neck, I whispered, “Okay.”

He asked, “Tomorrow too soon?”

I sighed. “Heck no.”

As he pulled away, he took my hands in his and explained that because of the late nights he works, he normally sleeps till late afternoon so he’d be free after dark.

I could understand that.

My dad worked shift work so I knew how it could be to deal with someone deprived of sleep.

It was like trying to wake the dead.

His green eyes searched my face. He lowered his face to mine and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, we kissed. Long and slow.

I felt that kiss.

I felt it everywhere.

It was electric and I didn’t want it to end.

He kissed me deeper, making love to my lips. When we parted, he pecked my lips repeatedly and whispered against them, “You make my heart beat.”

And I knew what he meant.

Not being able to stop myself, I lifted my hands, cupped his cheeks and brought him forward to my flushed face, lowering his lips to mine.

He tasted sweet and cool, like mint chocolate.

I could get used to that. I loved mint chocolate.

I wanted more of it.

Bastien Lee was a drug.

And I was addicted.

* * *

Three months had passed and Bastien was still my drug of choice.

Early in our relationship we worked on seeing each other as often as possible. This was made possible by the fact that we were committed to making that happen. Even on the nights he worked at the club, he would take a break, come down to my apartment, break in and shower me with kisses and affection for a solid hour then go back to work.

I had never had a man treat me like this before, like I was his everything.

It was confusing, and exhilarating, and scary as hell.

What was I to do with this?

The only thing I could.

Give as good as I got.

A month into our relationship, I told Bastien I was falling in love with him while watching The Price is Right. Face blank, he toyed with my fingers and asked, “Just now?”

Okay, so it had been a lot earlier that I had discovered my love for Bastien, but I wasn’t bat-shit crazy enough to tell him that.

I responded, “I don’t know exactly when but I know it now. For sure.”

He lowered his face to mine, curled a hand behind my neck and pulled me close till our noses touched. He roughly admitted, “I fell in love with you the second you forced an introduction. I wasn’t letting you get away. Even if you never called, I would’ve made it my mission to find you again and convince you to go out with me.”

This admission shook me.

Being who I am, I teased, “Oh yeah? And what if I said no.”

He pressed a light kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I would’ve worn you down, baby.”

I swallowed hard, my eyes closed tight. “This is going to sound crazy. I mean, it sounds crazy to me. But sometimes I think I was meant to- I don’t know- find you or something. Like-” I opened my eyes, pleading with him to understand. I whispered, “Like we were-”

I faded out, knowing it was crazy. And guys didn’t dig crazy on a lady.

So when he continued where I left off and uttered, “Like we were meant to be.”

I begged my mouth to stop saying things then. Thankfully, I didn’t say another word.

Instead, Bastien made it his turn to speak. “Never believed in that shit.”

And my heart sank.

Stupid mouth with the saying things and such!

I pretended to watch TV while suffering from the biggest heart palpitations known to man, otherwise known as a broken heart.

When he kissed my temple, I leaned into it. He added low enough for me to hear, “Never believed in that shit…till now.”

My heart kick-started with a vengeance.

I lowered my head to his chest, closed my eyes and basked in the silence around us.

Really.

That should’ve been my first clue.

* * *

Two months into our relationship, Bastien came. And he never left.

We never discussed moving in together, it just sort of happened.

Stacey, Laura and Ally wholly approved. They loved Bastien as much as I did. Mainly because Frost was now open to us every weekend if we chose to attend and Bastien always made sure me and my girls were looked after. He checked on us, made sure our drinks were filled and at the end of the night, he’d have Stu drive us home to save us taxi fare.

The girls loved him.

They’d said it once, they’d said it a thousand times.

The guy is too good to be true.

I agreed wholeheartedly.

And when they say something is too good to be true…

They’re usually right.

* * *

On our third month anniversary, I came home to find Bastien asleep.

This was not unusual. He was a night owl, and that didn’t bother me. I didn’t run on ten hours sleep so when I got home from work, I’d make us dinner and soon after dark, he’d wake. We would talk about my day as well as what him night would entail, eat and drink, make sweet, sweet love then Bastien would hold me as I fell asleep.

The worst part about Bastien’s work was that his weekends were shot. The best part about Bastien’s work was that he was working three nights a week and earning the same amount most people would for two weeks. He was kind of well off. He knew I wasn’t. That didn’t bother him, but he knew it bothered me when he paid for things that were my responsibility.

And the sneaky shit would do it all after I’d fallen asleep.

After a heated argument, Bastien gave in. And to say I was pleased was an understatement. “Fine,” he said. “I won’t use my money to pay for things anymore.”

That was when he pulled out a ring box and placed it on the table right in front of me.

That surely wasn’t what I thought it could be. I mean, come on! It was too soon. We had only known each other three months!

Face void, he opened the box. And I gasped. “Oh my God.”

Taking the box, he moved to kneel in front of me. “Been carrying this around for two months.” He took my left hand, slid the antique sapphire ring onto my ring finger and muttered, “If you like it then you gotta put a ring on it.”

Did he really just say that?

A hysterical laugh broke out of me. “Oh Jesus, you are such a dork.”

He grinned and I realised — again — how in love I was. He lost his usual confidence as he looked up at me and uttered, “Let me take care of you, Em. Forever.”

Tears prickled my eyes. I returned, “Only if I can take care of you too.”

He couldn’t contain his beaming smile. “Deal.”

And that was how Bastien and I got engaged.

* * *

We decided on a long engagement. Which, of course, meant we got married a month later.

Our parents and friends weren’t thrilled about our rush wedding but somehow, we managed to get our loved ones into a room long enough to say our ‘I do’s’. It was a small ceremony and by the end of it, every person was smiling. I hoped they could all feel the love Bastien and I felt for each other.

It was only my grandmother who asked, “So, is she pregnant or what?”

I should’ve been offended, but I wasn’t. I’d love to have Bastien’s children. Heck, I’d love an army of them!

I was simply overwhelmed by the fact that I was no longer Emma Stanford, but Emma Lee.

* * *

Two more months had passed and Bastien and I were living a comfortable routine.

I never got to see him during the day unless it was to lie next to him while he slept — like a log, I’ll add — but it never bothered me. It wasn’t like I didn’t spent most of my days at work. So what if he slept his Saturdays and Sundays away?

It gave me time to catch up on trashy reality TV and get some cleaning done.

All in all, our opposite routine was working for us.

As soon as he woke, he kissed me senseless, worshipped me and made me feel like a goddess. He bought me flowers for no reason, got me gifts simply because he thought they reminded him of me and told me he loved me all the time.

I was a lucky woman to have a man like Bastien Lee, and I knew it.

Bastien had never given me reason to worry about another woman coming in and taking my place, so when I walked in on him making out with another guy, you could say I was kind of surprised.

The Conflict

Gross

Tonight is going to be amazing.

My plan in place, I set out to Frost dressed only in thigh high stockings with lace trim, my red pumps, new steaming-hot lingerie and a trench coat. I’ve done all I need to get ready for this occasion. My makeup is subtle but sexy, I smell fresh as a daisy and I am hair-free where I need to be.

I’m ready.

I giggle to myself.

This is so naughty!

Today was our six-month anniversary, our two-month wedding anniversary and even though we’ve never celebrated anything big before, I’ve decided to bring the party to Bastien. Even if it’ll only be for an hour of mind-blowing sex.

Is there anything better than sharing a perfect celebration with the person you love most in the world?

I think not.

Tina helped me set the whole thing up. Who knew she had it in her to be a saucy little wench?

I thought I was bad, but apparently Tina has been known to call emergency meetings with her husband, Nik, at his office.

The emergency being that Tina is horny.

She’s become such a good friend. I’m so glad to know her better.

I woke this morning to a brand new platinum diamond bracelet on my wrist. It had one pendant attached. A simple love heart with a ruby on one side and a sapphire on the other.

Bastien doesn’t do cards. He never has. But with a gift like that, who needs a card?

I knew what it meant.

We were two halves of a whole. And nothing could make me happier.

Maybe one day I’d add a diamond at the bottom of that pendant.

It’s no secret that I want children. I want enough to have my own soccer team. I love kids and from seeing Bastien interact with his nieces and nephews, he loves them just as much as I do.

I stopped taking birth control a month ago. My doctor told me getting pregnant is easy for some but with others can take months. I’m in no rush. I’m happy to wait. Sure, I’m helping the process by jumping Bastien every spare chance I get, but other than that, I’m happy to let nature take its course.

The taxi drops me off right outside the club and as I step out, more of my thigh shows than I’m used to. I smirk, feeling sexy as hell when a club bystander whistles at me.

An ego boost I needed. Thank you, kind sir!

Stu spots me and I kiss his cheek. He smiles down at me, “Hey cuz. He’s on a break. Happy anniversary, Em.”

“Thanks, Stu. You’re sweet.”

Just as I walk inside, Stu takes my hand, stopping me. “You know, I’m really glad you ended up being on the list.”

My smile softens. “Me too, Stu. Me too.”

I make my way inside, hiding in a corner. I pull out my cell to text Tina who couldn’t be here tonight but is instead at the club she and Nik own downtown, The White Rabbit.

Me: I’m freaking out, dude!

Tina: Relax, Max! You’re offering yourself up on a platter to a man who loves you. You’re going to be fine!

She is not wrong. Bastien does love me. And he loves freaky time with me.

What am I worried about?

Me: Okay. You’re right. I’m going in! Wish me luck x

I laugh at her response.

Tina: Luck!!! Knock his penis dead! X

Everything is going to plan. Bastien is on a break, now I just have to find him. I approach the bar to find my favourite bar bitch there, a young, tattooed Asian woman named Lana. I wave enthusiastically and she motions me over. “Happy anniversary, Em. He’s in the first bunk. I’m sure it’ll be locked so I asked Tina to get me this.” She pulls out a key and hands it to me.

I look up at her in awe. “You’re amazing. Like a female, Asian double-oh-seven.”

She tilts her head, brows bunched. “Surprising as hell but it’s not the first time I’ve been called that.”

“You’re awesome, lady. Thank you so much. I don’t think I could’ve done this without all your help.”

She smiles softly. “You’re welcome. It’s nice to see Bastien smile.”

I wave as I walk over to the ‘staff only’ side doors. I’ve been in the back many a time, whether it was just to see my man or to have a short break from the blaring music when I’ve had a headache. Thankfully, I know where the first bunk is. The bunks are rooms that aren’t really rooms at all. They’re the size of a small walk-in closet.

The first bunk is a rest area with a cot in it. The second bunk an almost identical rest area with a TV inside.

As I approach the first bunk, I slowly test the handle and just as Lana predicted, the door is locked. Stepping back, I take in a deep breath, calming myself in order to seduce my husband.

I’m ready.

Sliding the key in, I unlock the door, step in and close the door behind me. “Happy Anniversary, baby.”

I slide the trench coat down my back and onto the floor.

When I lift my head, my breath leaves me in a whoosh.

There stands Bastien, wide eyes on me, mouth attached to another man’s neck.

This can’t be what it looks like. Surely there’s an explanation for this.

I blink. Bastien has still to remove his mouth from the unknown man’s neck. I blink some more. “You- are you- I don’t understand. You-” My voice weakens to a hush. “You like men?”

With eyes so green they near glow, he finally detaches himself from the man, panting. “Em, baby, what are you doing here?”

The man my husband is cheating on me with simply stands there, looking like a droid. I look into his empty eyes but answer my husband. “I came to surprise you with dirty anniversary sex. I don’t understand, Bastien. I thought we were happy.”

He steps around the man and moves closer to me. “We are happy. I’m happy. I had no idea you were coming here.” His eyes flash as he fixates on my barely there lingerie. He swallows hard, “Jesus, Em. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

The bridge of my nose tingles. I lean down to pick up my coat, wrapping it around me. A single tear falls down my cheek. “How long has this been going on?”

He takes a step closer, reaching out for me. “I swear this is not what it looked like. I can explain.”

I look into his eyes. He doesn’t look embarrassed or caught out, just tired. Bastien has never given me a reason to question him before. Why should I start now?

“Okay, so explain.” The unknown man still unmoved, I ask quietly, “Is he okay?”

Bastien looks back. “Shit. Hold on, babe. Let me take care of him.”

Take care of him?

I rush forward, grip his shirt and whisper hiss, “You are not going to kill him!”

Bastien rolls his eyes at me before turning to the man, looking into his eyes and speaking in a firm but neutral tone. “You were a great help.”

The man responds a robotic. “I was a great help.”

Bastien tells him, “You should go home and get some rest.”

The man nods slowly. “I should go home and get some rest.”

Bastien helps the man to the door, uttering his agreement. “You should, man. Thank you.”

The man responds. “You’re welcome,” then putters down the hall and out of sight.

Looking around, Bastien closes the door behind him, locking it and leaning against it. “Shit, Em, I’m sorry. I ruined our anniversary.”

Why isn’t he acting like he’s done something wrong? What the heck is going on?

He steps forward, directly under the down light. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. I have. But I-”

Red at the corner of his lip has me stepping forward. “Honey, you’re bleeding.”

Bastien swipes at his lips, looking down at the blood smeared across his fingers. He looks me in the eye before responding carefully. “It’s not mine.”

Confusion mars my face. “Were you-” I shake my head. “Did you bite him?”

He swallows hard then looks away. He shrugs lightly. “A man’s gotta eat.”

I force a harsh laugh at the statement. “That’s crazy! What are you saying? That you’re a vampire or something?”

I expect him to laugh and deny it. I expect him to react. But he does nothing. Just stares at me with an expression I’ve never seen Bastien wear.

For the first time since I’ve known him, Bastien looks afraid. “I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

He can’t be serious.

Suddenly, I’m pissed. “You seriously want me to believe that bullshit?” I roll my eyes as I tighten the belt on my coat. “I don’t care if you have issues. We can work through anything. I love you enough to let you explain what I saw happening here instead of running off into the night and dumping all your stuff out into the street, and that’s what you go with?”

Running his hands down his face, he lifts a hand to scratch at his head. “I know it’s hard to believe but if you’d just listen-”

Now I’m not even pissed at him. I’m just pissed at myself. I start lecturing myself. “Fuck a duck! You know when they say a guy is too good to be true, they aren’t kidding. He’s got it all. The looks, a heart of gold, he loves me to the ends of the earth, but wait! He’s bat-shit crazy. Of course, he is! That’s life, doll.”

Pushing passed Bastien, I unlock the door and walk out, clomping my heels as I go.

“Emma, honey! Wait! I can explain!”

Unshed tears sting my eyes. I sniffle as I make my way out the door and onto the street, hailing a taxi. I manage to get one in seconds and in less than ten minutes, I’m home again.

I don’t allow myself to cry until I reach the deserted elevators. As soon as the doors close, I let my tears fall freely.

I love Bastien, but it’s obvious that he needs help. He’s clearly delusional. Regardless of that fact, he is my husband and I will do whatever it takes to see him well again. I love him. He’s everything to me.

The elevator door opens and I swipe away stray tears.

I unlock my apartment door, step inside and switch on the light.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, Em.”

Spinning around, I hold a hand to my now-heaving chest and stare wide eyed at Bastien, sitting on his manly armchair.

How the hell? “How did you get here so quick?”

Instead of answering me, he stands and steps closer to me. “It’s not like it makes me a different person or anything. I can’t help being this way. Believe me, I’ve tried. I tried to tell you before the wedding,” he sighs, “but you looked so damn beautiful and I didn’t want to ruin our day with my bullshit, so I thought I’d wait till we got home. But then we got home and every time I tried to do it, I bit my tongue because,” his voice turns quiet, “because I didn’t want to lose you.”

He really believes this.

What am I supposed to do here?

I do the only thing I can think of. I play along.

I take a step closer to him, holding my hand out. “It’s okay, honey. You won’t lose me. I love you.”

Placing his hand in mine, he pulls me closer to him, wrapping me in a bear hug. He sighs in relief. “Oh shit. I was so fucking scared when you walked in on me feeding. I thought you’d run screaming but I knew deep inside that if I just got to talk to you, you’d understand.” He pauses a moment. “We were meant to be, Em. You’re my soul mate.”

My mind singsongs, “Psycho.”

I rub his back. “Of course I get it. And we are meant to be. Come Monday, we’re going to talk to someone about this. We’ll make sure the vampires never bother you again.”

His body stills. He pulls away from me. “You think I’m crazy.”

I shake my head emphatically. “No, I don’t. I think you’re a good man. My good man. A good man who sees vampires.”

He rubs the back of his neck in restlessness. “I’m not fucking crazy, Em!”

I shush him. “I know, honey. I know. But we’re still going to see the good Docto-”

That’s when Bastien jumps.

He jumps high enough to touch the ceiling. In fact, he does touch the ceiling.

And he doesn’t come down.

Glaring down at me, he calls out to me. “There? Believe me now? I’m not crazy, Em.”

Staring up at him, mouth gaping, I pull out a chair from the dining table and sit. I can’t think right now. I don’t believe what I’m seeing.

Maybe Bastien is right.

He’s not crazy.

I am.

My gaze falls to the floor. I stare down at my pumps.

A hand on my shoulder lifts me from my many thoughts. “Em? Honey? Talk to me.”

I swallow hard, blinking up at him. “I need help, Bas. I’m going crazy.”

He chuckles humorlessly then talks to himself. “Tell her, they said. She’ll understand, they said.”

I’m suddenly parched. “I need water.”

Bastien disappears from my side. In less than a blink of an eye, he’s by my side, holding a full glass of water.

Jumping back, the chair topples behind me. “How- how are you doing that?”

Holding his hands out in a placating gesture, he places the water on the table and steps towards me. “Baby, I know this is hard to understand, and I promise I will answer any questions you want answers to, but you were right the first time.” He breathes in deep and utters on an exhale. “I’m a vampire.”

Oh yeah. I’ve gone bananas.

I mutter under my breath. “Right, right. Okay.”

He lifts the fallen chair and sits me down. He takes a seat across from me. “Ask me anything.”

My first question is dumb. In my defense, I believe myself to be borderline high at this point in time. “Are you going to kill me?”

His face screws up as he hollers, “What? No, I’m not going to kill you, Em. Shit! I love you!”

I nod. “Okay. That’s good.”

Taking my hand in his, he holds it tight and vows, “I will never hurt you. Never. I’m still the same guy.”

The same guy. Just now he drinks blood.

The second question comes easier. “So you drink blood?”

He seems relieved by this question and answers immediately, “Yes. I don’t need it often but I still need it at least once a month to replace my lack of red blood cells.”

“Did that man know what you were doing to him?”

He shakes his head. “No. Vampires can hypnotize a person before feeding. It’s easier this way. It’s cleaner and faster.”

Okay. “Did you hurt him?”

His eyes soften, as does his tone. “No, baby. I release venom into the bloodstream that acts as an anesthetic. He didn’t feel a thing, and I never take too much.”

I’m not sure I want to ask, but curiosity gets the better of me. “Have you ever fed from me?”

His hand squeezes mine. “Never. I would never do that to you. Never without permission.”

I think about all the vampire lore I’ve read about. “Are you going to live forever?”

He sniffs a laugh. “No, baby. Immortality is a choice. When I met you, I gave it up.”

Confused much? “How?”

He explains in perfect calm, “I can slow down the aging process by feeding every day. And I did feed every day for a while but when I met you, I made the decision to stop feeding and start aging again.” He smiles down at me lovingly, “Why would I want to live without you?”

My heart warms as I get a glimpse of my Bastien. Pre-vampire Bastien, that is.

I blurt out, “That’s so sweet. I think. In a creepy I don’t know what’s going on way, I guess.” I stand and begin to pace. “But you eat food. We eat together all the time.”

He nods. “I do eat food but my venom dissolves it into nothing.” He looks me in the eye. “If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll explain all the things I think you’ll want to ask.”

Pausing mid-step, I look my husband in the eye and whisper, “You’re not joking, are you?”

He softly shakes his head. It’s then that I realize my life has suddenly changed in a big way.

Bastien Lee — my husband, my lover, and my best friend — is a vampire.

More of the Story

And the world still turns

He watches me closely then asks carefully, “Are you going to freak out?”

I lift my head in thought. I think hard about this.

Has Bastien given me a real reason to freak out?

No. He hasn’t.

He’s been patient and calm regardless of my treating him like a leper slash nutcase.

Body slumping, I slowly walk over to him till we’re almost toe-to-toe. I look up into his bright green eyes and reach up to cup his cheek. “No. I don’t think so. But you’re going to tell me why I shouldn’t have to, right?”

His eyes close, he lifts his hand to hold mine in place on his cheek and responds roughly, “Whatever you want, baby.”

Taking his hand in mine, I lead us over to the sofa. He sits and pulls me down with him. Sprawled over his lap, I turn to the side so I can look at his face while he speaks. “I never planned on meeting a girl. It was too hard what with my… condition. I didn’t count on meeting you.” He kisses my knuckles. “I don’t know any other woman who would be completely fine with not being able to see her boyfriend during the day. I’ve dated before. They all thought I was cheating on them. I couldn’t tell them I had to sleep. As in, had to. They’d think I was a freak. But you just accepted it, like it was nothing.”

I’m confused. “Does your family know?”

He smiles. “Yeah, Em. They’re like me too.” His smile turns to a grin. “We all got turned on the same night.”

My mouth gapes. “No way. They all look so nor-” I spot the ginormous grin on his face and fade out. “What I mean to say is that I never would’ve been able to te-”

His rough chuckle slides over me. “Go on, you can say it. We all look so normal.” He nods, “We know. That’s kind of the point.”

Holy shit.

Holy shit!

This is real. I have a real live vampire in my house.

Oh my God. I’ve been having sex with a vampire!

Is that why it’s been so good?

I have to dig further. “Whoa, wait! Do you have some sexual voodoo going on? Is that why the sex is so good? Because, if so, I’m not complaining.”

He tips his head back and laughs. “No, Em. That’s just you and me. Believe me, I wish I could take credit. It’s just what you do to me.”

A smile plays at my lips. “So what of the stories? Are they fact or myth? Super speed is obviously a tick but what about the other stuff. I didn’t know you could do the Spider-Man thing.”

He sighs softly. “A lot of the stories aren’t true. In fact, it’s been rumoured that vampires started the stories to throw people off. As you know, I have a reflection. Holy water is just water to me. Hell, I’m catholic. I’m not evil. I eat and drink but don’t actually go to the toilet. I-”

I cut him off in protest, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a minute! What the heck do you do in the bathroom when you go in there? Sometimes you take forever!”

He grins sheepishly. “Um. Candy Crush.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “Oh my God, that is funny!” I chuckle to myself and prompt him. “Okay, sorry. Tell me more.”

“Yes, we have super speed. I can walk up walls but that is a trait only I have. Mom can move things with her mind. Dad can fly.” Holy cow! “We have extremely sensitive hearing and-”

My stomach coils as my eyes almost pop out of my head. I jump up off the sofa and cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh no.”

A look of alarm crosses Bastien’s face. “What is it, Em?”

“Have you-” Oh God, I don’t want to ask but I have to know. I just have to! I whisper in horror, “Have you ever heard me fart?”

He winces.

I gasp as my face heats. “Oh my God, you have. This isn’t happening!”

Bastien has the gall the smile. “Honey, you just found out I’m a vampire. And this is your main concern?”

I sit on the edge of the sofa, face drawn. I talk to myself. “I’m no longer the perfect wife. Perfect wives don’t fart.”

He takes my hand in his. “You are, Em. You are perfect to me.”

I am so sad right now.

This is my life, people.

Bastien suddenly stands. “You want me to fart? ‘Cause I’ll do it. Right here, right now. I’ll tear a goddamn hole in my slacks if you want me to, princess!”

I mumble a flat, “I’ve never heard you fart.” A thoughtful look crosses my face. “Can you fart?”

He tilts his head in thought. “I don’t even know. I think dust might come out of me.”

Damn him. Damn him to heck for his funniness.

I try to hide my smile but fail miserably. “You’re a dork.”

I don’t even see him move but I’m suddenly lifted high in the air. Geez, he’s strong. He smiles up at me. “So, we’re okay?”

My smile is soft and loving. “I love you, Bastien. It’ll take a little more than you being a vampire to change that.”

He lowers me back to my feet. His lips come down on mine, feather soft. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m going to love you till forever.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “I love you. We were meant to be. Forever and always.”

He pulls me to him, his arms wrapping me tight. Warmth spreads through me and I realise something.

Everything was going to be fine.

Lights Out

by Jodie Beau

A single mom. A single dad. A common enemy. Will their feelings come to light on Halloween?

Copyright © Jodie Beau 2014, All rights reserved.

eBook edition

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Jodie Beau

First Digital Edition October 2014

Part One — Cora

Friday, October 31, 2014

7:03 A.M.

“Would you like to come in for some coffee?” he asks, waving an open hand toward his front door in a welcoming gesture.

If coffee is a euphemism for being fucked until I can’t remember my own name, then yes, I’d love some. Thank you.

As if reading my mind, he wastes no time on awkward, neighborly small talk. He pushes me through the front door of his home, and has his lips on mine before the door closes behind us. He tastes like cherry Kool-Aid, just the way I remember.

Without taking his lips off mine, he waves his arm behind us, and sweeps the contents of his dining room table onto the floor. I hear glass break as a candle holder hits the hardwood. Pieces of mail flutter to the floor behind it.

I’ve never seen that move done in real life — definitely not in my life. No one has ever wanted me enough to make a huge mess in his own house. I can’t help but wonder who is going to clean it up. Maybe he hires a maid service.

He gets a good grip on my ass, lifts me up, and nearly slams me onto the table.

I stop thinking about the mess.

“I like this aggression,” I say, trying out my best sexy voice and hoping I pull it off. It’s been a long time.

With his hands on my shoulders, he pushes me down onto the table. It’s a heavy wooden table, the kind I imagine Beauty and The Beast having in their castle.

In another act I’ve never seen outside of internet porn, he grabs hold of my white button-up shirt at my chest, pulls it up until my back arches, and then rips it open. The pearlescent white buttons sound like raindrops as they hit the table around us.

It’s okay. I can live without the shirt. It was just a boring button-up from Target. It wasn’t even that white anymore. I have the worst time keeping my whites bright.

He leans over me and bites my neck — not vampire style, just a tiny bite — as his hands creep up my black pencil skirt.

He stands up again and raises my legs straight up in the air until my ankles rest on his shoulder. I feel the stretch burn behind my knees, but I don’t mind the pain. He digs his fingers under the waistband of my pink lace panties and starts to remove them. For a moment I wonder if he’s taking the aggression a little too far for our first time. But then I realize I don’t care. I just want him. I’ve been waiting for this since I was fifteen-years-old. If my body has to take a little beating, I’m okay with it — as long as my G-spot gets one, too.

He has a dark, intense stare in his eyes as he slides my panties over my thighs, across my knees, and past my calves. He twists them around his wrist as he tugs, tighter and tighter. Without breaking eye contact, he twists until his wrist, and the knot of pink lace, rests at my ankles.

I look up at him, at his dark eyes and hair, and the neatly-trimmed beard he’s been sporting this fall. He looks more like a man than I’ve ever seen him. He’s not the teenager I remember — which is good, or I’d end up on Nancy Grace. He’s grown up and sexier than ever.

I take in the sight of my stiletto-ed feet on his shoulder and I’m glad I decided to walk Lucie to school this morning in heels. There’s something seriously hot about lace panties and stilettos. This image wouldn’t be nearly as nice if I’d worn my Skechers today.

He closes his eyes before he runs his panty-covered wrist under his nose and inhales. I think he just smelled my underwear. Is that creepy or sexy? I decide on sexy because creepy would be a mood killer, and I’m not letting anything ruin this moment for me. Not even that Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed toy on the couch. I swear that thing is staring at me.

I don’t have time to worry about Winnie because the man who just tied my legs together gives me a cocky grin. Without breaking his stare, he slowly unwinds the panties from his wrist. When he pulls his hand free, he places the lace between his teeth to keep my ankles tightly together. Then he unbuttons his pants.

* * *

“Go-od morn-ing,” I heard, in a woman’s singsong voice.

“I hate you,” I muttered, as I leaned over and grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand. I hurried to swipe my finger across the snooze button before the annoying troll could say another word. What a rude awakening.

I set my phone back on the nightstand, closed my eyes, and snuggled closer into my pillow. I wanted that dream back. I wanted to see him again. I had nine more minutes to finally see what he had in his pants. We could get a lot done in nine minutes.

I didn’t usually snooze on Friday mornings. Don’t get me wrong. I was a devoted snoozer. On Mondays through Thursdays I hit snooze at least three times before I dragged myself out of bed to get Lucie ready for school. I then walked her there in the same yoga pants and t-shirt I slept in the night before, my face greasy with night cream, and my hair looking like it hadn’t seen a comb since Prince was referred to by a symbol. And I was totally okay being a mess — on Mondays through Thursdays.

Today was Friday. Fridays were different. Fridays were the days Ben Ogea walked his daughter to school. Ben Ogea was the reason I didn’t snooze on Fridays. He was also the reason I’d woken up with my panties in a twist this morning.

Oh shit. I sat up in bed when I remembered. This wasn’t an ordinary Friday. It was Halloween. I needed extra time to get Lucie into her Frozen costume and braid her hair like a princess. There was no chance of finishing that dream this morning.

I sighed and reached into the drawer of my nightstand for my bullet. Thanks to a brand new set of batteries in my boy-toy, I was ready to start my day in approximately twenty seconds.

* * *

7:32 A.M.

I had spent the last five nights watching blog tutorials and playing with Lucie’s American Girl doll trying to master the princess crown braid. I wanted to surprise her with my newfound hair skills, and maybe earn the Best Mom of the Week award. Turned out this wasn’t my week. (Last week wasn’t either.)

After a few failed attempts and tangles, we ran out of time. Lucie had to settle for an ordinary French braid pulled across her shoulder. Sometimes, when I thought too much about it, I felt like Lucie had to settle for a lot.

I realized that most of the girls in Lucie’s class would be dressed as Elsa from Frozen. I’d tried to talk her out of the costume. I’d tried to get her to choose something more unique. One thing I should note about my six-year-old is that she didn’t mind being like everyone else. Another thing I should note is that she didn’t mind being different either, when she wanted to be. She hadn’t yet learned to care what other people thought, and that made me feel like I’d gotten at least one thing right with her. Me, I was still trying to unlearn this — a revelation that grew clearer to me every day.

There was a competition that took place every morning outside Lucie’s elementary school by a group of moms I’d dubbed The Fucker Mothers. You’ve seen the movie Mean Girls, right? Imagine those girls growing up, having children, and spending a little too much time on Pinterest. Then imagine their kids going to school with yours.

Here, let me introduce you: There’s Shauna— blonde, shapely, goes to (insert some kind of exercise class) four times a week, married to a (insert occupation of a person who works a lot), drives a (insert designer car), and is the mother of the smartest, brightest, most athletic student in the school, who also happens to be a (insert word for a child who has been raised to believe he/she can do no wrong).

I’d introduce you to Melissa, Tabitha, and Vanessa, too, but I’d only be repeating myself. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Just fill in the blanks with an appropriate word, and you’ve got the picture.

Last year, on Lucie’s first day of kindergarten, they’d tried to befriend me with their morning chitchat. It went something like this: Omigod! She’s got that baby forward-facing already? Doesn’t she know the dangers? I heard she uses a leash on her kid. Where’d she get that skirt? The Family Dollar? You know her son had to have a cavity filled. A cavity at five years old? And don’t even get me started on that kid’s name. I feel like we’re living in a trailer park every time I hear it. And did you hear her husband finally got a new job after being laid off? He’s only making five figures. She might have to get a job herself, though I don’t know how she will. I mean, she clearly has no skills of any kind. Is that little girl really wearing that shirt again? What is this? The third time this week? You know, I heard she uses boxed hair color. NO! Yes! And guess what her daughter brought for snack time yesterday — Goldfish crackers. How can anyone let their child eat such poison? Doesn’t she read anything she sees on the internet? Doesn’t she pay attention in her Weight Watchers class? I mean, assuming she is in Weight Watchers. If she’s not, she should be. So … who wants to get a margarita for breakfast? It’s noon somewhere, right, girls? (Insert evil giggle.)

I was not able to join them for margaritas before their Pilates class, because I was one of those poor schmucks who had to work. Because my husband died young. My husband died two years ago, at the age of twenty-eight, in a fork-lift accident at work. He left behind a four-year-old daughter who loved Goldfish crackers, and sometimes asked to wear the same shirt three times in one week. He also left behind a wife who didn’t know how to live without him, and had a hard enough time getting out of bed in the morning, let alone listening to this bullshit before nine A.M. And guess what else, bitches? This is boxed color on my hair. (Gasp.)

I didn’t say any of that out loud though. I smiled and politely declined the invite instead. I didn’t usually tell people what I really thought about them. That kind of shit would just get me into trouble. And without Will, I wouldn’t know how to get out of it.

Will had been my partner-in-crime since junior year of high school. Both introverts, the two of us — plus Lucie once she was born — had lived happily and quietly in our own private cocoon. Until death did us part.

You know how you’re supposed to make every moment count because you never knew when it would be your last? I can’t say we made every moment count. I would bet most people didn’t live that way. If we said goodbye every day as if it were the last time we’d ever see each other, imagine how tragic and intense life would be. Sometimes we just had to have faith that the person we loved would be coming home from work that day, and that we would get a lot more chances to perfect our goodbyes.

The last time I saw Will alive, he was standing in the hallway outside our bedroom door. I still remembered what he was wearing — khaki shorts and an old Budweiser t-shirt he’d gotten at a club when we were twenty-two. Will had taken very good care of his clothes. He was the stain-removing and ironing mastermind of our household.

“Have you seen my ______?” he asked.

His what? I couldn’t remember. It drove me crazy that I couldn’t remember. His keys? His shoes? His wallet? What did he ask me for that morning?

“No,” I said, as I knelt on the floor to put on Lucie’s sandals — the pink jelly ones. I did remember that detail.

With Lucie’s backpack and my purse on one shoulder, I picked up Lucie to carry her out to the car.

“Shit,” Will said. He stood still, his finger on his chin, trying to remember where he’d put his ______. Then he’d shrugged and walked over to the front door. “All right. Love you. See you later.”

“Love you,” I said.

“WUV YOU!” Lucie yelled. “Kiss and hug!”

He gave us each a kiss, gave Lucie the hug she always demanded, and we walked out the door.

As far as forever goodbyes went, we could have done a lot worse. It was what happened the night before he died that had nearly crippled me.

As I’d driven to the hospital that morning, my knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, and my heart beat so fast I felt dizzy, like I was living in fog. I prayed for Will to be okay. He had to be okay. Because the eggplant parmesan I’d made for dinner the night before had been terrible. I couldn’t live the rest of my life knowing the last meal I’d made for my husband had been an embarrassing disaster. Yeah. My husband was dead, and I was thinking about eggplant.

That eggplant remained in focus for the entire first year. I acted like the eggplant was directly responsible. I avoided the produce section of the grocery store. I felt sick to my stomach when I saw an eggplant entrée listed on a restaurant’s menu. I couldn’t even stand to see that shade of purple. It made my eyes burn, and my fists clench in anger.

By the time Lucie started kindergarten, I was beginning my second year as a widow. I had set up a trust fund for Lucie with the settlement, cleaned out most of Will’s things from the home, and even started brushing my box-colored hair once in awhile. It was around that time when I stopped hating the eggplant. That was when the eggplant started to make me cry instead.

Because, you see, Will had eaten it. He had somehow chewed and swallowed two whole bites of that garbage. He wasn’t even going to tell me how bad it was. It wasn’t until I tried it myself, spit it out, and said, “This is disgusting,” that he laughed and asked if I wanted him to order Chinese.

I was now starting my third year, and I felt like I was really turning a corner. Just a few days ago I’d thought about that eggplant and laughed. I had learned to appreciate our easy-going relationship, and the moments we always made the best of. I was trying to find a way to live the same kind of life without him, and I thought I was doing a better job of it every day. Just in the past few weeks I had been to a salon for a professional color, started wearing makeup again, and even got a pedicure.

The Fucker Mothers had also turned some kind of corner since the previous year — they’d gotten more vicious. This was, apparently, the year of the Bento Box Battles. Every morning was the same routine — the four lined up and opened up their kid’s lunchboxes to show the other mothers how much better theirs was. Every morning it was a challenge for these ladies to beat the box (not like that, you pervs). It was a one-up-a-thon of designer foods — hard boiled eggs and lunch meat sculptures, mini sandwiches in seasonal shapes, cheese chunks shaped like moons and stars, fruits and veggies carved into popular cartoon characters — and my personal favorites — desserts made to look like sushi rolls. Seriously. One food made to look like another. Who had the time for that? Not this girl. You want to know what Lucie got in her lunchbox? A sandwich in the shape of a sandwich. A banana in the shape of a banana. And sometimes even a juice box.

The Fucker Mothers hated me. When I didn’t have anything to add to their conversation last year, and didn’t join them for drinks, I think they felt slighted. By snubbing them I had pinned a bulls-eye on my chest. Now I was the mother for them to judge and belittle every morning. I tended to give them a ton of ammunition. If showing up at school looking like a train wreck four times a week hadn’t earned me a permanent spot on the neighborhood blacklist, I was pretty sure the fruit roll-up I’d sent for Lucie’s snack time yesterday had pushed me off the ledge. We were going to be eaten alive today. But really, was a fruit roll-up all that different from their pretentious fruit leather? I thought not.

* * *

7:49 A.M

Fall was gorgeous and colorful in the Midwest. I admired the colors of the leaves under our feet. It was the perfect kind of weather for Halloween — not warm enough that I was sweating in my blazer, but not cold enough that Lucie needed to wear a jacket over her costume.

As we walked to school, her in her store-bought Elsa costume, and me in a pencil skirt with black heels (just in case), I could imagine the kind of snark I was going to hear from The Fucker Mothers. They would say something about how nice I cleaned up when I knew there was going to be an eligible bachelor around. They would mumble about how “cute” it was that I thought I had a chance with him. They would also make sure I knew what a loser I was for putting my child in a costume bought at a store.

I guess I was just a sucky mom. A custom-made costume wasn’t in our budget. I knew some mothers could go to the fabric store and whip up a costume in a jiffy, but I wouldn’t even be able to pick a sewing machine out of a lineup. #momfail #isuck.

At least I had a little something else on my mind today other than The Fucker Mothers.

Ben Ogea.

TGIF.

Every Friday since the first week of school, at some point around 7:56 am, Lucie and I arrived at the corner of Elm and Oak Streets at approximately the same time as Ben and his daughter, Olive. Olive was in Lucie’s first-grade class.

I’d done a little bit of sleuthing and discovered that Ben and his wife divorced when Olive was three. As part of their custody agreement, he got every Thursday through Saturday with Olive. The girls were in different kindergarten time slots last year, so we didn’t run into them. I didn’t see Ben much last year at all, except at a few special events and ceremonies, like the kindergarten graduation (which, by the way, I thought was incredibly gratuitous. But that was a story for another day).

On the few occasions I’d seen Ben last year, I’d gone out of my way to avoid him. It was pretty easy to avoid someone in a crowd. It was generally pretty easy to avoid people altogether, and I kind of preferred it.

It was less easy to avoid Ben and Olive on the first Friday in September when we approached the corner from opposite directions; they were headed east, we were headed west, and all of us needed to head north. We were walking to the same place at the same time on the same street. There was no way around it.

I’d maintained my composure, and acted like my stomach wasn’t somewhere around my knees. Just some guy walking his kid to school. No big thing. Nothing to see here. Move along. I gave him what I hoped was a confident smile. He gave me a friendly nod.

To him, I was just some chick walking her kid to school. No big thing.

We now had a Friday morning routine. Whoever got to the intersection first waited for the others. We gave each other a quick nod or smile, sometimes even a “Good morning,” and as the girls chitchatted about princesses and nail polish, the four of us walked the last block to school together.

We didn’t talk much, the two of us. We listened to the girls instead, occasionally exchanging knowing looks when they got excited about a TV show or a friend from class. But I preferred a comfortable silence over gauche small talk anyhow.

The few things I knew about Ben Ogea could be listed on one hand. I knew his ex-wife was gorgeous, smart, and successful — even The FMs were intimidated by her. I knew he lived somewhere close enough to the school to walk. I knew he worked for a TV station, but not in front of the camera. I also knew The Fucker Mothers panted and salivated when he walked by, like a bunch of desperate housewives.

What nobody else knew was that we had once shared a night together in a dark room.

* * *

October 22, 1999

Hope Jameson had lived around the block from me all our lives. We’d been best friends since kindergarten; a fact that baffled most people, nobody more than ourselves. She was a social butterfly who loved shopping, makeup, and boys. I was the quiet and bashful type who preferred fictional characters to real people. Real people, especially boys, terrified me.

When we were in the ninth grade, Hope’s parents retired from their desk jobs, and bought themselves a dive bar a few towns over. They never came home from work before three A.M. on the weekends. My girlfriends and I (I mean, Hope’s other friends — I didn’t have any) would hang out in her basement, steal from her parents’ liquor cabinet, and invite some boys over to flirt with. By the time her parents would get home from work, the boys would be gone, the mess cleaned up, and us girls passed out on the floor of Hope’s enormous basement bedroom.

In October of our sophomore year, Hope decided to play a game. Had I known about this game beforehand, I would have stayed far away from Hope’s that night. But she would have known that, which explains why I was not given a warning.

There were twelve of us in the basement that night, six guys and six girls. A few were sprawled on the couch, some were on the bed, the rest, myself included, were lounging on the floor on giant pillows and beanbags. We were drinking cheap vodka mixed with cherry Kool-Aid, and watching a Halloween marathon on TV.

Suddenly, Hope stood up from the couch. She used the remote to turn off the TV, held her red plastic cup up in the air like she was about to toast, and yelled, “LIGHTS OUT! Grab the person closest to you and make out!”

She clapped her hands twice and the lights went out. The small basement windows were covered in black sheets, so we were in complete darkness. Just like that. No warning. I hadn’t even had a chance to look around and see which guys were near me on the floor.

I heard a bunch of scuffling as people began to pair up, but I stayed frozen in place. I really, really wished Hope had warned me of this plan. This was totally not my thing.

I had very limited experiences with guys, and each one seemed to get more clumsy, awkward, and embarrassing than the last — they were nothing at all like the steamy romantic scenes I’d read in books or seen in movies.

I thought having a guy’s tongue in my mouth was disgusting. Slimy and wet, and probably filled with a billion contagious bacteria, and just, ick. And the one time a guy had unzipped my pants and slid his hand in my underwear, I’d been even more sickened. Long fingernails, dirty hands filled with a day’s worth of germs. Gross. I thought this was supposed to be fun. I shouldn’t be thinking of germs. I should be gasping and panting and tearing off his clothes in an animalistic rage. But I wasn’t.

Being in complete darkness, I was more aware of the sounds around me. They weren’t pleasant. Kissing noises. Gross. Everyone else seemed to fall into Hope’s plan with ease and enthusiasm.

I wished there was a way out of this. Being chased around a neighborhood by Michael Myers seemed less scary than this stupid game. I contemplated staying still and pretending I wasn’t there. Hope’s game would eventually be over and the lights would turn on and I could just pretend I’d been making out with someone. How would anyone know? Well, except the guy who I was supposed to be making out with. Since there was an even number of us, we’d both have to sit this one out. Hey, that was perfectly fine with me. I’d stay where I was, he could stay where he was, and no one would ever have to know.

I felt a hand reach out and gently touch my hip in the darkness. There was someone lying on the floor next to my pillow. I tried to remember who had been sitting there before the lights went out, but couldn’t. Let’s see… who could it be? There was Travis, Luke, Sam, Ben, David… They were all good-looking, popular guys. Nobody who would want anything to do with me. I was just a normal girl, nothing special.

I wondered, self-consciously, if I was the last girl picked. If, whoever this hand belonged to, was disappointed that I was the closest one to him and he wasn’t able to get to one of the hotter girls in time.

I bit my lip, feeling nervous as his arms timidly wrapped around my waist. He gently pulled me off my giant pillow and I landed next to him on the carpet. My back leaned against the pillow and my chest pressed against his. I could feel the nervous tension between us. If ever there was a time I wanted the world to open up and swallow me whole, yep — right there.

But then something happened that changed my mood. He kissed me. Even in the darkness, his mouth found mine on the first try. It felt like our lips were drawn to each other by magnetic force. When his tongue touched mine, I wasn’t grossed out. My body felt like it was melting into his like ice cream. He tasted like cherry Kool-Aid and smelled like Hugo Boss. This guy knew what he was doing. And I liked what he was doing.

I didn’t know who he was, but I knew I liked kissing him. It was different than the other guys somehow. It was neater, slower, more determined, but less frantic. And when he rolled us over so that he was on top of me, I felt something, and I sort of wanted to tear his clothes off in an animalistic rage.

He was hard in his pants. I could feel it when he pressed into me. It made me dizzy and I was surprised how hard it felt. When we learned about erections in sex-ed classes, I thought they got sort of plump, like a bratwurst off the grill. I wasn’t expecting it to feel this hard. This felt like steel. And if there was any truth to the romance novels I’d bought from a used book store over the summer, that piece of steel was probably as smooth as velvet. I’d have to wait to find out though. It would take more than a few sips of vodka to give me the courage I’d need for direct penile contact.

I pushed the sounds of the others out of my mind and pretended we were the only two in the room. When he slid his hands under my shirt, I didn’t even mind. When he pushed my shirt up, pulled the cup of my bra down, and slid his tongue across my nipple, I really didn’t mind it. Maybe I could rethink that part about courage and try to find out what was in his pants.

I slid my hand between us and under the waistband of his jeans, and he did the same to me. I didn’t think about germs at all. And when he hit the right spot, I wished I knew who he was so I could yell out his name in appreciation.

That was when Hope had had enough. “I’m clapping my hands in five,” she announced, and began to count down.

He froze for a second, and then quickly removed his hand. I zipped and buttoned my jeans and was back up on my pillow just as the countdown landed on one.

Clap, clap. The lights went on. I avoided the eyes of everyone else. I chipped at my nail polish. Hope turned the movie back on, but I was afraid to look around at the others. Their silence made it all that much worse. I couldn’t stand to be in that basement another second.

I grabbed my plastic cup off the floor and stood up. “I’m going to get a refill,” I mumbled as I headed for the basement steps. I walked up to the kitchen to pour myself another drink. A strong one. I needed it.

I was standing at the counter, with my back to the basement steps, when I heard someone coming up. Too embarrassed to face anyone in the harsh lights of the kitchen, I drank my Kool-Aid right there at the counter without turning around.

I heard the footsteps, slow and deliberate, come up behind me, and then a hand on my ass encouraged me to turn around and face my mystery make-out man. So I did.

Ben. Ben Ogea stood before me. I was too afraid to look up at his face, but I knew it was him from the Jim Morrison quote on his t-shirt. “This is the strangest life I’ve ever known.”

I looked down at his black Chuck Taylor shoes. Someone had used an ink pen to draw chemical symbols on the white part of the shoes. Ben was the smartest guy in our class. He was a year younger than us because he’d skipped the second grade. But he wasn’t one of those geeky pocket protector carrying kind of smart people who made everyone else around him feel stupid. He made getting a 4.0 look cool.

Ben didn’t usually hang out with us and I couldn’t remember us ever having had a conversation in the past. But I knew who he was. Everybody did.

I glanced up at him shyly while still keeping my head down. He smiled. Jim Morrison had a strange life, and Ben Ogea had a wicked smile, wicked sexy. I returned his smile with a shy one of my own. Then he put his finger up to his mouth and… and he licked it. Uhhh… what?

With a hand on each one of my hips, he leaned down and kissed me one last time. Then he walked backwards away from me until he reached the stairs, before he turned and walked out the back door.

We never spoke to each other that night. And we never spoke after it. But I’d wanted to finish what we’d started ever since.

* * *

Friday, October 31, 2014

7:47 A.M.

“I guess we have two Elsas in first grade today,” Ben said when they arrived at our corner. Lucie and Olive were both wearing the exact same turquoise store-bought costume.

I knew there would be a whole lot more than two Elsas in the first grade, and in every other grade, but I didn’t correct him.

“I like your braid,” Olive said to Lucie. Her own dark hair was in a high ponytail. “My daddy doesn’t know how to braid.”

I looked up at Ben and he shrugged ruefully.

I looked at my watch. We had a few minutes to spare. “Do you want a braid like Lucie’s?” I asked Olive.

She nodded shyly.

I knelt down on the sidewalk and pulled a brush from my purse. She stood still as I quickly braided her hair over to the side like Lucie’s.

A few minutes earlier I’d felt like I failure when I couldn’t get Lucie’s crown braid to look red-carpet-ready. The way Olive looked at me when I finished with her braid, it made me feel like a hero instead.

Ben looked at me the same way and I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t give my belly the squirmies.

“Thanks,” he muttered when we continued walking. “I watched some videos online, but my fingers just don’t coordinate right.”

He had actually tried to learn how to braid? I didn’t personally know any other single fathers with young daughters, but I didn’t imagine most of them braided hair.

I didn’t reply. I just smiled and nodded and hoped he had no idea how I’d woken up this morning.

I wasn’t sure if Ben remembered Lights Out, but I suspected he didn’t. He’d never called me by my name, which made me believe he didn’t know it. I wasn’t sure he knew we went to high school together at all. I seriously doubted he remembered a twenty-minute make-out session from fifteen years ago. You could bet your ass I wouldn’t ever ask him either.

“You guys going to the Hurrah tonight?” he asked.

The Merriam Elementary School’s annual Halloween Hurrah was a fundraising event held every Halloween evening after trick-or-treating. It was a night of games and food and costume contests. Last year’s Hurrah had been tons of fun, and I’d been looking forward to going again. I’d be a lying shit if I said I hadn’t wondered if Ben and Olive would be there, too. And I may have fantasized about being accidentally locked in a dark closet with him, but the fantasy was always ruined when I wondered who was watching our kids while we had some fun in the dark. Oh, the troubles of being a single parent.

“Yes,” I answered. The girls were skipping together about four feet ahead of us. They had become fast friends when we started these walks together. “We’ll be there after trick-or-treating. You guys going?”

He put a hand to his chin and rubbed his beard. I’d never had a thing for bearded men before. When the look started to come back in style, I’d had my reservations about it. But he pulled off the beard about as well as Justin Timberlake did. And that was really, really well.

“Yeah, I was planning on it. Are you trick-or-treating close by?”

This was already like four sentences past our norm. He must have been feeling extra chatty today. “We live on Orchard. We usually do about three blocks up and down. It’s a good street. Lots of full-size candy bars usually.”

“Oh. Full size. That’s impressive,” he said, and rubbed his beard again. “Hey, um, maybe the girls would like to trick-or-treat together?” It was a suggestion, but he said it like it was a question.

He probably had a date and wanted me to take Olive with us so he didn’t need to look for a babysitter. Whatever. I didn’t mind. It wasn’t like I really had a chance with the guy anyway. I wasn’t even sure I wanted a chance.

I’d thought about it, dating. A lot. But it had been so many years since I’d been with anyone but Will, and I didn’t think I was ready for that. I thought that might be the reason I’d developed a crush on someone so far out of my league — because I knew there was no chance of anything coming of it. For me, it was just a past time, just a crush, a reason to do my hair and put on some makeup before school once a week. That was it.

“Sure,” I said. “Lucie will love that. I don’t mind taking Olive with us.”

“Oh, um, okay. I was thinking I could come, too. Do you mind taking me with you?”

He smiled at me then. It was a playful smile, the kind usually exchanged between people who knew each other, people who teased each other. Had we become friends somehow through all of these silent walks?

“Oh!” I said, feeling embarrassed. “Yeah. I just thought, I mean. I thought you maybe had something else to do.”

“Nothing other than trick-or-treating and bobbing for apples.”

I cringed and hoped he didn’t notice. Bobbing for apples, AKA bobbing for bacteria, was the most disgusting thing at the Halloween Hurrah. Dozens of people sticking their mouths into the same tub of water? During flu season no less? And people thought this was okay?

Ben lowered his voice and nodded his head toward Olive. “I only get her half the week. I won’t miss out on that time for anything.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. I mean, of course you wouldn’t.” Geez. Could I form a complete sentence sometime today? P.S. I was totally swooning right now over this doting-daddy. And he was totally forgiven for mentioning the bobbing of apples.

“So it’s set then,” he said. “We’ll take the girls trick-or-treating. Then we’ll head to the Hurrah together. Sound good?”

We? Was this a date? Or a playdate? Did he just ask me out? Was I ready for that? I knew Will wouldn’t want me to waste too much time being the girl with the dead husband. I knew he would have wanted me to move on much sooner if he had a choice.

“Sounds good. The corner of Orchard and Pine at five-thirty then?”

“Deal. But why don’t you give me your number in case I get lost?”

If I was thirteen, I would have squealed and jumped up and down right on the spot. But I was thirty, so I would wait until I got home.

* * *

7:58 A.M.

Just as I expected, the school was a sea of purple and turquoise when we arrived. I waited for an ice pond to crystallize before me, and the students to start ice skating across it to the tune of a catchy song.

And just as I expected, the Fucker Mothers’ daughters were all in expensive, custom-made Elsa costumes, including lots and lots of tulle, glitter, and rhinestones. Vanessa’s daughter had a perfect crown braid in her blonde hair. Shauna had gone even further and mastered the waterfall braid for her daughter’s hair. Show off. I tried not to feel unworthy.

And just as I expected, the Halloween-themed Bento Boxes were filled with candy corn colors and spooky-shaped foods. Oh, and sushi shaped like pumpkins. If it wasn’t a food being shaped like sushi, it was sushi being shaped like another food.

And just as I expected, I heard nastiness coming from their mouths as the four of us walked past them.

“Oh, look who decided to brush her hair this morning.”

“She walked to school in four-inch heels? Who does that?”

“Someone desperate for attention. It’s no different than the woman who wears heels to the grocery store.”

“Does she wear heels to the grocery store?”

“Nah. I bet she wears those faded yoga pants with the stretched-out waistband. She wouldn’t bother dressing up unless Mister Joint Custody was going to be there.”

“Ha. So cute.”

* * *

9:04 A.M.

I had just sat down in my cubicle and logged in to my computer when my cube-neighbor, Nancy, popped up and stuck her head over the wall between us. This kind of behavior was not acceptable in rest rooms, and I wished the rule would carry over to work time, also — if only for their own benefit. I mean, nobody looked good from such a high angle.

“Happy Halloween,” she said, as she handed me a little tulle sack tied with orange and black ribbons. It was filled with Hershey’s Kisses and reminded me of the kind of favor you’d see at a bridal shower filled with butter mints. Mmm, butter mints. Why were showers the only time we were treated to such goodness?

“Thanks,” I said, accepting the sack of candy with gratitude. Bad angle or not, it was chocolate.

“And this,” she said, handing me the lottery kit. Once a week someone from the office went to the convenience store and bought a bunch of lottery tickets. We all threw $2 into an envelope for our chance to win.

Look, I knew the odds, okay? I knew I was probably more likely to fall off a cliff while taking a selfie, than winning millions of dollars in a multi-state lottery. But, in the slim, slim chance that one of those tickets was a winner, I couldn’t bear to be the only asshole left working here. So I put in my two bucks, just like every Friday.

Then I looked at the digital clock on my desk and counted how many minutes of suffering between now and trick-or-treating. I knew I shouldn’t get too ahead of myself. We could have a great time tonight. But that didn’t mean I had any kind of future with him — or that I even wanted one. Yeah, he was sexy, smart, responsible, and a good dad by all appearances. But there were other, very important, things I didn’t know about him. And I needed to get some answers before I started embroidering towels with our initials. For all I knew he could be the kind of person who went to the grocery store without a list. Or a guy who sprayed Febreeze on his bedding and considered it clean. Maybe he went to a tanning booth and took selfies in the bathroom mirror. I knew there were many things that could break this deal. But when I thought about that night in the dark, all I wanted him to do was make it.

* * *

10:22 A.M.

I couldn’t stop staring at the sack of Hershey’s Kisses on my desk. There were two kinds of people who had time to wrap Halloween candy in tulle and ribbon for their coworkers: single people and overachievers. I could breathe easy knowing I would never need to worry about the latter. Overachieving would never be a hindrance for me.

But this little sack was troubling me when I thought about the other option. Did I want to be the kind of person, fifteen years from now, who wrapped candy in tulle for a bunch of people who made fun of me behind my back? Was that where I was headed by being the girl with the dead husband who wasn’t ready for dating? I had Lucie for now, and she deserved all of my attention after all she’d been through. But twelve more years and she’d be off to college, and I’d be … what?

* * *

11:16 A.M.

“Shut the fuck up.” Hope called me at work every morning while she drank her coffee on the balcony of her Manhattan apartment. Sometimes she photographed the coffee and the view and texted it to me. This morning’s photo showed her sweater-covered hands cradling the hot mug. Her thumbs stuck out of little holes at the end of the sleeves. Her nails were perfectly polished in olive green, and her calves were up on the bistro table in the background, covered in cozy, knitted knee-high socks. I didn’t send her a text of my view. It definitely wasn’t as cool as hers. Maybe what I really needed in my life was a pair of knitted knee-high socks.

“Seriously. Shut the fuck up,” she repeated.

I didn’t respond. I never knew what to say to that remark.

“What are you gonna wear?” she asked. She had a deep voice for a woman. If she was big and butchy, she’d frighten people. But she was about 110 lbs and blonde, so she was revered for it instead.

See, this was a problem. Not Hope’s voice, but my clothing options. I was planning on wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a hoodie. Now that I sort-of had a date, I wondered if I should wear something sexy. But I wasn’t sure if I had the ability to look sexy, even if I tried. I’d probably end up looking like a desperate mom who was trying too hard to play MILF.

“I don’t know. It’s going to be cold. I was thinking of a hoodie and jeans.”

“No. Not on a date with Ben Ogea.”

“It’s not really a date. I don’t think.”

“I don’t care. You’re not wearing a hoodie. This isn’t a football game.”

“I could go in costume,” I said, hoping that option would make the hoodie look like the lesser of the evils.

“I think skinny jeans, boots, and a sweater will be perfect. And no ponytail, Cora. At least use a flat iron. You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard. But you don’t want to look like you just don’t give a shit either. You need a happy balance.”

A happy balance. Kind of like the gazpacho I was eating for lunch. On a positive note, it was low-cal and made of superfoods. On a less positive note, I’d just spent $8 to basically eat salsa with a spoon.

“And don’t forget to pencil in your eyebrows,” she said.

* * *

12:16 P.M.

I left work before noon so I could be there for Lucie’s Halloween parade. I stood on the sidewalk around the school and tried to pick her out from all the other Elsas. I waved to her when I found her and took clumsy pictures with my phone when she walked by.

Tabitha took pictures of The Fuckers with a Canon Rebel. I didn’t know anything about cameras, but I overheard the FMs talking one morning about who had the best camera, and Tabitha insisted her Canon Rebel was the best on the market. I guess that explained why she was the designated Fucker Photographer of the day. There was no sign of the Fucker Fathers. That didn’t surprise me. They never showed up for anything. I wouldn’t show up if I was married to them either.

Ben was standing next to his ex-wife on the other side of the playground. They both went giddy when Olive walked by. I did my best to avoid looking in their direction. I was now certain this was not going to be a date tonight. There was no way he could want anything to do with me after being married to her. Look at her with her leather jacket and all of her bracelets and belt.

You want to know how many belts I owned? Two. You want to know when I wore those belts? When my pants felt a little loose — and that didn’t happen often enough.

How was it that some women knew exactly how to accessorize, and others, like me, were clueless? Were they born with a natural instinct, or was this something our mothers were supposed to teach us? I wondered if this meant my mom failed me. And did that also mean I would fail Lucie and she would grow up feeling inferior to any girl whose handbag matched her shoes?

I made a mental note to start buying her accessories immediately. Like today.

And that bun in her hair. It was perfectly poofy and nearly the diameter of her head. When I tried to put a bun in my own hair once, it looked like I had an acorn sticking out the back of my head.

“Cora.” I looked up to find Ben and the perfect ex-wife standing in front of me. He knew my name. “Cora,” he said again, “I want you to meet Olive’s mom.”

Oh. Fabulous.

He turned to the could-be-supermodel. “This is Cora, Lucie’s mom. I went to high school with her.”

He remembered. He fucking remembered.

“She’s the one who braided Olive’s hair,” he continued. “We’re going to take the girls trick-or-treating together tonight.”

She gave me a coy smile with a downward head-tilt, the kind of look that was seen in every Victoria’s Secret catalog ever printed— the I-know-I’m-hot look. She reminded me of Tom Brady’s wife, the model, Gisele.

“Cora, this is Olive’s mom, Eliza.”

Eliza. What an exotic name. Ordinarily I would have spent a good ten minutes imagining a future with Ben and wondering how Eliza’s presence would affect our lives together. Birthday parties, holidays, vacations. When is Eliza bringing Olive back? Will Eliza be at dinner? Should we invite Eliza to the party?

But I didn’t have time for that neurotic shit right now because — he knew my name! And he knew we went to school together! He remembered!

When the kids started to head back inside for class, I left quickly. I didn’t need to run into any of those buzzkill bitches.

* * *

5:30 P.M.

Per Hope’s advice, I wore dark skinny jeans and brown cowboy boots with fringe. The boots were a bold move on my part. I’d gone to the mall after the parade to buy Lucie some bracelets at Claire’s, and decided to up my accessories ante as well. Shouldn’t every girl have a pair of cowboy boots? Absolutely. I bought Lucie a pair, too. I also bought myself some cute knee-high socks, which I was sure would act as a life-changing domino — the socks that would take me from girl-with-dead-husband to girl-with-her-shit-together.

Instead of a hoodie or a sweater, I’d picked out a plaid button-up that hung low on my hips. I felt kind of country, but confident in a way I wasn’t used to. See? It was all about the socks.

Ben showed up at the corner wearing a hoodie. Figures.

We set off down the block similar to the way we walked to school together — quietly. I got out my phone to take pics of the girls. I loved the look of surprise Lucie had on her face every time another neighbor dropped a piece of candy in her plastic pumpkin. I loved it that my daughter was still appreciative of others’ generosity, rather than expecting it like it was owed to her.

Ben got out his phone and started scrolling over the screen like he was texting. I felt a wave of disappointment cloud over me. So much for doting daddy. I knew this was a generation of multi-taskers, and that it was hard to put down our phones for anything these days. But we’d only just started trick-or-treating. He could have at least paid attention for a couple of houses.

Ding.

I had a text. I exited the camera screen to check it. Who would be texting me? Everyone in the world knew it was trick-or-treating time.

BEN: You look great in those boots.

You know that feeling you get when you’ve just reached the top of the hill on the roller coaster and you’re about to head down? I was there.

We stood on the sidewalk, dozens and dozens of children and parents rushing past us, but I felt like the two of us were frozen, just standing there while the leaves fell around our feet — like the only two people standing still in a time-lapse video.

I glanced up shyly and caught him looking at me. He bit his lip and gave me a small, hopeful smile.

I smiled back at him above my phone and texted back. It had gotten on my nerves when I thought he was texting someone else while we were trick-or-treating. But if he was texting me — different story. We’d already been to at least five houses. We were good.

ME: Thanks. I wish I had worn a hoodie.

BEN: You can wear mine.

And there I went, down the hill. I only hoped there was another one behind it.

Part Two — Ben

7:08 P.M.

Cora. Still driving me crazy after all these years. I loved how she acted like she didn’t have a clue how beautiful she was. Maybe it wasn’t even an act. Maybe she really had no idea. I kind of loved that idea even more. Not that I wanted someone with low self-esteem. She was just … normal. Down to earth. A little bit of modesty could go a long way.

Even back in high school I had no interest in the girls who flashed their shit around like they should be hanging from a pole. But they were there, and they were willing and eager. I spent so much time back then trying to keep up my GPA, I’d had to take what was right in front of me. I didn’t have the time to work on the quiet girls like Cora.

That night at Hope’s, I couldn’t believe my luck being next to her. She was different than the other girls. She was authentic. She was legit. Her body responded to me in natural ways, not the phony I-wonder-if-there’s-a-hidden-camera-in-his-room, porn-star-wannabe kind of stuff I’d become too familiar with. The way she’d touched me, the way she’d tasted, had given me material that still made my pants feel a little tighter when she was around.

I’d meant to find her at school one day, or ask around for her number. But I just got busy, and the next thing I knew, she was with Will.

I saw her last year a few times. She never looked my way. Sometimes I thought it was on purpose. And every time I thought it was for the best.

I knew Will had died. That kind of baggage scared the shit out of me. Not that I thought I’d ever find a baggage-free single woman at my age. But ex-spouses and baby-daddies were easier to deal with. They weren’t together anymore by choice.

Like Eliza and I. We were friends. We had a mutual respect for one another. And I had love for her. I just wasn’t in love with her. I kind of thought a lot of married couples probably felt the same way. I bet a lot of them stayed together because it was convenient and peaceful, and they felt like it was too late to fall in love for real anyway. I probably would have done the same thing and stayed with Eliza forever, especially after Olive was born. Because that was the easy thing to do. But Eliza was a brave chick. She told me she was tired of taking the easy way all the time. She said we had married too young and too soon, and she wanted to try to make a go of it on her own. She said she would only do it if I was okay with it. I didn’t even put up a fight. I hated having to share Olive, and the first year was hard. But we settled into a nice routine. I missed being part of a couple, but I was glad she’d had the courage to do something for the both of us that I never would have done for myself.

Cora’s story was different. She didn’t choose to be brave. She’d been forced. When I’d found out Will had died, about a year after my divorce, I thought about reaching out to her. But in the end, I let it go. What could I offer her? I had no idea what it was like to lose the love of my life. I didn’t even know what it was like to have a love of my life.

And then we’d walked up on that intersection a few weeks ago. Same place, same time, again and again. What were the chances of walking up on my high school crush a dozen years after graduation? We were both single. We’d both been single for long enough to start dating again. I mean, if destiny was a real thing, it couldn’t have made its wishes any clearer.

But I resisted. A relationship with someone who’d been dealt such a shitty hand wouldn’t be easy. It would take work, time, and a ton of patience. I wasn’t sure I’d have enough. I didn’t know if I’d be enough.

But they said the best things never were easy. I’d gone for easy before, and I’d ended up alone. How many times would I let this girl slip through my hands? It was time for me to step out of my comfort zone, stop screwing around, and take a chance on something. I knew that. But knowing something, and acting on it, were two very different things.

Any day now. That’s what I told myself every Friday. Just ask her out. It wasn’t like I had to marry the girl. I didn’t even know her. She could be one of those people who thought eating fruit on pizza was disgusting. She could prefer cats to dogs. Or worse, she could use there, they’re, and their incorrectly.

Or she could be everything I thought she was all those years ago — smart, kind, funny, loyal.

I needed to find out. If she was a cat lady or used improper grammar, I could just start driving Olive to school, or even send her to a private academy. But I needed to know either way. I couldn’t keep thinking about this girl without acting on it.

It was adorable this morning when she thought I was asking her to babysit. And tonight, the way she shyly glanced up from her phone after reading my texts, made me want to take her home. Tonight. I didn’t know texting someone who was standing right next to me could be so stimulating.

Remember, patience.

After ninety minutes of trick-or-treating and secret texting, we were more than ready to head to the Hurrah. We rode over in Cora’s SUV. You could tell a lot about a person by the interior of their car. It was almost as personal as being in their bedroom. All signs pointed to good. It was clean, smelled like the Yankee Candle apple air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, and there was a pack of Trident gum sitting in the cup holder.

As she drove us over, I hoped we’d run into those Mean Moms at the Hurrah. I knew they gave Cora a hard time. They were like adult versions of the bully in A Christmas Story. Oh, I better find out if Cora is an A Christmas Story person or not. Nobody seemed to have mediocre feelings regarding that movie. They either loved it or hated it. If she didn’t love it, that could seriously impede our chances of a solid relationship.

We pulled up right next to Mean Mom #3, Tabitha, as she and her demon children were getting out of their ostentatious Hummer. I didn’t understand why these chicks thought they lived in Beverly Hills. This was a suburban, middle-class neighborhood, and they acted like it was the damn Hollywood Hills.

Ah, how nice it was that they would be able to see the four of us at the Hurrah together. Being here with Cora was great in and of itself. But having the opportunity to piss off those lunatics was a real nice cherry on top.

Cora grabbed Lucie by the hand, I grabbed Olive by the hand, and we walked towards the door to the gymnasium. Tabitha watched with her mouth hanging open.

* * *

7:48 P.M.

“Oh no,” Cora said, as she shook her head subtly. “We’ll sit this one out.”

“What?” I asked. “Do you have something against apples?”

We’d already been to the pumpkin bowling lane, the eyeball bounce, and the candy corn relay race.

She shrugged and gave me that shy look again — the one that made me nuts. “No, I have something against sharing germs with a bunch of strangers.”

How could I argue with that? To tell you the truth, I didn’t care if she bobbed for an apple. I just wanted her to take off her clothes.

“Eh, you’re right. Let’s move on,” I said, and we headed toward the Pin the Hat on the Witch booth.

“Yoo-hoo.”

I recognized that voice. It was a sound that made me grind my teeth. By the look of annoyance on Cora’s usually-sweet face, I knew she felt the same way.

Shauna.

“Yoo-hoo, you two.” Who said yoo-hoo? Really? “We’re about ready to start the first grade treasure hunt. You guys are going to enter, right?”

A treasure hunt? Why was I just now hearing about this?

My competitive blood started to boil immediately. They thought they were competitive. Ha.

It. Was. On.

* * *

8:00 P.M.

I wish I’d known about this sooner. I would have made us team t-shirts and water bottles.

“Each team will get an envelope,” Mrs. Lewis, one of the first grade teachers explained to all of us. “Inside you will find a list of ten items for you to take pictures of this evening. All pictures must be on the same phone or camera, and each picture must include at least one of your team members. When your team arrives back here with all ten photos, you will receive a map to help you find the treasure chest. Everyone understand?”

We all nodded and Miss Mater, another first grade teacher, started handing out envelopes.

“On the count of one, you may all open your envelopes. Five…”

There were about fifty of us standing in the corner of the gymnasium and we all started shouting the numbers out loud.

“Four, three, two, one!”

“Good luck!” the teachers yelled as the teams tore into our envelopes like animals.

I was glad to see that Cora and Lucie had the same competitive fervor as Olive and me.

I read the list quietly to our team and everyone started shouting out at once.

“The library!”

“The playground!”

“The science lab!”

I put my hand up to silence them. “Wait. We need a plan. We need organization.”

While the other teams scrambled off in chaos, I sat the four of us down at one of the lunch tables and mapped out a plan. We needed to hit many areas of the school, but we were going to do them in geographical order, instead of going back and forth six times. I went to this elementary school. I knew my way around.

“All right, team,” I said, when I was done mapping out our hunt, “we can get some of these done in this room. Like a photo with a skeleton.”

“The science lab upstairs,” Lucie said.

I shook my head and pointed to a skeleton decoration taped to the wall in the gym. “Nope. Right there. Cora, you’ll take the pictures.”

We ran over to the skeleton and took a picture of Lucie standing next to it. We got Olive with a jack-o-lantern near the bowling area, and a picture of both girls wearing witch hats from the pin-the-hat game. I didn’t see any of the other teams in the gym. I had a feeling they were making this harder than it needed to be.

“A book about ghosts,” Cora read over my shoulder. “We need to go to the library.”

The four of us exited the gymnasium doors. I expected to find the other teams scrambling around and tripping over each other out there. There was nothing, no one. We walked from a crowded gym and into a dark and quiet school. Maybe it was the fact that it was Halloween, but it gave me the creeps. I had an eerie feeling as we climbed the marble staircase to get to the library. Where was everyone? There were nine or ten teams in this scavenger hunt. Where were they? And why hadn’t anyone bothered to turn on a light?

We opened the wooden door to the library. It was dark in there, too. The school had moved on from the card catalog system since I’d been there. The monitors of the computer systems glowed in the room. We headed toward them. Cora used the light from her phone to see the keyboard. She typed the word ghosts into the search bar with her free hand.

I was drawn to the way her face was lit by the light of the screen, and I studied her profile. Her little nose, her lips. Then I saw a figure move out of the corner of my eye. We weren’t the only ones in this room.

My skin filled with goose bumps instantly. I knew it was ridiculous for a grown man to be creeped out, but I sort of was. If someone else was here, why were they so quiet? Wouldn’t they be looking for ghost books, too? I shrugged it off and tried to concentrate on Cora’s lips again. I’d seen too many episodes of 48 Hours Mystery. I should start watching more sports.

“Got it,” Cora said quietly. She looked up at me with innocent, non-freaking-out eyes. She hadn’t seen the shadows moving in the stacks. The girls hadn’t either. “This way,” she said, and nodded towards the back of the library.

I held up my phone to use as a flashlight as Cora led us to the aisle of ghost stories. Just then I saw a figure dart from one aisle to another. I turned around quickly to catch the person, but I wasn’t quick enough.

“What’s wrong?” Cora asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

She led us down the aisle and swept her fingers across the spines of the books on the eye-level shelf. She found the one she wanted, pulled it off the shelf, and handed it to me. I put it next to my face and gave her a huge, goofy grin as she snapped a pic.

“Oh shoot,” she said, looking down at the phone. “It’s too dark. I need to turn on the flash.”

She pressed a few buttons on the touch-screen and then held it up to try again.

I held the book next to my head and she took another picture, this time with the flash.

Then she gasped.

“What is it?” I asked, even though I kind of knew.

She silently handed me the phone and I looked at the picture on the screen. There was something, or someone, standing behind me in the photo. The figure had a pumpkin on its head. I turned and looked behind me, but the person was gone.

She shook her head in what looked like annoyance. I could tell she didn’t want to show any fear and scare the girls. She was clearly braver than I was. She probably killed spiders in her house all by herself.

She placed the ghost story back on the shelf. “Where to next?”

“The art room,” I answered. We needed a picture of one of us with an easel showing a pumpkin drawn on it. “Let’s go.”

The art room was empty and dim just like everything else around. There was one light pointing at the art easel in the middle of the room. The easel held a large pad of paper, but the pages were blank.

“I guess we need to draw our own,” I said, looking around for crayons or markers. There were none in sight. The last team had probably hidden them. Ha. Good idea.

Cora dug around in her purse just as I saw a fifth shadow appear on the floor in front of us. Someone was standing behind us! I whipped my head around quickly. There was no one there.

I tried to shake it off as Cora pulled a pen out of her purse. She drew a pumpkin in about ten seconds. She was so self-sufficient.

“Nice!” I commented. I held up my hand for a high-five. She slapped it with zest.

I loved being part of a team. It was that kind of adrenaline that had led me to a career in live TV. Having her there with me, on my team, was such a turn on. I didn’t care about a treasure chest that was probably filled with cheap candy like Smarties and Dum Dums. But I loved it that we had a common goal and a common enemy. The four of us, I had a feeling we could go places. I mean, metaphorically. We could be something.

“A picture of a team member on stage,” she read off the sheet. “The auditorium.”

We jogged down the dark halls toward the auditorium. It was on the opposite end of the school from the gym where we’d started. We were making our way down the hall when I heard a loud bang, like someone was banging on the door of one of the classrooms.

“What is that?” Lucie asked.

“Nothing. Just keep moving,” Cora told her.

A few doors down we heard another bang. Someone was inside the classrooms banging on the doors. Wow. Someone had really gone above and beyond to make this scavenger hunt scary. I wished haunted houses and hayrides put in this much effort.

We walked into the doors of the auditorium and walked past the rows of seats to get to the stage. I lifted Olive up, set her on the stage, and Cora snapped a picture.

We all turned around at once to go. The girls screamed.

There was a person sitting in one of the seats of the auditorium. He or she was wearing black clothes and the Ghostface mask from the movie Scream. The person didn’t move. I would have thought it was a prop if not for the fact that it was not there a minute ago when we came in.

“Just run,” I mumbled to the girls, taking their hands. These people were starting to piss me off. We had six-year-olds with us. They could be seriously scarred by these pranks.

We held hands and ran up the aisle, past Ghostface, and out the doors.

“To the playground,” I ordered as we ran down the hall.

I was sure someone was just trying to trip us up. It wasn’t like there was a serial killer in the auditorium. But that didn’t mean I wanted to sit around and chit chat with the weirdo either. We had a treasure chest to win.

The playground was also pretty dark and empty. I was starting to wonder if we had been given a different list than everyone else. Or maybe every team had a different list.

We took pictures of the girls on the swing set and slide. When we turned to head back toward to school, Pumpkinhead, Ghostface, and a girl with long blonde hair who had on a mask from the movie, The Strangers, were all standing in front of the school. They each stood still with their hands clasped in front of them.

The girls screamed again.

“It’s just a joke,” I said to them quietly as we walked past them. “We have one more picture to get, and then we can go home.”

The last thing on the list was a picture of a team member with a scarecrow.

“There was a scarecrow outside the front door where we first walked in,” Cora whispered.

“Good thing my girls are all so observant,” I said, without thinking first.

She raised her eyebrows.

I could have taken it back. But the truth was I didn’t want to. I liked this foursome we had. I liked thinking of them, both of them, as my girls.

I smiled and hoped she got all that.

We ran around to the front of the school to find the scarecrow dressed in overalls and tied around a pillar. With a quick snap, we got our picture. Then we ran back into the gym.

“Are we going to win this, Daddy?” Olive asked as we ran.

I knew my train of thinking would probably have my man card suspended indefinitely, but I didn’t care if we won this game or not. I already felt like a winner. The most beautiful girls in this place were all on my team. I couldn’t lose.

“We might,” I told her.

We were not the first team to arrive back. We received our treasure map just moments after Vanessa’s team. At this point it was anyone’s game.

We unfolded the map the principal handed to us, and our four heads leaned in to look at it together. The hand-drawn, photocopied map showed the school’s layout. The X was near the front of the school, but it didn’t say which floor. It was either in the welcome office, or upstairs in the auditorium. When I saw Vanessa’s team running towards the office, we had no choice but to face the auditorium again to see if our treasure was there. Nobody argued with me as we ran up the staircase. We wanted to win this thing.

The plastic treasure chest was on the stage — right behind the three tormenters of ours who stood guarding it. Instead of hands clasped, they had arms crossed. It was pretty intimidating. Until one of them started laughing. It was an evil feminine laugh. I recognized it as a sound I heard nearly every time I dropped Olive off at school in the morning. The Mean Moms.

They all three started laughing and removed their masks to reveal their constipated faces. It was Shauna, Tabitha, and Melissa. I felt like I was in a real-life episode of Scooby Doo.

“It’s not as scary if you laugh,” I told them.

“I bet you guys were nearly shitting your pants,” Shauna said, her arms crossed against her chest again.

“Potty mouth!” Olive accused, pointing her finger at them.

There was about to be a standoff. I held up my arms in resignation.

“Thanks for the theatrics, ladies,” I told them. “You really added a nice haunting element to our scavenger hunt.”

“No. Thank you,” Shauna said. “Your pity-date gave us more entertainment than all of the games downstairs. It was so kind of you to take her out tonight.”

“The only people I pity around here are the three of you,” I said.

I heard the pounding of footsteps making their way up the stairs, and I knew we needed to get to the prize before Vanessa’s team arrived. It might turn into a bouquet-toss kind of brawl otherwise.

“I mean the four of you,” I said, gesturing behind me. “Now get out of our way.”

“It’s just a bunch of dollar store candy,” Melissa said with a roll of her eyes. “Have at it.”

I took a girl’s hand in each of mine and we approached the stage.

The Mean Moms scowled in the most exaggerated ways as they scooted over to let us by. I hoped their faces would get stuck that way. Or maybe they already were.

“Does this mean we won?” Lucie asked.

I shrugged. “I guess so,” I said. “Go on,” I told the girls. “Open it up.”

They opened it to find, as I expected, a bunch of candy. They also pulled out some things I wasn’t expecting: a restaurant gift card and a movie theatre gift card. When Olive handed me the cards, I stuck them in my back pocket.

“Should we take this to the car?” I asked.

“Yes!” the girls answered.

I carried the treasure chest as the four of us held our heads high and marched our way past the snotty faces of the Mean Moms. Their cat-eyes turned into angry slits.

“Boots with fringe? That’s funny. Didn’t fringe go out of style like two decades ago?”

“Those poor girls. Someone should seriously introduce them to Etsy before they are forced to wear store-bought costumes another year.”

“Nah. I just donated a bunch of my shoes to the Salvation Army last week. I think that’s enough charity for this year.”

“Oh, snap.”

Speaking of things that were out of style, I was pretty sure no one said, “Oh snap,” anymore.

I looked at Cora to see if she’d heard them. I knew by the expression on her face that she had. I would have taken her hand then, or touched her in some way to comfort her, but both hands were carrying the treasure chest. I did the next best thing and hip-checked her.

* * *

9:06 P.M.

The girls insisted that the treasure chest be strapped into the back seat of the SUV with a seatbelt. Once it was secure, I looked at my watch. It was after nine, late for six-year-olds. We should probably call it a night. But I didn’t want to be away from Cora yet. And wasn’t it okay for kids to stay up a little later on special occasions?

I didn’t want to mention it in front of the kids in case she said no. I pulled out my phone and texted her.

BEN: Pizza?

She checked the phone and nodded. “Sounds great. I’m starving. We forgot to stop by the snack booths inside.”

“Let’s pick up a pizza and then head to my house to eat and divide up our treasure.”

“YAY!” Lucie yelled.

“PIZZA!” I heard from Olive.

“All right girls,” Cora said, “get in and buckle up if you want pizza.”

When I sat down in the passenger seat, I scrolled through the numbers in my phone to find my favorite pizzeria. Yes, I had it saved in my phone. I was a single dad who only knew how to cook about three meals. I had more restaurants than people in my phone’s contacts.

I leaned my head back on the headrest and turned to face Cora. “I have to ask you an important question.”

“Yes?”

“Do you like pineapple on your pizza?”

“Of course.”

“Does Lucie?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

* * *

9:45 P.M.

The four of us sat at my dining room table to eat and sort the candy. The pizza disappeared quickly. We’d all been so hungry after our treasure hunt.

We divided all of the candy into two even piles. When we had an odd number, we compromised with no arguing. We took an extra KitKat, but they got an extra Almond Joy. Everyone was happy and full, and probably pretty candied out since we’d been eating some as we sorted.

When the candy was in order, Olive asked Lucie if she wanted to watch Frozen. Of course she did. The two girls went into the living room. My guess was they’d both be asleep in less than ten minutes.

We were alone. Sort of. But Cora couldn’t seem to look at me. She’d been acting really shy since we’d gotten to my house.

“So,” I asked cautiously, “is there a reason you‘re having a hard time looking at me?”

She looked alarmed at first. Then she just laughed. “No reason,” she answered with a slight smirk.

“You sure?”

She shrugged. “It’s possible that I had a dream about your dining room table once.”

Okay. I wasn’t expecting something that good. But I wasn’t going to complain about it. “Did you want to tell me more about this dream?”

She shook her head and pursed her lips together tightly, probably to keep them from blurting anything out. It was probably for the best. If she said anything naughty I was going to want to bend her over the table. Who was I kidding? I already wanted to. Oh shit. Change of subject needed immediately if I ever wanted to be able to stand up from this table.

“Maybe some other time?” I asked, hopefully.

She nodded firmly. “Yes. Definitely.”

I pulled the two gift cards from my back pocket and held them up. “What about these?” I asked.

“What are they?” Cora asked. “I didn’t get to see them at the school.”

“A restaurant gift card and a movie gift card.”

I was hoping she’d say we should use them together. She didn’t.

“We could each take one,” I suggested. “We could even draw them out of a hat to make it fair.”

She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you want. We will be fine with either one.”

“What I want… is for us to use them … together.”

She smiled. “We could do that.”

“When?” I asked eagerly. “We could go tomorrow night before I take Olive to her mom’s. Or we could wait until Thursday when she comes back over.”

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

“Good. I really didn’t want to wait until Thursday to see you guys again.”

I heard music coming from the TV in the living room. “For the First Time in Forever.” I could relate.

The kids were asleep. I could hear Olive snoring. Cora got up from the table and took our glasses to the sink to rinse out the Sprite we drank with our pizza. I got up, too, and took the paper plates and napkins to the trash. I set the empty pizza box on the counter and leaned against the stove.

I didn’t want her to go yet.

“Hey, Cora,” I said timidly.

She turned around from the sink. It reminded me of that night, when I came upstairs to find her in the kitchen.

“If you want to stay and hang out for a little while,” I said, “I’ve got some cherry Kool-Aid in the fridge.”

She narrowed her eyes at me for a moment. First I thought she might be pissed, then I realized she was just trying to figure me out.

“You remember,” she said quietly.

I stepped closer to her. I stopped when I our chests were just an inch or two from touching. “Remember?” I repeated. “How could I forget?”

She tried to back away before she remembered her back was already against the counter. “I need to ask you something, Ben.”

That didn’t sound good. It sounded like the beginning of a very serious talk, one that I didn’t think was necessary this early into the game. But it was the first time I’d heard her say my name, and it gave me a chill in the best way. I was curious to hear this question. “What’s that?”

With her hands on the counter behind her, her guard was down, and her body was completely open to me. She didn’t look down the way she had that night long ago, but looked right into my eyes instead. “When you go to the grocery store, do you take a list?”

I smiled, surprised at how flippant the question was after all. “Are there people who don’t?”

“I’m afraid so.”

I laughed at her serious face. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

She nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

I slid my hand under her hair and wrapped it behind her neck. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” I said, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Cora

Halloween 2019

Feed the kids a healthy breakfast — Check.

Get Jamin in his Yoda costume without a tantrum — Check.

Look over Lucie’s costume to make sure she isn’t showing too much skin or looking too risqué — Check. P.S. She’s only eleven! Why is this even an issue already? I’m really not ready for this…

Drop Jamin off at preschool — Check.

Get Lucie to school on time — Check.

Get dressed — Check.

Put the turkey chili ingredients into the crock pot — Check.

Make the caramel-dipped green grapes — Check.

Make the seven-layer spider web dip — Check.

Get the spiced cider in the fridge — Check.

Get Jamin from preschool — Check.

Get to the school in time for the Halloween parade — Check.

Get a really nice picture of all three of our kids together — Check.

Go home and get Jamin down for a nap without a tantrum — Check.

Wrap Ben’s anniversary gift — Check.

Get girls from school — Check.

Remind Olive to text her mom to confirm I’ve picked her up — Check.

Feed kids a healthy after-school snack — Check. It really was healthy that time.

Whoa. This wasn’t on my list, I thought, as I was pulled into our bedroom by my husband an hour before he was supposed to be home from work.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He shrugged and gave me a sneaky grin. “I got off early. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Mission accomplished.”

He unzipped his coat, took it off, and threw it onto the hardwood floor. His t-shirt said, “This is the strangest life I’ve ever known.” He smirked.

“You do not still have that t-shirt.”

“No. I ordered it online. I thought we could recreate a moment.”

“Hmm,” I said, playing along, “I’m pretty sure that moment took place in the dark, and not at four in the afternoon.”

He pushed my t-shirt up, pulled the cup of my bra down, and slid his tongue over my nipple — just like he had that night.

I yelped in surprise. I guess he wasn’t going to waste any time.

He unbuttoned my pants next, slid his hand in my underwear, and leaned in to me so he could whisper in my ear, “This moment will be taking place in the dark. I just wanted to give you something to look forward to.”

He removed his hand, licked his finger, and smirked at me again.

“What? You can’t do that,” I said.

“I can,” he said, smiling. “I did. Happy Anniversary, baby.”

He tried to leave the room, but I grabbed his hand, pushed his body up against our bed, and dropped to my knees.

Give my husband a tiny bit of something that will have him wanting more for the rest of the night — Check. Paybacks are a bitch, Ben.

Put the leaf in the table and set seven settings for our post-trick-or-treat dinner — Check.

I heard the doorbell. They were here. Everything was ready. The kids were in their costumes. Dinner, including drinks and hors d'oeuvres, was prepared. My day off of work was well utilized.

I opened the door to greet our guests — Eliza and her boyfriend, Dan.

I took the apple pie from her hands. The bottom was still warm. I licked my lips. Some might say, and there have been jokes about it in the past, that the reason we invited Eliza over for dinner on holidays and special occasions, was because of her apple pie. I won’t confirm or deny that.

“Happy Anniversary,” Eliza said to me with a sly grin, like she knew there was something else I was waiting for tonight besides her pie. Oh gosh, that didn’t come out right at all.

“Thanks,” I said, as I handed the warm pie to Ben. “Happy Halloween!”

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I’m a full-time waitress, Chapstick-addict, make-up junkie, and Justin Timberlake fan for life. I’ve been a book nerd since I was a child, and grew up with The Baby-Sitter’s Club and The Sweet Valley Twins. I'm a sucker for the boy-next-door type, and still believe in happy endings. Writing (about the boy-next-door and happy endings) is what I do when I'm avoiding other things… like cleaning.

I have a Bachelor’s Degree in Media Arts, and once had big dreams of being a Hollywood screenwriter. But then I met a boy and got distracted. A few years later, we met another boy, this one even cuter. The three of us are now living (happily ever after!) in the Detroit area. And our house is kind of a mess.

CONNECT WITH THE AUTHOR

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Email me at: booksbyjodiebeau@gmail.com

OTHER WORKS BY THE AUTHOR

Cora and Ben are new characters and do not appear in any of my previous books. But if you liked their story (and I hope you did), check out the two books in my romantic comedy series:

The Good Life

A second-chance romance.

“"I highly recommend this book. I laughed, cried, sighed, gasped, smiled REALLY BIG and truly loved it." — Melissa Brown, author of Wife Number 7

All Good Things

A summer romance.

"If Dawson's Creek and Felicity had a wild night with American Pie while watching John Hughes movies." — Ashley Pullo, author of The Album

Spandex is for Superheroes

by Ruth Clampett

Beware the horror of your Halloween costume not fitting!

Copyright © Ruth Clampett 2014, All rights reserved.

eBook edition

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Angela Borda

Cover Design: Jada d’Lee

Chapter One

“So Brooke, I have an idea,” Nathan says as he pulls a coffee mug out of the cupboard.

One thing I adore about my boyfriend is that he’s an animator and comic artist with a wild imagination so he always has interesting ideas. I figure this one really must be a doozy if he’s avoiding looking me in the eye.

“Uh oh, an idea?” I tease. “Is this one I need to gird my loins for?”

“Nah. No girding required. It’s an awesome idea…I bet you’re going to love it!”

Still no eye contact…I’m not hedging my bets. “Okay. Hit me with it.”

He finally turns toward me and grins. “I thought we could throw a Halloween party this year!” His voice is unnaturally high and his cheeks color as he waits for my reaction. When I don’t respond he pushes his glasses further up his nose and clears his throat. “Nothing extravagant…just a few of our friends.”

Nothing extravagant? Who’s he kidding? Nathan never does things half way. I know a big party would be a major undertaking and I can’t imagine how we’d fit it into our insane schedule.

“What are you thinking? What about your deadlines? You’re working seven days a week right now as it is.”

He plops down on the chair across from me and bobs his head. “I know, but I have an idea. I’m going to job out the inking and coloring for the B-Girl issue due first week in November.”

Whoa…he must really want to do this party if he’s finally agreeing to job out his precious comic book work. I immediately recognize the potential this provides for future weekend getaways. “…and you know I hate Halloween, handsome.”

“But I thought you liked the decorations and giving out candy to the kids.”

“I do but I always pay a price for the fun. You know my history with those huge Costco bags of mini candy bars when I hand out the treats: one for little Cinderella, one for me, one each for the two pirates, two for me.”

Apparently I have a problem.

He nods. “See that’s another good reason why we should have a party. We’ll be too busy to hand out candy. I’ll pay the neighbor kid to do it for us. He’s too old to trick or treat.”

“You’ve thought of everything.” My smile gives him a false sense of encouragement and he pulls a sketchbook out of the drawer.

“I have! Let me show you.” He flips several pages in and points to an elaborate drawing. “We can convert the garage into the Batcave.”

I lift the drawing up to examine it more closely. It’s got every detail I’d expect from Nathan including a glass case holding a full Batman costume to a simulated mission control desk, and Batphone. “And why a Batcave?”

His eyes grow wide with an expression you’d expect from a six year old. “Because it’d be so cool.”

“Indeed.” Overcome with curiosity I turn the page of the book and the next illustration has the Metropolis tower complete with a globe, rising out of the center of our roof. “Good lord. How are you going to do that?”

“I’ve already talked to Nick’s cousin about it. He does carpentry stuff and can build anything.”

Wow. He’s not joking around. I point to a drawing of what I assume was once our guest bathroom. There are spider webs everywhere. “Is this Spiderman’s bathroom?”

He nods, tapping his fingers on the tabletop as he watches me study the pages.

“I’m seeing a theme here.”

“Yeah. It’s a Superhero party!” His tapping speeds up until he finally stops and grips the edge of the table.

My stomach falls. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

“Everyone has to come dressed as a Superhero!” He says it like it’s the most epic idea ever.

“Even me?” I ask with an arched brow. “Is this some elaborate theme to get me back in that Wonder Woman outfit?”

His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches, giving him that incredibly irresistible sexy look. He gazes longingly at me like he wishes I was wearing that outfit right now. It’s been a while since I’ve worn it and the last time I had it on it didn’t stay on long. We were making Superhero love in record time. I smile at the memory but then snap back to reality. With all the stress eating lately I’m doubtful I’d even fit into that tiny costume now.

I fold my arms across my chest and shake my head. “I think I’ve developed an allergy to spandex.”

I know my man when he gets his mind set on something so I’m not surprised that he immediately disputes my claim. “No you haven’t! You practically live in those yoga pants and I know they have spandex in them.” He grins with a lascivious look. “That’s why they fit so perfectly.”

Busted. I try another tact. “You really want all your animation-comic friends to see me in that outfit? Do you remember how low cut that bustier is?”

He purses his lips together and scratches his head. “Good point.”

“I don’t really think I can take a whole evening of Andy ogling me.”

Nathan’s eyes light up. “But he has a big crush on another girl now. So she’ll be dressed up too for him to ogle! Everyone will be dressed up.”

I frown. That gives me zero comfort. Just imagining all the lumpy body shapes without the camouflaging comfort of clothes makes me want to reinstate my gym membership and share it with the others.

“Please, Brooke, please….will you do it for me?”

He asks me for so little and gives me so much. How can I not do this one thing that means so much to him? Certainly one of my friends can give me a Xanax or something to get me through the party.

“Okay,” I whisper just loud enough for him to hear. But then I wink at him to seal the deal.

He leaps out of his chair and rushes over, pulling me out of my seat. Next thing I know he’s holding me tightly as his hands wander the last places I would expect them to be early on a workday morning. I lean into him enjoying every touch.

“As for that revealing costume…I have to warn you, I’m a little curvier these days.” I slide his hand over my hip and then up to cup my breast, hoping he thinks the idea of that isn’t all bad.

“Are you kidding me? You know how much I love your curves. You’re going to be the sexiest Wonder Woman ever,” he says with a happy sigh. There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes me love him even more.

I lean my cheek against his chest and listen to his heart pound. I love that after all this time I can still get him worked up so easily.

When his hand slides down to my ass and he squeezes it lovingly, I cringe that he has so much to grab onto.

There’s no way around it… Zumba class, here I come.

* * *

Several weeks later I’m returning from my Saturday afternoon errands and grocery run when I notice a collection of neighbors in front of our house. I stop my car and lean my head out the window hoping to see what several of them are pointing at. When my gaze settles on the addition to our roofline I let out a long sigh. Metropolis. I forgot it was being installed today.

I park the car and get out, planning how I’m going to do damage control. Is there some kind of big-brother community policy against adding weird stuff to our house that we didn’t know about? It’s not like we painted the house hot pink or something. I stop and study the addition more thoughtfully. It’s handsome, rather art deco and design-y. Maybe we’ll just leave it up after the party. That’ll show ‘em.

Mr. UCLA guy with his poodle on a leash is scowling. This from the man who hangs school banners all over his house when there’s a big game. I pull back my shoulders and prepare for battle.

When I step up to the group, our next door neighbor Brian grins. “Is someone visiting from Planet Krypton?”

“How’d you guess?” I tease back.

“Planet what?” asks Mrs. Rogerson, the sweet old lady from across the street who now looks a little alarmed.

I give her a warm smile. “He’s joking, Mrs. Rogerson. It’s a reference to Superman.”

“Dearie, is that why there’s a doll hanging off of it?” she asks.

I cup my hand over my brow to shield the sun and look up at the structure. “What doll?”

She hands me her binoculars and points to the right. “The one dangling off the thing in the back.”

I take the binoculars and hold them up, wondering the entire time what else Mrs. Rogerson watches through these things. I have to scan and focus before I see what she’s referring to. A Superman doll the size of a Ken doll is extended from a wire off the main structure. Wow. Nathan isn’t holding back with the decorations…not even a little bit.

“That’s Superman. He’s flying around Metropolis,” I say as I hand the binoculars back.

“I told you!” Brian says, smirking at Mr. UCLA.

“Cool,” says Derek, our teenage neighbor who’s going to pass out the candy at our house Halloween night if he can part from his video games long enough.

I turn to the group. “This is part of our Halloween decorations. We’re having a Superhero party and you’re all invited.” I assume none of them will come but a little goodwill goes a long way.

“How cute,” Mrs. Rogerson says.

“I hope you don’t mind that Nathan got the decorations up a little early.”

“Not at all,” says Brian.

Mr. UCLA walks away with a resigned mutter.

The crowd breaks up. I let out a sigh. Crisis averted. Now let me go find my man.

“Nathan,” I call out after setting the grocery bags on the kitchen counters.

I hear his muffled voice from the garage. “In here.”

I find him sponging paint on crumpled oversized pieces of paper.

“Do I dare ask what you’re doing?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose carefully so he doesn’t get paint on his face. “I’m creating the stone texture so the cave looks more realistic.”

I give him a puzzled look. “The cave? Oh, you mean the Batcave?”

He gives me a bewildered look back.

“Of course the Batcave, Brooke. What other cave would it be?”

“Sorry. I guess I was distracted by the pow-wow of neighbors I found in front of our house when I got home.”

“What were they doing?”

“Looking at the addition to our house.”

He grins widely. “Did they love it?”

My heart melts for the young boy in my grown man who assumes everyone would love having Metropolis on top of their house.

“They were very impressed.”

“I bet! Just wait until they see the Batcave!”

A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Hey you know that package that arrived from that expensive collector doll company? What character was that you bought?”

He turns back and starts sponging the section of construction paper in front of him and mumbles something under his breath.

I put my hands on my hips. “What was that?”

“Superman,” he says quietly.

“And is that Superman now dangling off our roof?”

He huffs and looks up at me with a determined expression. “He’s not dangling! He’s flying!”

I roll my eyes. “How silly of me. Of course he’s flying. We have a two-hundred dollar collectible Superman flying around our roof. Why couldn’t you have used a twenty dollar one? Remember the Superman dolls we saw at Target not long ago?”

He gives me a horrified look like I slapped him in the face. “Are you serious? Brooke, that was the Henry Cavill Superman in that bogus grey blue uniform. I could never have him with our perfectly adapted Metropolis! It had to be an authentic Silver Age Superman and that was the best one I could find.”

“Oh geez, Nathan.”

“What?”

“I guess this is what I get for falling in love with a purist.”

He steps up to me and takes my hand. “But sweetheart, would you really want it any other way?”

I smile at him. “No. I guess not.”

“Okay then. Now that we’ve got that settled let me show you the best part.” He grabs a remote control off the garage counter and pulls me outside to the street just past our yard.

He’s clutching the remote tightly as he waits for me to look up. “Ready?”

“I sure am.”

“It’s going to be hard to tell the effect during the day but I assure you it will be amazing at night. Here we go!” He clicks a button and I notice that the world globe on top of the structure has taken on a glow and slowly turns. Meanwhile the wire holding Superman starts to move the opposite direction. “Look Brooke!”

I gasp and turn toward Nathan. “He’s flying! I seriously can’t believe you!”

“How clever I am?” he asks with a sheepish grin.

“Yes, how clever and how awesomely amazing!”

He pulls me into his arms and we watch Superman circle Metropolis a number of times before finally shutting him off. “I better get back to my painting.”

As we walk back into the house I ask about lunch. “What kind of sandwich would you like?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you’re having. By the way, how are the food and drink plans coming for the party?”

“Did you know that Billie used to be a bartender? She’s agreed to come up with the themed drinks for us. And I had another cute idea for food.”

“Better than the Catwoman catnip salad? Or the Clark Kent Oreo cookies where you take the top cookie off and the frosting inside has the Superman shield?”

“Well, I was thinking of pizza ideas, and you know that Batman villain Two-Face?”

“Sure.”

“We’re going to have Two-Face pizzas…one half of the pizza is perfectly smooth with cheese and the other is a mess of ingredients.”

“Just like Two-Face! Brilliant!” Nathan beams.

“I’m working on dip ideas next.”

He nods and lets out a satisfied sigh. “This is going to be the best Halloween party ever.”

Chapter Two

It seems like there are endless details for this party, and not all of them are fun ones. Nathan arches his brow when I dump a collection of shopping bags on the couch. “What’s all that?”

“It’s part of my costume for the party. The most important part really.”

He tips his head to the side. “But you already have the costume.”

I scowl and plop down on the sofa next to the bags.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well you know all those Zumba classes I missed because of all my production and merchandising meetings? And failed diet attempts the last few weeks?” I look down at the floor and shake my head.

“But Brooke, you’ve been so busy…”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “I know! But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t fit into my costume.”

His expression falls and he rubs his chin with his hand. “Oh I see. So is it another costume in those bags?”

“No. It’s reinforcement. It’s the latest state-of-the-art undergarments designed to tighten up everything so I look sleek as a seal.”

Nathan’s face scrunches up. “That sounds uncomfortable.”

I nod. “You have no idea.”

“I’ve always wondered, when everything gets tightened up…exactly where does it go?”

Leave it to my creative boyfriend to wonder such things. “I don’t know handsome, it goes inward I guess.”

“That can’t be. I mean what about your internal organs. It has to go somewhere else.”

I reach into the bag and pull out the package and point to the illustration on the front. “See with this one it sucks in everything below my waist and my thighs.”

“But what if when you put it on the stuff squeezes out and gives you massive calves?”

Is he serious? I give him a bug-eyed look. “Well then I can go to the party dressed as the Hulk. Or I can resort to the most extreme.”

His wide eyes actually look full of fear. “And that would be?”

I fish around in the bag and pull out the largest package. “The full body suit.”

“Head to toe?” he asks with a gasp.

“Yes. Even my toes will look thinner.”

“Surely this isn’t necessary,” he insists as he steps away from the package. “Are you sure your costume doesn’t fit?”

“Abundantly. But at least I’ll look presentable for your party…our party.” I quickly correct myself.

He reaches out for me with an empathetic look. “Oh baby, don’t do this to yourself. We’ll figure something else out.”

I’m so disappointed in myself and I throw my hands over my eyes and start to cry. He pushes the packages on the floor and sits down and pulls me into his arms.

“Don’t cry, Brooke. Please don’t cry.”

I sniffle into his shoulder.

“If it makes you feel any better I’m having costume issues too.”

I lift my head up and face him. “You are? You don’t like your Superman costume? It was the nicest one I could find.”

He shakes his head. “No it’s not that.”

I watch the blush move across his cheeks. “It’s just too…revealing.”

I blush too knowing how well-endowed Nathan is. “Oh…that.”

He nods somberly. “I’m pretty sure I’d never hear the end of it from the guys.”

“But doesn’t that make you look even more like a Superhero?” I grin widely.

He kisses the top of my head and sighs. “To you it does.”

I pull away from him and gently nudge him forward. “I want to see. Can you try it on for me?”

“Oh God. Now?” he asks with a horrified look.

“Yes, I insist.”

He lifts off the couch slowly like he’s still trying to figure out how to get out of it. I push him on the ass. “Go on now. I’m waiting.”

I’ve scrolled through my entire Facebook feed before I realize how long this is taking. “Nathan?” I call out.

“Coming.” His voice is very tentative.

When he steps into the living room I frown. “No fair!”

He shrugs. “It’s authentic.” He looks down and unbuttons his white dress shirt one more notch and pulls it open further to expose the Superman S shield on his chest.

I fold my arms over my chest. “You’re not wearing a Clark Kent suit over your uniform, Nathan!”

He gives me a guilty look. “I know — it’s cheating.”

“Is that fair to your guests? If Andy is brave enough to wear spandex tights among his peers you have to be brave too.”

“But I’m pretty sure Andy doesn’t have a package like I do.”

“I’d rather not think about that.” I wave him over. “Here, I want to see.”

With resignation he steps forward and holds his arms up, letting out a sigh. “If you must.”

I start by pushing the jacket off his shoulders and pulling it off. The shirt comes next. But when I trace my fingers along his waistband and start to unzip the fly, I look up at him and see fire in his eyes. I slowly pull his slacks down.

“Oh my,” I whisper before biting my lip. I look up at him with desire in my eyes too.

“The way you’re looking at me is only going to make this worse,” he says gesturing at a situation that is going to test the very spandex stretch limits of his costume.

I look up at him with a guilty smile. “Sorry about that.”

He looks over at my purchases. “Hey, what if I wore one of those things under my costume. Do you have one that’s just the panty area?”

My mouth gapes open. “I do — I got every kind, but won’t that hurt to have your manly parts pushed inward?”

He shrugs. “If you’re willing to suffer for our party I will too. I’m the one that got us into this mess.”

I search through the package and then pull out what he’s looking for. “Okay…here you go. I can’t wait to see this.”

He looks pale and a little scared when he takes the package, but still turns and heads toward the bedroom.

Several minutes pass and there’s no sign of him. Maybe he needs my help. I knock softly on the bedroom door. “You okay in there?”

“I don’t know. This is disturbing.” His voice sounds tight.

“Can I see? I promise to be good.”

“No laughing?”

“I promise.” When he doesn’t respond I slowly push the door open. He’s standing in the corner on the far side of the room.

He slowly lifts his arms up. “I don’t know about this, Brooke.”

“You’re too far away — I can’t see. Come here, handsome.”

I have to press my mouth shut tight as he walks toward me. He’s moving like he has a stick up his ass. I’ve never seen him move so awkwardly.

When he gets close I can’t help clapping my hand over my mouth and gasping. My free hand gestures to his crotch.

“What?” he asks with an alarmed expression.

“Where did it go? How tight was that girdle?”

He brushes the sheen of sweat off his forehead. “It’s not just that. I did that tucking thing that I heard drag queens do. That’s not easy to do. Nathan junior is wedged between my legs and let me tell you, he isn’t happy about it.”

“I bet.” I can’t take my eyes away from the miracle of spandex and tucking.

“What?”

I hold back a giggle. “You look like a eunuch.”

“Gee, thanks. But do you think this will work?”

I shake my head fiercely. “No way. It’s false advertising of the most unflattering kind. Besides you wouldn’t make it through an hour, let alone a whole night.” I sit down on the edge of the bed and reach out to him. “Come here. Let’s set the beast free.”

He waddles over to me and takes a deep breath as I push the blue fabric over his broad shoulders and start peeling downward.

He looks at me with gratitude brimming in his big green eyes. “Oh, thank God.”

When the Superman costume is pushed down past his thighs I run my fingertips over the flesh colored fabric where his cock used to be. “This is so wrong.”

I hear him whimper and look up to see his eyes wedged shut. “Don’t touch me Brooke. You’re getting me all worked up…and it hurts so bad!” He’s taking quick short breath like a pregnant woman in her Lamaze class.

“Okay!” I say as I quickly peel away the tight garment. I have to shove all the fabric down to his ankles before he can part his thighs enough for me to slide my fingers up between his legs.

He starts to moan loudly when I gently take hold of his cock and start to pull it forward to where it’s meant to be. I feel him swell inside my grasp. I tenderly slide my other hand under his balls to set them free as well.

I look up at Nathan and smile. “Better?”

He runs his hand through my hair and lets out a sigh. “So much better.”

“I bet. That was just so wrong in every way.” I keep fondling him, admiring his sheer perfection now that’s he’s rock hard.

The relief in Nathan’s eyes turns into a scorching expression as I continue to stroke him.

I feel inspired to make him feel better after all his suffering. “God, I love doing this.” I kiss the tip of his swollen head.

“I’m so glad you do.” His gazed is fixed on me as I run my tongue along his length. “Oh Brooke,” he whispers when he realizes I’m not going to stop.

I smile inwardly. I’d be smiling outwardly too but it’s pretty much impossible when a cock this size is in your mouth. I slowly circle the head with my tongue while I moan.

He cups his hands over my jaws, his thumbs stroking my cheeks as I suck down his length. He swallows hard. “I love it when you do that…so much.”

I graze my teeth lightly back up his shaft and then work my way back down. I know exactly how to drive him crazy. It doesn’t take much with Nathan, every long lick and trail of kisses, until he’s in my mouth again, unravels him that much more.

He’s glorious with his heated expression and gently rocking hips. He watches my every move and the way his gaze skims over my body suggests that as soon as I’m done he’s going to worship me back. I may have been his first partner to experience mind-blowing sex with but I’m going to make sure I’m also his last.

I show him with every swirl of the tongue and sexy moan how much I love pleasuring him. When I take him in deep he throws his head back and passionately surrenders with a Superhero worthy climax.

After he floats back down to earth, he struggles to catch his breath. As he pulls me into his arms, I give him a warning. “Never again hide yourself from me.”

He gives me a lazy, satiated smile, and shakes his head slowly. “Never.”

Chapter Three

Morgan eyes me skeptically as she holds up the bodysuit. “Are you sure about this?”

I chew on my thumbnail as I examine the garment. Now that it’s out of the package it looks even smaller than I imagined. “I think I’m sure.”

She waves the spandex suit at me. “This looks like supermodel sized…not…”

I wag my finger at her. “Don’t call me chubby or there will be consequences.”

“Nah, I was going to say real-woman-sized, Brooke. I swear.”

“Thank you for that. But there’s got to be a way to get this on, right? I mean they wouldn’t be selling so many otherwise.”

Morgan shrugs. “I guess so. How should we start?”

“I’m thinking the first part should be easy, like putting on a pair of tights.”

“Okaaaay,” Morgan says as she tries to pull the opening at the top of the garment open wider. Right now it’s the size of doughnut. I could use a doughnut about now, but that’s what got me into this mess in the first place.

I start to untie my robe and Morgan holds up her hand. “Wait a minute, tell me you’re wearing underwear because I’m pretty sure my job description as your assistant doesn’t involve me touching you when you’re naked. The goods need to be covered.”

“You’re so uptight.”

“Says the woman wearing a body stocking to conceal her real curves.”

I smile at her. You can’t out-tease Morgan. Ever.

“Actually I thought ahead about this. So to answer your question, no, I’m not wearing underwear. I’m pretty sure that my body, or at the very least my girly parts would suffocate if I did, and no stinking Halloween party is worth that risk. But I’m happy to report that I thought ahead about this issue.”

I ceremoniously untie and pull off my robe while Morgan covers her eyes squealing. “I’m wearing a string bikini.”

She parts her fingers and lets out a long sigh before dropping her hands.

I wiggle the strings at my hips. “See when we pull the thing up past my girly parts I can untie this and pull it off.”

“That works for me.” She glances at the clock on the nightstand. “We better get started.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, take the first leg of the thing and grab my way down to the foot part before wedging my foot inside. I hold my leg up and rotate my ankle in victory. “Yay!”

Morgan scratches her head. “Why do you need skinny feet?”

I shake my head. “I think they do this to keep it from riding up your legs. Thus the tagline…sleek from head to toe.”

“Okay then, as long as we’re on a roll let’s move on to foot two.”

The second foot goes on easily as well. “Maybe this won’t be so hard after all.”

Morgan rolls her eyes before dropping to her knees to help me yank the thing up my calves. When we get all the way up to my knees I feel a surge of optimism until I realize that the crotch for the bodysuit is at my knees as well. This would be great if I were three feet tall with stumpy legs, but that’s not the case.

To add to my frustration, my thighs are pressed so tightly together from the spandex binding that I’m losing feeling in my hoo-hah.

Thank God Morgan has a determined spirit because she goes at it like a champ, pinching bits of the slick fabric and yanking upwards. I don’t even cry out when she pinches some of my skin as well since I don’t want her to lose her focus.

I look down at her as we work together. Her face is red and her brow damp with perspiration. We’re getting close to our goal of a crotch-to-crotch connection when after a particularly tough yank she tumbles backward on the floor.

“Holy hell, this is worse than Chinese foot-binding. It’s full-body binding!”

I nod in agreement. “Obviously a man who hated women designed this.”

“Or a really skinny girl who never has to wear it.”

“To hell with them all,” I pronounce as I wiggle my toes, hoping to regain feeling in them. I look over at Morgan still sprawled on the floor. She appears to be breathing normally now. I study her red costume that shows off her figure in a very flattering way.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. Who are you dressed as?”

“Electra. Girl, you need to study up on your Superheroes!”

I sigh. “I know. So many Superheroes, so little time. That’s one sexy outfit. You look awesome.”

“Thanks. And lucky for you Electra is a ninja…cause it’s going to take ninja skills to finish this job.”

We get back to work and after a tugging session equivalent to a full upper body, gym workout we get the thing over the edge of where my ass starts. I take a moment to untie the bikini and yank it out giving myself the equivalent of a pussy burn. I wince in pain. Morgan suddenly goes pale. “What?” I ask.

“How will you go to the bathroom once this thing is fully on?”

“There’s a hole built into the crotch. Didn’t you notice it?”

“I’ve been trying not to notice the crotch. Remember? Well at least that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about — a pee hole. Wow! They really thought of everything, didn’t they?”

She moves to my right hip while I work on my left but after several minutes we’ve succeeded in only getting the damn thing up another inch. She looks down at me and giggles.

“What?”

She pokes at the overspill. “This gives new meaning to muffin top.”

“That’s lovely, thank you.”

Morgan pokes me again. “Well, you’ve got to admit…”

“Can we move on?”

We tug some more before she stops and throws her hands up in the air. “Are you sure you got the right size here?”

“I swear!” I say, my humiliation reaching new heights.

“It’s your hips,” she says shaking her head. “We’re going to need reinforcement.”

I drop my head and moan. “Billie. Go find Billie. She’s the strongest woman I know.”

“Is she here yet?”

“Yeah, she should be in the kitchen. Last time I looked she was hot-gluing plastic spiders to the radioactive punch glasses.”

When Morgan slips out of the bedroom I fall back on the bed and pull the robe over my body that now resembles a sausage whose casing has come undone. I tip my head up and look down at my legs. They’re unrecognizable. I tap my finger over my thighs and marvel. They’ve never felt so firm.

I hear a soft knock on the door and Nathan sticks his head inside. I pull my robe all the way up until it’s tucked under my chin. He frowns and his eyes cloud over with a look of concern. “Why are you in bed, sweetheart? Is something wrong?”

I feel my cheeks get hot. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just a bit of a costume challenge. Morgan’s getting Billie to help. Did you finish the Iron Man thing?”

He ignores my question. “Costume challenge?”

Suddenly Billie and Morgan burst into the room. Morgan’s eyes light up. “Oh good, Nathan can help too!”

I shake my head wildly at her.

“Help with what?”

“Getting her bodysuit on,” Morgan says.

I make a face at her.

Nathan’s expression shifts to one of horror as he walks to the edge of the bed and peers down at me. “It takes three people to get on your body suit?”

“Four if you count Brooke,” Morgan adds.

Thank you so much, Morgan.

I give Nathan the sweetest smile I can muster under the circumstances. “No handsome, we’re fine. You go on and do your Superhero thing.”

He looks relieved as he nods and walks to the door. “Good luck, girls.”

When the door closes Billie, who looks fierce in her Harley Quinn bodysuit, pushes her hands down over her hips. “So what’s this nonsense about you buying a bodysuit three sizes too small?”

I glare at Morgan. “I told you — I bought the right size!”

“Sure you did,” she says with just a bit of sarcasm.

Billie waves her hands in the air to motion me off the bed. “Whatever. Let’s get this shit done. I haven’t even started on the Kryptonite margarita mix yet.”

I waddle myself off the bed like a beached sea lion. When I’m finally upright Billie shakes her head as she bites her lip. “Well, that’s attractive.”

“Gives new meaning to muffin top, right?” Morgan says to her.

“Would you friggin’ cut it with the muffin top stuff! If we can just get this thing up higher it won’t be an issue.”

“Calm down Princess,” Billie says. “We’ve got this.”

She instructs Morgan to get on one side and she gets on the other before addressing me. “Okay, I’m going to count to three and then you suck it in as hard as you can, and Morgan you yank up with everything you’ve got.”

I nod, and Morgan spreads her legs planting her feet like a weightlifter about to lift oversized barbells.

They dig their fingers under the fabric and curl their fingers tightly around it. I’m pretty sure I’ll have bruises tomorrow in those exact spots. I take short quick breaths to work through the pain.

“One, two…three!” Billie booms.

I suck in my tummy so hard I’m pretty sure my belly button makes contact with my spine. The girls both grunt and snap their arms up like champs. We all stumble back from the effort.

I look down to study the miracle. The muffin top is gone, replaced by a sleek slope of spandex creating flat planes in places that previously had rolling hills. The effect of such body misplacement is that my breasts are now up under my chin. That’s okay. I can work with overly perky breasts. That’s expected in female Superheroes anyway.

“Whoa,” says Morgan, apparently admiring her handiwork’s effect.

Billie purses her lips. “You look like an android. I like you better curvy.”

I step over to the mirror and barely recognize my body. I have a moment where I’m inclined to agree with Billie but then I remember my mission. “Well, at least I’ll fit into my costume now.”

Billie heads back to the kitchen while Morgan helps me get the actual costume on. That part is easy with the only challenge getting my tits to stay in Wonder Woman’s bustier. They seem determined to be set free, but it’s nothing a little double-sided foam tape can’t take care of.

When we head out to the hallway Nathan’s waiting for me. A smile breaks out on his face like he’s just seen the sun after a storm. He steps up to me and puts his hands on my now narrow waist. “Oh Brooke. You did it! You’re my Wonder Woman.”

“A smaller version of her,” I say with a grin.

His hands slide down to my hips. “Well, honestly, I miss your hips. But you do look dreamy.”

Morgan punches him in the arm. “Good thing you like it, Nathan. Cause you’ll be the one taking it off later.” She gives him a wicked grin before moving on.

As Nathan and I walk to the front of the house I lean in close to him. “And how’s your costume situation working out?”

He looks down and adjusts the waist of his red panties. “So far so good. Obviously not using the tucking technique makes a huge difference, but just going up one size with the spandex thing helps too. Now I’m just dealing with compression, not elimination.”

He puts his hand on his hip and the other he waves towards his crotch. “What do you think?”

I nod. “That works. Your true Superhero skills are our secret. And if you don’t mind me saying so, you make a super hot Superman.”

He grins and pulls me forward. “Thanks Wonder Woman…and now it’s time to party.”

Chapter Four

The DJ Nathan hired is set-up on the edge of the Batcave. To create the cave Nathan spent many of his free hours over the past six weeks sponge-painting and crumpling rolls of granite textured paper then stapling them to every surface in the garage. Tonight it’s up-lit with purple and blue lights. The glass case with Batman’s uniform and mission control board light up too. I’ve got to hand it to Nathan… this Batcave is really cool.

When we get to the kitchen, Curtis, who’s dressed as the Joker, is harassing Billie at the bar.

“Don’t wimp out on the punch, Harley! It needs a lot more vodka if it’s really going to be radioactive.”

She smirks at him and tips the bottle so that it guzzles into the mysterious lime green concoction.

Meanwhile Nick slams his camping lantern with the green bulb down on the counter and turns to Nathan. “Hey, why does Curtis get to be a cool villain in a sharp suit while the rest of us look like idiots in our spandex tights? I thought we had to dress as Superheroes.”

Dani sidles up to him, “But baby I think you’re hot in your tights and your Green Lantern costume shows off your amazing body.”

Thank you, I mouth to Dani while Nathan responds. “Sorry Nick. He said it was the only way he’d come.”

“Damn straight,” Curtis agrees. “Hey Dani, who are you supposed to be?”

“The Invisible Woman, and no jokes please about how you can still see me. I’ve heard it a few too many times already.”

“Well, then why’d you pick her?” Billie asks.

Dani shrugs. “Cause I loved her outfit. Teal is my best color.”

Billie narrows her eyes and turns back to the bar. “Amateur,” she huffs.

Joel and Laura join us in the kitchen looking sharp as Captain America and Supergirl. They immediately head over to the punch bowl.

“Ack! Laura squeals. “There’s a spider on my glass!”

Billie rolls her eyes dramatically while holding up an empty glass and flicking the spider with her finger. “They’re glued on super girly.”

“Why would you glue a spider to a glass?”

“It’s a Spiderman reference, sweetheart,” Joel explains patiently. “The whole party is themed with Superhero stuff, not just our costumes.”

Her cheeks turn pink and Joel gives us a warning look not to make fun of her. We sometimes forget she works in a dental office and is not from our world.

“Speaking of which, thanks for the cupcakes Laura! I’ve already had one and they’re yummy.”

She smiles warmly at me. “You’re welcome.”

“You. Ate. A. Cupcake?” Billie asks me as she folds her arms over her chest.

“Yeah, do you have a problem with that?” I challenge her.

“Oh, I don’t know. I just can’t imagine where you put it with that spandex bondage situation you had me helping with…”

I cut her off as she starts gesturing toward my bodysuit. “Is the punch really ready?”

“Spandex bondage?” Curtis asks wagging his tongue.

“Keep your shorts on, Joker. It’s not the kind of bondage you like.”

Curtis huffs. “Well then never mind.”

I quickly exit the kitchen before any more is said about my situation. As the house fills I stop paying attention to the shape of people’s bodies in spandex and instead focus on the creativity of their costumes. Andy is the Hulk, or at least a short, soft version of the massive Marvel character. He got Dani to do his green makeup and it’s quite impressive.

“I made him wax his torso first,” she assures me.

“Ouch! I can’t believe he agreed to do that.”

“How else was I going to paint on those fake abs? It’s bad enough he has a big, soft belly, but hair too? I don’t think so. I’m not a Rembrandt with body paint.”

I’m happy to see that the food is a hit. People plow through my Mojo Jojo monkey munch and my lightning bolt-shaped Flash fries. The Professor’s Lab with wide mouth beakers labeled Chemical X, Y and Z of avocado dip, onion dip and salsa is a popular hang-out place. Nathan looks so proud as people compliment us on our efforts.

Once the party is in full swing we insist that everyone model, and explain their costume for our costume contest. Some people have worn pre-made costumes, most the higher-end kinds from serious fan websites but there are people that went all out to create something unique.

Kevin is initially a standout as The Thing with his cracked rock texture over his entire body. He explains to us that he cut up Styrofoam into pieces, glued each surface with a dirt and sand combination, and then adhered it in pieces to his bodysuit.

The effect is impressive, especially considering the amount of time he put into the costume, but as the party goes on I start finding pieces of him all over the house. I’m pretty sure I’ll be vacuuming up dirt and sand for weeks.

Nathan’s inker, Hugh, is equally impressive as Wolverine but those finger blades make me nervous. I end up following him around to make sure he doesn’t scratch up the furniture. He makes a big show of offering to cut the pizza up with his claws but then mutilates one of the Two-Face pizzas into a big mess. He’s banned from the kitchen after that.

But there’s no question when first prize goes to Andy’s buddy, Vladimir, who spent weeks constructing an impressive costume for Napoleon, one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The turtle shell strapped to his back is sculpted out of dense prop foam and intricately painted to achieve the most realism. He also applied a weird green coating to all his exposed skin to complete the turtle effect. These comic book guys don’t mess around.

* * *

“Why is Superman on your roof?” Genna asks me when she joins the party.

I look at her startled, and then realize she must be talking about the Superman doll circling the Daily Globe. “Oh, you must mean the flying doll?”

“Well, if that’s a doll it’s a life size one with impressive automaton abilities.”

My mouth drops open. “What the heck!” I rush out the front door and down the driveway before spinning around and looking up to the roof. My fear is confirmed.

“Nathan!”

He’s crouched by the Daily Planet globe and when he hears my cry he stands up and scans the yard until he sees me waving my arm. He misinterprets my gesture and waves back. “Hi Brooke!”

I step closer and half yell up at him, “Are you crazy? What are you doing up on the roof in the middle of our party?”

He holds up the Superman doll with a look of despair. “He was dangling by the edge of his cape. Thank goodness I got to him in time.”

“Before he flew away?” I ask with an arched brow.

“Brooke! This is serious. Who knows what would’ve happened to him.”

“What about what’s going to happen to you if you fall? It’s dark out here and this is dangerous!”

He doesn’t respond to me and instead turns back to the Daily Globe and starts fiddling with the wire contraption.

“We have a house full of people with no host. Get off the damn roof, Nathan!”

“Almost done, sweetheart!”

My blood’s boiling. “Do I need to come up and get you?”

He stands back up tall and turns toward me, just then a breeze blows and his cape flutters dramatically behind him. The full moon almost looks like it’s resting on his right shoulder. He puts his fists on his hips and nods. In this moment he really does look like Superman. It makes me wish I were Lois Lane. All she had to wear was a business suit.

“Done!” he says with a grin. He turns and slowly works his way back down the ladder. When he’s back on flat ground he pulls me under his arm. “You’re so sexy when you’re mad.”

“Nathan Evans!” I say with a mock fury. How can I stay mad at him when he’s so charming?

He gets a devilish look in his eyes. “Who is this Nathan of whom you speak, Wonder Woman? I’m Superman!”

When we walk back into the house Nick turns to Nathan. “Did you get him wired up again?”

Nathan nods, makes a fist and straightens his arm into the air. “Superman flies again!”

There’s applause and a few whoops and hollers, before he grins and gives me a big kiss on the cheek.

* * *

Several hours and punch bowls later we all end up in the Batcave with everyone just standing around in a drunken stupor while the DJ tries every kind of music to see if he can get people dancing. In the corner two of the Batmans are comparing their utility belts, and the girl from accounting that’s dressed like a Powerpuff Girl is taking selfies at the mission control desk.

Billie decides to take charge and after talking to the DJ she swaggers over to Laura aka Supergirl and grabs her. Next thing I know, Brickhouse is blasting on the speakers with a base beat so throbbing I can feel it all the way down to my spandex tightened toes. I glance over to Nathan, a little alarmed about what the neighbors might do but he shrugs so I focus back on Billie who is now doing a semi-erotic dance with our demure little Supergirl.

Dani steps up next to me and shakes her head. “Nothing Billie does surprises me, but I gotta say, give that Laura a few glasses of radioactive punch and she really gets going.”

“It’s always the ones with the conservative jobs that have a wild streak,” I say.

“Oh my God, did Billie just grab her boob?”

“Probably. If you give her a chance I bet she’ll grab yours too.”

We both watch the show with a lot of spandex-on-spandex grinding. Billie is very theatrical, wrapping herself up in Supergirl’s cape and then unwinding again.

Dani, never one to be side-lined, grabs me and drags me to the center of the cave where her pelvic thrusting renders her about as far from being invisible as one can be.

While we dance, I wink at Nathan and gesture for him to join us but he shakes his head and declines, looking perfectly happy to stand back and watch the show.

Dani is in her full dance mode and does this disco move where she criss-crosses her hands up and down my body and grazes my breasts on several passes. I arch my brow at her after one slip that seems especially intentional but she ignores me. When I look over at Nathan to make sure he’s not upset, he has a huge grin on his face. He’s such a guy.

Off to the side, shy Genna has joined in but she doesn’t seem shy tonight. The Powerpuff Girl is giving her twerking lessons and her butt’s working it so hard that some of the vines hot glued to her Poison Ivy costume have fallen off. Kevin is watching so intently he looks hypnotized.

Knowing that Nathan and others are watching us I keep my moves fairly smooth as I’m not ready to test the true adhesive power of this double-stick tape that’s keeping the girls from flying free. There’ll be no twerking for me.

As I sway my hips to the beat of the music I realize that the punch has hit me harder than I realized. Everything is slightly soft around the edges so when Billie steps up behind me and runs her hands over my hips and down my thighs I don’t even flinch. Instead I gyrate against her.

I look over and notice that Nathan’s eyes are now wide as saucers. He looks a little uncomfortable, but I’m pretty sure it’s that kind of uncomfortable that guys enjoy.

The more attention we get the more provocative our ringleader, Billie, gets. She pulls Morgan into the circle by the collar and kisses her. Morgan doesn’t even fight her off. My gaze jumps to Curtis who looks like he’s just won the lottery. I realize that there hasn’t been a single complaint by a boyfriend, there’s just a Batcave full of men standing to the side watching with bugged-out eyes and gaping mouths while holding their drinks in strategic positions.

When the long funk medley finally finishes and pretty much every guy has stored up enough fantasy material for many long shower sessions, there’s a quick exit by most of the couples. Nathan all but chases the few that linger out of the house. Even the DJ gets the hint and packs up in record time.

When the front door finally closes for the last time I find myself pinned up against it. Superman is apparently very worked up.

“What was that?” He whispers, his lips on my neck.

“What was what?” I ask, noting as he presses against me that the compression panty can’t really fight off Superman’s secret Superhero skills.

He looks down at me drunk with lust. “You girls all rubbing against each other, all the touching, I mean…geez. Did you see how Harley kissed Electra? There was tongue involved.”

I grab onto his yellow belt and pull him closer. “Yeah, I saw that.”

“It was so hot,” he says. “I mean they’re not even from the same comic universe but it was still really sexy.”

I smile. Nathan can be so literal at times.

“Brooke,” he whispers.

“Yes.”

He bites my earlobe before whispering in ear, “Did Dani really touch your breasts.”

“I believe she did.”

“Did you like it?”

“I liked that you liked it. I saw your reaction.”

“Is it weird that I think it was hot?”

“No, I think that’s what we were all going for. Getting you guys all worked up.”

He grinds against me. “Well, it worked. I need you, Wonder Woman. Right now.”

He lifts me into his arms and I wrap my legs around him. Never mind that I keep losing traction and slipping down with our slippery spandex-to-spandex connection. We still make it to the bedroom in record time.

He stumbles a bit when we step into our boudoir and I’m airborne for a second before landing on the bed. I purse my lips and look up at him. “How many glasses of punch did you drink anyway?”

He gives me a sheepish look. “I dunno. I lost count.”

Awesome. Let’s hope that punch isn’t his kryptonite. I’m counting on some epic sex tonight.

He looks at me with his brows knit together. “Do you mind if we get me undressed first? This panty girdle thing is getting really, really uncomfortable.”

“By all means,” I say, gesturing across his torso. “But take it slow and sexy, I want to have time to admire every part of you in your Superhero glory.”

He grins widely. “Okay slow and sexy.” He carefully pulls the costume’s neck wide and starts to ease one side down his broad shoulders. When he’s finally pulled his hand and arm completely out of the garment he looks at me with a blank stare as if he’s not sure what to do next. “How do I undress sexy? That’s your department.”

I lift up on my elbows so I can see better. “Remember when I forced you to see Magic Mike with me?”

He looks a little scared as he nods.

“Give me some of that…Superman style!” The edges of my lips curl up as he hesitates. But then he spreads his legs hip-width apart and forces his fists onto where his hips would be if men had hips. It’s a little bit like the disco band, The Village People, in attitude but the effect flexes all his arm muscles. At least Nathan never stopped working out and his body is all the sexier for it.

He grins at me. “Like that? That’s how Superman poses.”

I lick my lips as he watches amused. “Yes! More!”

He peels the uniform off the other arm until it’s revealed, then shimmies the body suit half way down his chest. He turns around and lifts one arm into the flying pose and flexes the other. I see hard, defined muscles in his back that I didn’t even know were there.

I clap wildly and whoop and holler from the bed. “More!”

After an awkward moment of him fumbling with his yellow belt, he turns around and slowly drags the suit just below his ass. Whoa! He must’ve really had a lot of punch.

I prop a pillow behind my head and grin. “Sexy man!” I moan.

He shoves the costume further down and when he turns around his thumbs are looped under what I recognize to be the compression panties.

“Are you ready for the big reveal?” he asks. He’s blushing like a kid but seems to be pushing himself to keep it going.

“I want everything,” I groan.

As the spandex is pulled down, I get to see how excited Nathan really is. He looks down and then up at me anxiously.

An intense wave of desire crawls up my spine and I reach out for him. “Forget Magic Mike! Let’s get this show on the road!”

With a look of relief Nathan makes quick work of getting his boots and the rest of his outfit off. I’ve never seen him so happy to be naked. He crawls up on the bed next to me.

“Okay, Wonder Woman — your turn. Shall we start with the boots?”

Suddenly I’m not sure this bodysuit has enough give for me to curl all the way over and undo the boots myself. “Could you take them off for me?” I ask with doe eyes.

When the boots tumble to the floor he moves closer and tugs on the edge of the bustier. “This next. Your breasts have been making me crazy all night.”

I sit up and turn my back to him. “See the million hooks? They all need to be undone.”

“Wow! Okay.” He has nimble fingers so he seems undaunted by his task. “Hey I thought you said this was really tight? It’s feels kind of loose to me.”

“It wouldn’t hook up pre-bodysuit.”

“Oh,” he whispers as his eyebrows shoot up. Maybe he’s finally understanding the magnitude of my situation.

When the last hook is undone I attempt to wedge my fingers between the foam tape along the front cups and my breasts but there’s no give. That tape must be stronger than I thought.

“What?” he asks as he sees me trying to poke inside.

“This thing is taped on.” I scrunch my face up as he attempts to peek inside my cleavage.

“Why taped?”

“Because my tits kept trying to set themselves free.”

“Seriously?”

“Do you really think I’d glue myself in here for any other reason?”

“Good point. So what’s the plan?”

“There’s only one thing to do and it requires both of us to be brave.”

He goes pale.

“We’re going to have to rip it off. Or more likely, you’ll have to rip it off of me.”

“Oh God, I can’t do that Brooke.”

“You’re going to have to. Haven’t you ever ripped off a Band-aid?”

“Of course, but we’re talking about something infinitely more precious here than a skinned knee.”

“Well if you really don’t want to do it I can try soaking in a hot tub to see if the adhesive loosens. But I’ve got to warn you, it could take a while.” I give him the single arched brow look with a sexy pout.

Suddenly he looks really anxious. “Well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try pulling the thing off first.”

“That-a-boy!” I steel myself by fisting the sheets on either side of me and nodding for him to grab the hem of the bustier.

There’s a distinct look of terror in his eyes.

“Go on now, Nathan.” I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch and clench my fists even tighter.

He pulls with a firm tug but all it does is jostle my boobs. I open my eyes and blink. “That isn’t going to work. You’ve got to pull much harder than that. Why don’t you just rip it off sideways?”

Nathan winces.

“Well maybe it’s time to ask…what would Superman do?”

He nods, fired up with new determination.

“He wouldn’t let a little bit of tape stop him. Would he?”

Nathan narrows his eye. “No he wouldn’t.”

Before I can even fist the sheets again, he grabs the upper edge of the bustier and rips with such force that the thing goes flying across the room. I’m so shocked by the surprise combined with the pain that I let out a blood curdling scream and wedge my eyes shut.

The next thing I know he’s on all fours crotched over me. “Brooke, baby…are you alright?”

“It hurts,” I whimper. I open one eye to see his stricken expression. “Maybe you could kiss it and make it all better.”

He nods and gets to work trailing kisses along the red line on my cleavage where the tape was. “Is that better?” he whispers.

I nod and point down to my breast. “I think you need to kiss it better here too.”

He smiles and gently kisses my nipple before swirling his tongue over it and taking it in his mouth. I quickly forget the tape pain.

Considering the fact that my body is still so tightly compressed in spandex, you’d think that I wouldn’t notice my insides clench as he moves to the other nipple, but I do. I notice so intently that I start pushing my star spangled panties off while he focuses on the task at hand…driving me wild.

As he continues I look down and notice the little Superman curl on his forehead I made with styling gel. His eyes are hooded and when I moan his smoldering gaze travels up to meet mine.

I start to squirm so I snap the spandex at the top of my body suit. He understands my direction. He rises up and wedges his fingers under the top band of the body suit and yanks hard.

Nothing. It’s like the damn thing is glued to my skin.

“Good God,” he gasps after another powerful yank. He lifts his hands in the air as if he’s cursing the spandex gods. “What more do we have to go through? I’m in pain here!” He gestures down to his erection.

He sounds pitiful. And in my desperation I spread my legs and run my hand over my crotch. “Look Nathan, there’s a hole in the bodysuit!”

It may be the low light in the room but I could swear his complexion goes green. “Your bodysuit has a hole for sex?”

“Well not so much for sex, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t work. Come on and try! It’ll be kinky like those people that wear head-to-toe vinyl when they do it.”

He leans over to peer between my legs and he pulls on the spandex opening with his fingers. When he straightens up he shakes his head firmly. “There’s no way.”

I reach down and try to stretch the hole open wider but his mind seems made up.

He leaps off the bed. “I have another idea.” He storms down the hall and returns a minute later with something in his hand. I see the glint of metal. He gets back on the bed and lifts up my large pair of scissors and snaps them open and closed.

I hold my hands up. “Do you know how much this thing cost?” I ask horrified.

“I don’t care what it cost. You’re never wearing it again. Ever.”

I hold my breath as he perches over me and slowly works the bottom blade under the garment right under my breasts. Despite the discomfort of the fear, and the pressure on my skin…the startling sensation of the metal feels surprisingly erotic. When he completes the first snip of the blades the relief of the fabric parting and cool air on my skin is palatable. Nathan kisses the exposed skin as I hold him close.

“Ohhh,” I sigh as I watch.

Nathan gets back to work and his eyes narrow as he slides the blade closer to my belly button and carefully snips again. He sets the scissors down and uses his hands to separate the cut fabric further. His mouth is parted and his eyes full of lust as he skims his fingers across my skin. I can feel the weight of his erection against my thigh.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, do it again.”

He licks his lips. “This is turning you on, huh?”

I nod and trail my fingers over his wrist.

He gives me a crooked smile. “Weird, right? Cause it’s turning me on too.”

I notice how his breath is ragged as he pushes his hand under the spandex and over my soft flesh to protect me from the blade. I feel the metal slide across my belly and my back arches up in response. I can feel the sound of the fabric slicing reverberate between my legs. My thighs part as I wait for him.

“Super…man,” I moan.

Nathan gasps. I feel his hand cup my breast and his thumb slide over my nipple. A moment later the blade moves lower as he snips again.

I look up at him as I bite my lip. “Be careful. Okay?”

He nods and when I see his laser focus I relax as the blade slides a path further down. This snip causes the good kind of throbbing to ache between my legs.

I reach down and grab the edges of the fabric and pull it further apart. “Again,” I whisper.

The sound of the scissor’s blades meeting is music to my ears. My hips are suddenly unbound and I slide my fingers between my legs and back up my belly reveling in the feeling of being exposed for him.

There’s fire in his eyes as he watches me touch myself. His hand follows the path mine just traveled but settles between my legs as he strokes me slowly. My heart is pounding as his touch becomes tight circles just where I need it most. He has me so worked up I can barely see straight.

“Better?” he asks.

“So much,” I groan. I push my hands over the tops of my thighs. “Just here and we can do the rest.”

He nods, takes the scissors and carefully snips as if I’m the most precious package he’s ever had to unwrap. The thigh he’s just freed falls further open. He anxiously focuses on the other. “Last cut,” he whispers.

In our silence the sound of the fabric parting is amplified. I feel his lips against my skin right where the scissors had been. He scrambles to his feet and pulls hard on the fabric as it slides away from underneath my ass. By the time he gets to my knees it’s quick work until he’s yanked the entire suit off.

Our eyes meet in a frantic moment. Every bit of restraint has been pulled away from me and I feel reborn. I think I’d go through the spandex ordeal all over again just to repeat this feeling. Well, not really but it is pretty awesome.

Nathan strokes me, his fingers across my breasts and down my belly, over my hips and between my legs. “Your body is so beautiful, Brooke. You don’t need to wear that stuff, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper as I study the genuine look of admiration in his eyes. This man loves me so much, every curve and dimple. I reach out for him needing to feel his weight on me.

He pushes inside me slowly, panting with restraint. He looks like he wasn’t sure we’d ever get to this point and he wants to enjoy every moment of it. I think he burned off all the booze with his heroic effort to get me naked. His gaze is alert and steadfast as he completely fills me again and again.

My cries as he thrusts are no longer for pain, but pleasure at how amazing he makes me feel. He sweeps me up in his arms as he makes love to me, kissing me deeply and touching me in all the places he knows so well. I marvel at his skills to undo me as we soar to the moon and beyond.

Chapter Five

The next morning I bring him breakfast in bed and it takes two extra-large mugs of coffee before we’re ready to go face the rest of the house. Luckily in the light of day it’s not as bad as we feared. Most of the spilled booze is in the Batcave, which will only require a hose-down after the cave walls come down. Other than that and vacuuming up remnants of The Thing, it will be pretty quick to finish cleaning up.

“Do we really have to take the walls down?” He asks, forlorn as he runs his hands over the paper.

I arch a brow and don’t even answer.

“Please, Brooke.”

I shake my head firmly. “We have to access the storage cabinets. It’s got to go down. But I’ll tell you what. If you can figure out a way to take it down and roll it up, we can use it again next year.”

A huge grin spreads across his face. “Next year? Does this mean…?”

“Yes, I do believe a tradition has been established. We’re Superhero Halloween central, and with all the time to plan, I’ll be in prime spandex shape by next year.”

He grabs me and twirls me around in his arms. “You’re the best!”

When he sets me down he strokes my cheek as he gazes deep in my eyes. “It was pretty awesome wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, the party was great but the way the evening ended was especially epic. It was so erotic how you set me free last night — and it wasn’t just with the scissors, Nathan.”

He sets his hands on my sides and with a look of longing, slowly slides them down over my bondage-free, curvy hips. When he gets to my thighs he slips his hands under my skirt and slides them back up my bare skin, ending with his hands holding my ass. “Do you feel how perfect you are when I touch you? Do you know that when I see you all naked and gorgeous in our bed I only crave you more?”

“I think I’d forgotten, but believe me, I’ll remember now.”

“Do that, sweetheart. You made me feel incredible last night. I hope I did the same for you.”

“You sure did.”

He lets out a long sigh. “It was out of this world, wasn’t it? Damn, at one point it felt like we were flying.”

I gaze at him thinking about where we were long ago when he started showing up in my office at Sketch Republic with hand-drawn coffee cups — and where we are now. This man, with his gentle soul and fierce love, is my everything.

I take his hand. “You know you may have felt like Clark Kent when I first met you, Nathan, but you’re all Superman now.”

The End

About the Author, Ruth Clampett:

I grew up in a cartoon world with a father who was an animation director and my mother, a cartoon producer. That upbringing inspired me to write about animators and share with the world why I love them so much. I’m also a fine art publisher by day and obsessed writer late at night, all while being a mother to a snarky teenager who loves comics and cartoons too.

While visiting my blog www.RuthClampettWrites.com also check out Mr. 365, a love story about Sophia, a reality television producer, and Will, an irresistible man who goes a little overboard with Christmas decorating.

You’ll also find information about my upcoming release that I’m wildly excited about, book one of the trilogy, Work of Art.

Author’s Note: Ruth Clampett

I hope you’ve had as much fun reading Spandex is for Superheroes as I had writing it (which was a lot!). If you’re inspired now to learn more about Nathan and Brooke’s auspicious beginnings I encourage you to check out their story: Animate Me. You can find purchase links and an unbelievable cute (and short!) trailer on my blog: www.RuthClampettWrites.com

You can also connect with me at:

https://www.facebook.com/RuthClampettWrites

https://twitter.com/Ruthywrites

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4115217.Ruth_Clampett

instagram.com/Ruth_Clampett

I’d like to thank the terrific authors on the Shiver team who included me in this anthology…and you, the awesome readers who are doing something really good for St. Jude Children’s Hospital with your purchase of this book. Thank you.

Macabre Magic

by L.H. Cosway

Halloween. A bet. One spooky magic trick.

Part One: The Bet

“Scary movies have never really done it for me,” I said with a shrug.

I lay stretched out on the bed in the gigantic hotel suite. Jay and I were spending our honeymoon in a five-star resort in Miami. Having lived in rainy Ireland my entire life, it was a whole other world from what I was used to. I could definitely learn to appreciate all the sunlight. You’d never find yourself suffering from seasonal affective disorder in this part of the world. The sun was everywhere; it infiltrated every nook and cranny.

“Not even The Ring?” Jay asked in a curious voice as he lazily traced circles on my arm. “Everybody gets freaked out by The Ring, especially the original.”

I shook my head. “Nope. It’s like when it comes to horror films, I have this inability to suspend my disbelief. I just burst out laughing when the scary bits start. Plus, the title of The Ring is comical in itself. I feel like the person who came up with it was having their own little private joke at everyone else’s expense.”

Jay gave me a wry but amused look, and shook his head. “One week as my wife, Matilda, and already you’re making ass jokes. I must be a bad influence.” Despite his tone, he seemed pleased by that fact.

I grinned. Every chance he got these days, he was reminding me we were now married. Our wedding was a small affair; it took place in Las Vegas (which to me was glamorous with a capital “G”), and I got to wear a swanktastic dress. In comparison to the women on that Bridezilla show, I was particularly easy to please.

“Well, you’ve hardly let me put mine away since we got to this ritzy place. I’ve almost forgotten there’s such a thing as clothing.”

He feigned a confused look and put on a haughty voice. “Clothing? What is this sorcery of which you speak?”

I giggled, because my husband looked like the ultimate cool dude when you saw him on the street, but behind the bad boy façade lay a bit of an oddball.

His hand slid from my neck and down the center of my chest to rest on my belly. I could tell from the heated stare he was giving me that he was getting turned on, and we’d just had sex a half hour ago. This was verging on the ridiculous. I knew we were on our honeymoon and everything, but I did want to leave the hotel room and take a look around at least once. We were flying back to Vegas tomorrow. Since Jay had a full run of shows booked and our wedding was something of a spontaneous affair, we only had a three-day window in which to honeymoon.

Before my next thought could enter my head, Jay was parting my legs and climbing between them. For a moment I was mesmerized by the way his muscles moved and flexed as he held himself above me, the way his tattoos came to life as though dancing on his skin.

“Jay,” I half sighed, half whimpered, and leveled my hands on his shoulders. “We’re not having sex again. I’m going to be walking funny as it is.”

He cocked a sardonic eyebrow and tilted his head. “I don’t mind you walking funny, Watson. Besides, we’re not leaving this bed for the rest of the day, so it’s a nonissue.”

He started to push inside me, and I couldn’t help the moan that came out. Still, I clenched my thighs around his waist to hinder any further movement. He bit his lip and groaned. “Man, you’ve got strong thighs. Must be all that cycling. My wife is sexy as fuck.”

I shivered at him mentioning the words “wife” and “fuck” in the same sentence in that husky Boston accent of his. But I stayed firm; he wasn’t getting around me on this.

“I’m being serious, Jay. I think we should take a breather. And anyway, I’m starving.”

Bringing his mouth to my neck, he licked a long line from my throat to my jaw, and my pulse ratcheted up a notch. “Hmm, me too.”

My momentary distraction caused me to loosen my thighs, and his hips thrust forward, filling me up in one smooth motion.

“Ah! Jay, stop,” I gasped, my protest weak, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

His deep, satisfied chuckle did all sorts of wonderful butterfly-like things to my stomach. He slowly withdrew and flopped over onto his pillow, his arms thrown up above his head. Then he reached for the phone and quickly dialed room service, ordering enough food to feed a small country.

“What about The Exorcist?” he asked once he’d hung up, returning to our earlier topic of conversation.

“Hilarious, especially when the girl’s head starts to twist around.”

Jay’s mouth formed a flat line as he studied me, perplexed, and I could tell he was thinking real hard. “I bet I could scare you,” he murmured low, his voice giving me momentary shivers.

I rubbed absently at the gooseflesh on my arms. The thing about Jay was that even though he was laid bare to me and all his secrets revealed, there was always a hint of mystery beneath the surface, always the idea that he could be thinking of something far beyond the realms of my paltry imagination. His mind was a kaleidoscope of trickery, and I was still learning how to navigate the terrain.

“That sounds ominous. Do you mean you could scare me because you’re in fact a psycho killer, or scare me with a magic trick?”

His eyes crinkled at the edges, and there was mischief in his gaze. “The latter, obviously.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Your tricks are cool and everything, but they mostly astound and amaze me rather than scare me.”

I loved that Jay was an illusionist. It was so incredibly exciting to live with someone who was constantly coming up with new ways to surprise people. It was also incredibly sexy when he was on stage. However, I was now accustomed to strange things happening, so the fact that I knew it wasn’t real made it hard for me to believe I’d be frightened. If something out of the ordinary occurred, my husband was usually behind it.

“Halloween’s in a few days, too. I think I’m gonna have to come up with a spooky trick just for you.”

“Go ahead,” I told him breezily, “but it will be a waste of time.”

His grin spread wide, and devilry played on his features. “Oh, yeah? Care to make a wager on that?”

“That I won’t be scared? Sure,” I said, and presented my hand. He took it in his, his thumb brushing along my pulse as he pulled me closer. “What do I get if I win?”

Jay’s eyes went dark, his voice low as he asked, “What do you want?”

I chewed on my lip, thinking about it. Finally, I responded, “How about if I win, you have to let me choose your stage outfits for a whole week, and you can’t argue with my choices?”

I managed the wardrobe for Jay’s magic shows in Las Vegas, which was where we’d usually be if we weren’t currently honeymooning, and he was often difficult when it came to what I chose for him. I wanted to put him in designer suits and those sexy V-neck shirts, but he always wanted to wear plain old combats and vests. He said a V-neck was a man vag, and he wasn’t going to be caught dead in one. I could wrangle him into a suit on occasion, but those occasions were few and far between. Apparently, you sweat like a motherfucker in a suit on a stage (his words, not mine.) I was also dying to get him into a Dixie bow. Don’t ask why — it just needed to happen.

He looked amused yet indulgent, giving me a tickle. “That’s what you want, you little weirdo?”

I gave him an expression that was half scowl, half ambiguous smile. “We both know dressing you is a secret pleasure of mine. Remember the suit I was making for you when you proposed? It was probably the thrill of seeing you put it on that made me say yes,” I teased.

Jay smirked and knelt on the bed, his hands braced on his knees as he stared down at me, his eyes smoldering. “You would have said yes regardless, but back to this bet. What do I get if I win?”

“I don’t know. What have you got in mind?”

It barely took him a second to answer, so I knew he’d already been thinking his prize up as we had our conversation. “You naked for twenty-four hours.”

Oh, typical.

“Jason!” I scolded jokingly. “What would the neighbors say?” Technically, we didn’t have neighbors, since we were living in a hotel until he finished his string of shows, but that was neither here nor there.

“Fuck the neighbors,” he swore, and gave me a hot look. “Anyway, we wouldn’t be leaving the suite for the entire twenty-four hours, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh, so your prize is basically sex for twenty-four hours. You were simply trying to dress it up all fancy-like.”

His eyes flashed at me, and I knew he was enjoying the way I baited him. “More like strip it down.”

I smirked. “Was that a pun?”

“It might have been.”

Stroking my chin, I affected a thoughtful expression. “Hmm. Okay, I’ll agree, on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“If you win, you get your day-long sexathon, but until the bet is over, which would be Halloween, there can be no more bedroom action.”

Jay shook his head ever so slightly, his disagreement simple. “Nope.”

“Hey, hear me out. If we don’t have sex for the next few days, it’ll make the prize that much sweeter, don’t you think? Otherwise, you’ll just be getting something you already have. My prize is something I don’t have, so I think your prize should be, too.”

A breath escaped him as he eyed me for a prolonged moment. “This is presuming I win.”

“Of course.”

He narrowed his gaze, trying suppress a smile. “You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Fields.”

I held my hand out so that we could shake on it, and finally he took it. “I guess this means we have ourselves a bet,” I declared. “I’m confident you won’t be able to frighten me, but how do we measure it? How will you know if I’m covering up my fear?”

One eyebrow rose again, and I guessed it was a silly question. Jay had studied behavioral science for years, knew all sorts of mentalist tricks and ways to read people, so I presumed he’d be able to tell whether or not I was scared pretty easily.

“I have my methods,” he replied enigmatically.

“I know that. But we need to make a checklist. Break my fear down into a science so that the end result can’t be refuted.”

He considered me a moment. “People show fear in different ways. The most common symptoms are a widening of the eyes, raised brows, increased heart rate, flared nostrils, dilated pupils, tensing in the muscles, a dry mouth, sweating, trembling, and, of course, screaming.” He reached out and stroked a hand down my face. “A lot of these reactions are similar to arousal, when you think about it. Fear and sex create the same extremes in humans, although only one brings pleasure.”

I swallowed and tried not to blush. “Well, that sounds fairly extensive.”

We might have been married, but I still got goose bumps whenever he was suggestive. It was bizarre that I could still get shy around him, but there it was. In the grand scheme of things, we hadn’t really been together for very long. Still, I knew that I loved him, knew he was the only one for me.

“I’m nothing if not thorough,” he murmured, and leaned in to place a soft kiss on my mouth before climbing off the bed. He went into the bathroom, and I heard the shower come on. When he emerged fifteen minutes later, he was fully dressed, where usually he’d come out wearing a towel around his waist, hair wet, droplets of water still on his skin….

He must have seen the dreamy look on my face, because he chuckled. “What are you thinking about, darlin’?”

“Huh?” I bit on my lip, paused, then answered, “Just about how you normally come out of the shower wearing a lot less.”

More chuckling. “Well, I don’t want to go tempting you, now, do I? It’d be a sorry reflection on the both of us if we couldn’t stick to our sex embargo for more than thirty minutes.”

Oh, he was enjoying this. I had a feeling he was going to do his best to torture me for the next few days. I was, after all, the one to come up with the no-sex rule. A minute later, the room service arrived, and I decided to console myself with spaghetti carbonara. Carbonara consoling, I liked to call it.

After we were done eating, Jay retreated to the desk in the living area with his laptop. I got the feeling he was already researching his trick for the bet, and I began to wonder if I’d bitten off more than I could chew. It was true that I never really got frightened of horror films, but that was because I was sitting safely on my couch, watching them through the medium of a TV screen. Jay’s trick would be a trick, but there would be no safety blanket, no distance.

It would be happening to me in real time.

The idea made my skin prickle. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so difficult for him to scare me after all.

* * *

For the rest of the evening, Jay had gone into “the zone,” as I often referred to it, when he was so consumed by an idea that he barely noticed the world passing around him. You could almost feel the air thickening, crackling with energy, could sense that something special was happening as he scribbled down notes unreadable to anyone but him and furiously looked for information in books or on his computer.

He was like that in most things.

Intense.

Obstinate.

Perilous.

It was a heady combination, and probably the reason why I was so fascinated by him. Often it felt like his energy consumed me to the point it was hard to focus. That was why I liked having my sewing. It didn’t take too much brainpower to stitch by hand, which was what I’d been doing while we were here, since I didn’t have my machine with me. It was a good way to distract myself from the man in my life and gain some focus. When I had nothing else to do, my hands always seemed to itch for a needle and thread.

After a while, I threw on a summery maxi dress and some sandals, and decided to take a walk around the resort. I ended up at the bar, where a handsome and flirty bartender mixed me a Sex on the Beach. He had suggested it, if you must know. Women who order sexily named cocktails while sitting alone at bars are just asking for trouble, especially when being served by young, available, flirty-mouthed males.

Can I have an Angel’s Tit?

You can if you show me your tits, angel.

How about a Screaming Orgasm?

Oh, those are my specialty.

I’m in the mood for a Bend Over Shirley.

I’d be happy to bend you over any time, Shirley, dear.

I could go on and on. Sometimes I wonder if some sneaky perverted barman invented all those drinks for his own personal enjoyment. Or for furthering his own personal sex life. Anyway, I was oblivious to the fact that this particular barman might find me attractive, until I went to take some money from my purse and he informed the drink was on the house while giving me a saucy wink. I was about to insist on paying, but he quickly turned around and went to serve two women sitting on the other side of the bar.

Oh, well, I might as well enjoy the free drink, I thought to myself. I sipped on it while staring around at the patrons. This wasn’t a family resort; it seemed to cater to rich people living lives of leisure, or business types. I had a fanciful notion that the barman thought I was some rich young heiress who whiled away her evenings drinking overpriced cocktails and pondering the emptiness of her existence. The idea made me giddy, so I decided to play along with the role for a minute, running my finger along the edge of my glass and trying to affect a demeanor of jaded privilege.

Perhaps he thought he could butter me up with free drinks and then wheedle his way into my bank account. My real-life bank account was nothing to write home about, but my imaginary heiress bank account could keep him in Rolexes and designer underpants for the rest of his days.

Now that I was watching him, he did strike me as the type who could sail through life on his looks if it so pleased him. Jay was attractive in a rough around the edges, battle-scarred sort of way. The bartender was a pretty boy. I doubted he had a single scar on his tanned, muscular form.

Once he was finished with the ladies, he sidled his way back over to me and began wiping down the bar top.

“Is the cocktail to your liking, honey?” he asked, and I gave him a polite smile. I was beginning to tense up now, because the way he looked at me was like he’d already stripped me of my dress and was pleased by what he saw. Actually, it was kind of irritating.

“It’s great, thanks,” I said, stiff.

He leaned slightly closer. “I love your accent. Where are you from?”

I inwardly snorted at the idea of my accent being anything other than common and mundane. The romance languages were the ones that had the enviable accents. “Ireland,” I answered finally.

“Oh, yeah? I’m a fifth Irish on my mother’s side, you know,” he said, and winked. “What brings you to this part of the world?”

Before I could tell him that I was on my honeymoon, another voice did it for me. That voice was one part amused and another part seriously pissed off, and it came from the stool to the left of me. A stool that I was sure only seconds ago had been empty.

“She’s on her honeymoon,” said Jay, and I turned to him. He was frowning.

The whole randomly appearing thing was a bit of a habit of his, something of an occupational hazard for magicians, you could call it. One of these days he was going to give me a heart attack. It usually goes something like this: I walk into the empty kitchen, open the fridge, pull out some orange juice, take a sip, look to the previous vacant table, and there sits Jay, sending my heart racing. It’s similar to when you think you see a person standing in a darkened room, but it turns out to be a coat rack…or a cardboard cutout of Harry Styles. Only in my case, the person often turns out to be Jay.

The bartender quickly took in the dynamic, eyebrows shooting up into his forehead, nodded, and suddenly looked like he had a very important task to complete elsewhere. A second later, he was gone.

Jay took my hand in his and leaned down to sniff at my cocktail. “As if he didn’t see the ring. Prick was trying his luck,” he muttered. “What are you drinking, darlin’?”

“A Sex on the Beach,” I said wryly. “The barman suggested it.”

“I bet he did. I can’t leave you alone for a minute before the vultures start circling.”

I laughed loudly. “But of course. I might as well be Pamela Anderson in the ’90s. The menfolk just can’t get enough of me.”

“That is a weird analogy, Watson. Why wouldn’t you just say Megan Fox? Or Mila Kunis?”

Trying to keep a straight face, I replied, “They didn’t come to mind. But I’m very interested by how quickly they came to yours. Do you have a celebrity crush, Jason?”

He pulled my hand up to his mouth, turned it, and kissed the inside of my wrist, murmuring, “The only crush I have is you. The only person I see is you.”

He made some intense eye contact with me that had me burning up and wishing I’d never had the genius idea to make sex off limits. In that moment, I wanted him to show me with his body the things he was doing to me with his eyes.

“That’s….” I cleared my throat. “That’s a very good answer. So what brings you down here and out of your crazy magician cave?”

“I went to take a piss and saw you were gone. It’s a good thing I came after you, too. Otherwise, the pervy fuck of a barman might have tried to spike your drink.” His words dripped with possession…and I kind of liked it. “I also have a question for you about our bet,” he went on, piquing my interest.

“Oh, yes?”

His gaze darkened roguishly. “I need to know what your limits are. Do you want me just to scare you, or are you giving me permission to mindfuck the shit out of you?”

Well, the second option sounded both frightening and sexy as hell, which was exactly why I swallowed and answered, “The latter. Yes, definitely the latter.”

Jay grinned in approval and brought his arms around my waist, his fingers kneading my hips. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Part Two: The Tease

Arriving back in Vegas was a whirlwind of activity. Jay had to get back to doing his show five nights a week, which meant I had to return to work, too. Since I hadn’t won our bet yet, I was still confined to the usual (boring) man choices of the wardrobe world. My artistic freedom was going to come at a price, and that price would be fooling my husband into believing he couldn’t frighten me.

I spent our first afternoon home secretly Googling techniques for staying calm in times of crisis. If I knew anything about Jay, he was going to go all out, so I needed every advantage I could get.

In other news, we’d been invited to a Halloween party being thrown by Tina, the girl who worked as Jay’s assistant. Don’t get me wrong — he didn’t have those sexy magician’s assistants who wore sparkly outfits that showed lots of leg and/or cleavage, but he did have a PA. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t like her much, and I rarely disliked people.

This was probably due to the fact that she showed a lot of leg and/or cleavage anyway.

I could tell she fancied the pants off Jay and was secretly biding her time. It was ridiculous; I mean, we’d just gotten married, for Christ’s sake. And really, it was so unclassy to have designs on someone else’s man. It wasn’t as if there weren’t thousands of other eligible bachelors in the city for her to set her sights on. No, she wanted mine. I knew Jay was aware of her affections and a little discombobulated over what to do about it. He was trying to be a gentleman, but I thought maybe he was going to put in for a new assistant soon.

I was hoping that was what he’d do, because I was one step away from making a voodoo doll, and since I was a dab hand at crafts, it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that I would….

Anyway, I was holding my head high and not succumbing to the urge to trip Tina and her too-tight jeans over, and I had agreed to go to the party. It was fancy dress, which meant I needed to find a suitable outfit. I kind of felt like going down the comedic route by dressing as a beer bottle or a stop sign, but that wouldn’t do. All of the women would be going as sexy angels, witches, nurses, vampires…llamas. No? Okay, then.

The point was, I needed to come up with something that was fancy dress but also provocative. It was shallow, but I wanted to look better than Tina. I would have designed and made something myself, but I was too rushed off my feet. That meant I had to go to a costume shop and buy an outfit. Unable to decide, I ended up buying three and bringing them back to the hotel with me to try on. They were as follows:

1.) Black pleather cat suit with spider-web netting over the boobage. Indecently tight.

2.) Sexy cop outfit complete with handcuffs and a bare midriff.

3.) Another black cat suit, this one for an actual cat, with cute ears and stick-on whiskers. Again, indecently tight. I thought I might have to be sewn into it like Olivia Newton John in the “You’re the One That I Want” scene from Grease.

And you know what? I kind of hated all three. I just wanted to wear a nice dress, do something cool with my hair, and be done with it.

It had been three days since we made the bet, and I was dying to give in and call it off. In terms of our relationship, everything was still very new, and I had a hunger for Jay that simply wouldn’t abate. It was torture to watch him doing stage rehearsals, which could be very rigorous, and hence he would work up quite the sweat. Yesterday he pulled off his T-shirt, balled it up, and used it to dab his forehead. It almost felt like it was happening in slow motion, like a Diet Coke ad or something. I mean, how was I supposed to resist that? Tina almost spontaneously combusted with an eye orgasm.

I coughed loudly, and her gaze slid to me, momentarily widening in shock to be caught ogling. It was funny. I was having a hard time with all this jealous/possessive business. Before I met Jay, I was always the sort of girl to back off and let the sassy go-getter chicks have the guy. But with him I felt like doing bodily harm when other women so much as glanced at him, going all Vampire Bill and proclaiming Jason is mine!! It was a strange new feeling for me, and I wasn’t sure I liked it.

Back to the present, I was trying unsuccessfully to zip myself into Halloween costume number one, the spider-web cat suit. I stood in front of the mirror in the lounge area of our suite, twisting my body as I tried to pull the zipper all the way up, but the lady was not for turning. I had way too much hip, belly, and tit going on for a surprisingly unstretchy material. I should have gotten one made out of spandex or something.

Finally, with a lot of wriggling around, I managed to get the zip done up the entire way. I felt like my ribs were being crushed, but I was triumphant, pumping my fist up into the air in victory. Unfortunately, my fist pump exerted a little too much action, and I heard a rip. I froze, eyes widening, as I turned and looked at my backside through the mirror.

I thought these kinds of things only happened in cheesy physical comedies, but no, it seemed the arses of pants that were too tight could split in real life, too. It was at that wonderfully opportune moment that the door to the suite opened, and Jay walked in. I stood in front of the mirror, staring at him through the glass, caught with my pants down (or should I say, torn at the seam.) I had half a mind to run and hide in shame, but it was too late. He’d already seen the damage, as it were.

I could tell he was trying not to laugh when he plastered on a bland expression. “Hey, you want some dinner?”

Bless him, he knew I was embarrassed and had chosen not to capitalize on the moment.

“Yes,” I sighed. “And you can go ahead and get a few jokes in. You know you want to.”

His mouth twitched. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Watson.”

“I bought the wrong size, okay. And the shop was about to close, so I didn’t have time to stay and try it on.”

He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and took a long gulp before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “If it’s any consolation, your tits look great in it,” he said, smirking.

I gave him a tiny grin. “Ever the charmer.”

He winked at me, and I went about relieving myself of the awful cat suit. The material made some rather unsexy noises as I pulled on it, heaving heavily when I finally got it off. I sat on the floor in my bra and knickers, trying to catch my breath after such a vigorous ordeal. Jay walked out of the bedroom, where he’d somehow managed to procure an energy bar. He had it halfway to his mouth when he paused midstride, piercing me with his gaze.

“Oh, no, you don’t, you’re not allowed to give me bedroom eyes. That’s against the rules,” I said, quickly standing up and hurrying to throw on a T-shirt and some yoga pants.

He took a bite out of the bar then and began to chew. In my sex-deprived state, even seeing him chew was like pornography.

“I wasn’t giving you bedroom eyes, Matilda. They were more ‘I want to tear your panties off and bend you over the couch’ eyes, and I didn’t happen to see anything about those sorts of eyes in the rulebook.” He gave me a very smug grin.

“All carnal looks are prohibited,” I said. I had been heading for the couch, but I stopped, turned, and went to perch on a pouf instead.

“It’s been three days. I have no censorship control over my eyes at this point, so you’ll just have to deal with them. Now, what are you going to do about your Halloween costume? It saddens me to say it, but it looks like whatever you were supposed to be in the cat suit is out of the question. A damn shame, too.”

“I have some other options.” I waved away his concerns. “What about you? What are you going as?”

He smiled, flashing his teeth at me, but didn’t reply.

I didn’t bother pushing him, because if I knew anything about Jay by now, it was that he never told a secret he didn’t want to tell. We ate dinner, and then it was time for his show. He performed in the hotel’s venue downstairs, so we only had to take the elevator down to get there.

The next day he was working out a few kinks in his choreography. And when I say “choreography,” I don’t mean dancing. In a magic show, it’s all about placement on the stage and standing in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time.

I was mending a cape Jay used in the disappearing part of his act. It was probably one of the few “old school” tricks he performed. Anyway, the cape had gotten torn on one of its edges. I suggested simply buying a new one, but he was adamantly against it. Apparently, some old guy he knew back in Boston who mentored him in magic for a while had given it to him, so it had sentimental value. That was why I was taking extra care to make it good as new.

Practice was an everyday thing for Jay. His show was a thrill ride when you were watching it from the audience, but the little details that sometimes took days or even weeks to perfect were tedious. Saying that, I still loved hanging out while he practiced. I was sitting by my sewing machine in the small room devoted to wardrobe with the door open. It was at just the right angle to be able to watch him. He had a small notepad in his hand and a pencil tucked behind his ear as he paced. He’d take three steps, stop, scribble something down on the notepad, then take another three steps.

Tina came in then, carrying a brown paper bag and a tray of takeaway coffee cups. I drew my lips into a tight line when I saw how short her skirt was. In terms of looks, she was the exact opposite of me. Tall, lithe, blonde, and graceful. She could have been a ballerina in another life. And sadly, I noted how Jay never had to bend down to speak to her. If they were kissing, their bodies would be perfectly proportioned for their mouths to meet.

I didn’t know why my brain came up with these horrible thoughts; it seemed it got a sick pleasure out of torturing me. Or perhaps I got a sick pleasure out of torturing myself, since technically speaking, I was my brain.

Jay barely gave her a second glance as he thanked her for collecting lunch, and took the proffered sandwich and beverage. She placed a hand on her hip and said something, but I was too far away to hear. Still, I imagined it was something saucy and flirtatious. My fears were totally unwarranted; Jay would never cheat on me, but I still couldn’t help having them. I quickly looked away and focused on my task when Jay’s head turned in my direction.

I wasn’t a crazy, jealous fool. I was so cool I was oblivious to all of my husband’s admirers. Ha, yeah, right.

“Yo! Watson!” he called, hands clasped around his mouth. “Lunch is here. Come eat with me.”

I suppressed my smile when a tiny scowl flittered across Tina’s face. She hadn’t known I was there. Perhaps she’d been hoping Jay would invite her to have lunch with him. I set my work aside and made my way out. Jay was already sitting on the floor of the stage, his legs dangling off the edge as he dug into his sandwich. Tina glanced at me, then held out the remaining sandwich and my requested tea.

“I guess this is yours,” she said as I took them from her.

I swallowed and glanced away. “Um, yes, thank you, Tina.”

You see, this was my problem. I couldn’t help but be polite to people, even when they didn’t deserve it. Her first day on the job, Tina had shown up in loose jeans and a very respectable shirt/cardigan combo. However, after she saw who she was going to be working for, i.e. Jay, she began showing up in low-cut dresses, short skirts, and painted-on jeans. What? I was a designer. The sorts of clothes people chose to wear was something I noticed more than the average person. And Tina’s outfits were clearly chosen to catch the eye of any that-way-inclined gentleman in the vicinity.

Tina also giggled unnecessarily whenever Jay said anything even remotely funny and fingered the silver moon pendant that hung around her neck a lot. Having read one or two of Jay’s books, I knew a good deal about body language tells, and Tina’s fingering of her pendant was a move designed to draw my husband’s eyes to her chest. She wasn’t as well-endowed as I was, but still, breasts were breasts, and men liked to look.

I sat down beside Jay, and Tina walked off. Deciding this was as good a time as any to broach the subject that she was attracted to him, I dived right in.

“Your assistant fancies you, if you hadn’t noticed,” I said absently, and took a bite out of my sandwich, which was surprisingly good. I just hoped Tina hadn’t spit in it or anything.

Jay let out a long breath. “Yeah. Bit of a problem. She’s great at her job, though.”

My initial instinct was to say no more, but I wasn’t going to back down. I couldn’t allow myself to. “I don’t like it.”

Jay took a slug of his coffee and set it down. I could see he was smiling already before he turned to look at me. He seemed entirely too gratified by my jealousy.

“Well, you don’t have to look so pleased about it.”

“Hey, I have a right to be pleased. It only took you a goddamn month to actually come out and admit you had a problem with her. I was beginning to think you didn’t give a shit.”

My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open. I was indignant. “You were waiting for me to say something! Was this all a little game for you?”

He shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich, nonchalant. I hated that I still found his chewing sexy. “What? A man needs to know his woman will fight for him,” he teased me.

“I’m not sure I’d win that fight. Tina’s bigger than me.”

He nudged me with his shoulder and winked. “Oh, I beg to differ. You’re a scrappy little thing, Watson. You could take her.”

Despite everything, his reply made me laugh. “I can’t believe you were baiting me with this. That’s sneaky, Jay, very sneaky.”

“You love it,” he said, voice growly. “I’ll get rid of her if you want. It’s unnecessary, since she could walk right in here wearing nothing but a thong and a smile, and I’d still be looking at you, darlin’. But if it makes you feel more comfortable, you only have to say the word.”

I chuckled against my will at his use of the phrase “a thong and a smile,” and then considered his offer. For some reason, I didn’t enjoy being the one to make the decision about someone else’s livelihood. Even if she was making a play for my husband, it felt selfish and low to have her fired just to assuage my own jealous insecurities.

Letting out a long sigh, I finally replied, “No, don’t fire her. Just…maybe I should talk to her or something. Tell her she needs to back off, you know, woman to woman.”

Jay pulled me to him then and began to massage some of the tension out of my neck. “Standing up for your man. I like it,” he murmured, and I melted into his touch. “You look gorgeous today.”

I had to stifle a moan, because his hands felt so good on me. Jay had been pulling late nights after his shows all week, staying up to do research, so most of the time I was asleep before he came to bed. It was good in terms of us sticking to the rules of our bet, but at the same time, I was hungry for his touch. His hands. God, I loved his hands.

I sank into him, my back to his front, and his lips whispered over the shell of my ear. “I’ve missed you,” I whispered weakly. His lips at my ear made a shudder pleasantly trickle down my spine.

He didn’t say anything, but his hands went to my hips as he pulled me in closer so I could feel just how much he’d been missing me, too. His cock was like a steel pipe pressing into my back, and I desperately wanted to reach around and feel him, but there were people still milling about, so I couldn’t. I was confined to the secret thrill of knowing we both wanted each other, but there was nothing we could do about it for the moment.

“You have no idea the things I’m gonna do to you after I win this bet,” he threatened, and I squirmed, clenching my thighs together. I wanted him to do those things right now.

His hand moved to my stomach, then dipped down so it was tantalisingly close to my nether regions. Daringly, I asked, “What kind of things?”

Even though I wasn’t facing him, I could practically feel his satisfied grin. “I’ll grip your hair as I sink myself into you from behind, pulling just a little, because I know how much you like that,” he said, and his words were torture. I was instantly wet and aching.

“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled, biting my lip.

“Then I’ll make you come with my cock still inside you. I can’t wait to feel you pulse around me.” He paused and took a breath as one of the hotel workers walked by. To the ordinary bystander, nothing lewd was going on. Little did they know the things my husband was whispering in my ear.

“I’ll have a taste of you then, maybe make you come on my face this time.”

“Jay,” I pleaded, gripping onto his hand, which had started to move down between my legs. I managed to stop him just in time. “You need to quit talking now.”

His chest shook with quiet laughter. “You’re the one who asked.”

“Yes, well, I hadn’t expected that onslaught.”

He tutted. “My dear Watson, do you know me at all?”

Part Three: The Ruse

The next day was Halloween. Jay had an afternoon show to perform, and then he was off duty for the night. I’d caught the tail end of a conversation between him and Tina that morning, with Tina asking if he was still coming to her party. He’d replied that yes, he was, and that he’d be bringing his wife. I enjoyed the extra emphasis he put on the word.

Still, Tina hadn’t seemed too deterred, and there was even a bit of an extra swing in her step all day. I absently wondered what she had up her sleeve. I was making my way back to the hotel suite that evening, my mind full of Tina and her scheming. It had just gotten dark, and we were supposed to be leaving for the party in an hour. I planned on taking a quick shower and then throwing on my costume. I’d done a bit of improvising, deciding to use the cat ears and whiskers, but instead of wearing the indecently tight cat suit, I’d wear a pretty black lace dress.

Tonight I was going to get Tina alone and have a woman-to-woman chat. I was all inside my own head, psyching myself up for it, as I stepped into the suite and dropped my bag down onto an end table. A warm breeze brushed past me, and I saw that someone had left the balcony doors open. It must have been the housekeeping staff because I knew Jay had been downstairs all day.

I walked across the room, intending to close them, when something caught my eye. A necklace of mine was sitting on the ledge, and I didn’t remember leaving it out there. Stepping outside, I went to retrieve it, and the moment I picked it up, the balcony doors slammed closed behind me, making a loud clatter. Gripping the necklace, I whipped back around and went to open the doors, but they wouldn’t budge.

What the hell?

I pulled at them, but there was nothing for it. They’d been locked. I was almost certain that there was no automatic lock on them, either. Peering in through the glass, I saw that the suite was empty, exactly as it had been moments ago. Nothing was out of place, no sign that anyone had entered and locked me outside for whatever bizarre reason. My heart began to thrum as my mind raced. What if a thief had broken into the suite to steal our valuables and locked me out here so I wouldn’t get in the way?

The breeze blew my hair over my shoulder, and with it I was one hundred percent certain I felt a cold hand slide across my neck. I had definitely felt it. Turning around again, I found no one. I was all alone, and goose bumps began to break out on my skin. I started to get anxious, because I hadn’t imagined the hand. It had felt oh, so very real.

“Murder,” came a strange whisper in my ear. It echoed as though coming from an electronic speaker, but that couldn’t be right. There was nothing out here. All of a sudden, I remembered the bet. I couldn’t believe it had slipped my mind, but I’d been so busy with work and fretting over Tina.

The hand slid across my neck again, but this time I was fast, grabbing it before it could disappear again, as weird as that sounded. Nothing was too out of the realm of possibility when it came to Jason Fields.

When I did turn around, I startled for just a moment as he came toward me, backing me up into the glass door. The thing about Jay was that he was almost as good an actor as he was an illusionist. Even though you knew it was him, he could be so absorbed in his character he made you believe it, too, made you question if you actually knew the real him at all. I clutched at my heart. He was wearing zombie makeup, a torn white shirt complete with fake blood stains, and torn black trousers.

I almost didn’t recognize him.

“Raised eyebrows, eyes wide, heartbeat accelerating. Yep, I think I managed to frighten you, Matilda,” he declared triumphantly.

I scowled. “You gave me a fright, that’s all. You didn’t frighten me.”

“Now, now, you know you can’t lie to me. You were scared, admit it.”

“I was more confused than scared. I couldn’t figure out how the doors became locked.” Walking to them, I pulled on the handle. They still wouldn’t open. I turned back to him. “Okay, how the hell did you get out here? Were you hanging off the edge of the balcony or something?” If he had been, it wouldn’t be the first time, but that was a whole other story.

He simply gave me an enigmatic smile in response. He rarely revealed his trade secrets to people, even his own wife. I stared at him, brows furrowed. This had been a good trick and all, but I found it difficult to believe he had spent all his time planning something so small-scale. Jay liked to think big. His usual stunts were the Taj Mahal. This was a one-room cottage on the side of the road.

“So that was it? That was your attempt at scaring me?”

“Yep. And it worked,” he said, reaching past me for the door handle. Annoyingly, it opened quite easily when he tried. “I can’t wait to collect my winnings.”

“No way. If anybody’s going to be collecting winnings, it’ll be me. I wasn’t scared. You took me by surprise. It’s not the same thing as fear.”

Jay shrugged and walked into the suite. “Fine. Have it your way.”

I followed him, grinning. “Oh, I will. I’ll have a great time having it my way, and the first thing I’m going to make you wear is a red Dickie bow. Get ready for some style, Inspector Holmes.”

He winced and flopped down onto the couch. “A Dickie bow? Not happening. Okay, I still have until the end of the night to frighten you. The bet hasn’t been won yet.”

I gave him a confident look and folded my arms across my chest. “Fine. Bring it.”

“I love it when you sass me. You won’t be sassing me when I win, though. You’ll be bending over and begging for more.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Studying him as I went to gather my things for the shower, I got the distinct feeling that the little show out on the balcony was all a ruse and that he had something much bigger planned. It was so like him to lull me into a false sense of security and then bamboozle me with a grand finale. I decided a five-minute shower was all I had time for. Our bathroom here was huge, and there was even a bench inside the shower that you could sit down on if it so pleased you.

So I sat there, lathering up my hair with shampoo and trying to think of what my devious husband could be planning. I was fresh out of clues. I had just finished washing and was about to get out when the door to the shower opened, and in stepped Jay wearing nothing but a smile. Yeah, there wasn’t even a thong to speak of. I threw one hand across my chest and the other over my downstairs business.

“Get out! You’re breaking the rules,” I protested. I was annoyed now, because I was so close to winning our bet and he was throwing a spanner in the works. Plus, I had some sexy lingerie set aside to wear tonight, and whether he won our bet or not, I had been hoping to surprise him with it. It had been a week since we’d been intimate. I didn’t want him ruining my surprise with shower shenanigans.

“I have to wash off all this zombie makeup,” he explained teasingly. “Not everything is about sex, Matilda.”

“Aren’t you dressing up for the party?”

He shrugged.

I watched as the water hit him and his cock stood proudly to attention. “Not everything is about sex,” my arse. I think I might have drooled a little. That plus the sight of his wet abs was enough to tempt even a nun into handing over her celibacy.

I stood there, yep, still drooling, as he squirted some shower gel onto his hand and began rubbing it all over himself. I had no words. None. The smile never left his face as he brought his eyes to mine and ran a hand from his chest down his abs to his groin. He looked…lickable. And he was using dirty tactics.

“You’re playing dirty,” I whispered, my voice completely devoid of all strength.

His eyes went soft, sort of sexy hazy, as his hand went to his cock and fisted it. “On the contrary. I think you’ll find I’m playing clean.”

Eating me up with his gaze, he pumped himself up and down, and I had to get out of there before I attacked him. I swallowed, took a deep breath, and put one foot in front of the other. They were the hardest three steps I’d ever taken in my life. I didn’t know why I was so determined to keep from having sex with him; I guess in some messed-up way I wanted to prove to myself that I could resist him, even if I was on a knife’s edge.

I summoned all my reserves of calm. I knew he was jerking himself off in the shower and wished I could be there to witness it, if not to join in. Trying to keep busy, I blow-dried my hair and set about putting on my costume. I used some black face paint to draw on a cat’s nose and then stuck the whiskers on my cheeks. I was done.

To my delight, Jay wore a black suit with a white shirt and a black tie that I’d designed for him, and even though it wasn’t fancy dress, I didn’t mind. I took a strange pleasure out of seeing him in clothes I’d made. He whistled appreciatively when he saw me, and I smiled happily.

“That was a low move you pulled in the shower,” I said as I took his hand and he led me outside and into a waiting taxi.

“You loved it, and you make a very pretty cat, by the way,” he said, dipping his head down and capturing my mouth in a quick, tender kiss. His tongue briefly slid past the seam of my lips and dipped inside, but then it was gone. He could be such a tease sometimes.

Tina lived in an apartment in a stylish part of town. Her place was small, but maybe it just seemed that way because there were so many people. She pouted when she answered the door — yes, that’s right, pouted. Her hair was up in a twist, and she was wearing a pink Playboy bunny outfit. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. This was obviously the thing she had up her sleeve. I was almost offended on Jay’s behalf that she thought a sexy bunny outfit would be enough to tempt him.

“Jay, you didn’t dress up,” she said, trying to look all cute and disappointed. She barely gave me a second glance, even though I had gone to the trouble of dressing up.

Jay wrapped his arm around my waist as he led me inside. “Oh, I beg to differ. I thought my Alfred Hitchcock vibe was obvious,” he said, winking.

“You could be anyone in that suit,” said Tina, still feigning disappointment, like he had to make it up to her or something.

God, this woman needed to get a clue.

A somewhat awkward silence ensued.

“Oh, well, make yourselves at home, and feel free to have some drinks and food,” she said, and then went to talk to a group of other people. I saw her briefly touch Jay’s hand before walking away, and he broke the contact immediately, giving me an apologetic look. I knew there was nothing going on between them, but it was getting on my last nerve how she kept trying to get his attention.

Jay led me over to a counter full of drinks and poured me a glass of white wine. He knew my tipple of choice by now. His was usually a whiskey or sometimes a beer.

“Well, this is going to be fun,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm. “She obviously wore that outfit for your benefit. Perhaps you should fire her.”

Jay gave me a pleased smile. “You sound bitter, Watson. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh, whatever. You’re just as bad. Remember the barman from our honeymoon? I swear, if looks could kill, the guy would have dropped dead on the spot the moment you set your eyes on him.”

He massaged my hip as he placed a wine glass in my hand. Just my mention of the barman brought on a frown, and I enjoyed it. “Let’s not talk about that,” he said, and then some people we knew from Jay’s show came over to make chitchat. About an hour passed, and despite Tina making fuck-me eyes at my husband all night, I was having a decent time. I’d had a couple glasses of wine in me when I saw her make her way toward the bathroom. With alcohol-fuelled courage, I decided this was my time to set her straight.

Just before she had the chance to close the door, I pushed it open with my hand and stepped in after her.

“What the hell?” she said, giving me a dirty look.

“We need to talk,” I stated firmly, and closed the door behind me.

“I was just about to take a piss…um, what was your name again?” she asked bitchily.

Oh, she knew exactly what my name was. I laughed as I imagined her cutting my head out of photographs of me and Jay, and then supergluing her own head onto my body.

“My name is Matilda,” I enunciated. “Matilda Fields, and I’d like to politely request that you stop making a play for my husband. It isn’t proper.”

She stared at me, eyes squinted in annoyance. Then she folded her arms and cocked her head. “Jay is my boss. I work for him, so I’m certainly not making a play. I think you might be imagining things.” She paused and let out a long sigh. “Some women, God, so insecure and jealous.”

My eyebrows practically shot right up to the ceiling. “If you weren’t interested in him, then you wouldn’t have just said that. But anyway, I don’t want to drag this out. I just wanted to tell you to back off. We just got married, and I’d like to enjoy being a newlywed for a while without having to deal with women like you.”

She huffed. “Women like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

I gave her a wry look. “I bet you always wanted your friends’ Barbie dolls, didn’t you? You couldn’t just go get your own — you had to have somebody else’s.”

“This is my apartment, and I think you need to leave now,” she hissed, and took a threatening step toward me. I backed up, because despite Jay’s opinion that I could take her, I didn’t think I was tough enough to win a cat fight, even though, strangely enough, I was dressed up as a cat.

This was a weird night, and as I turned to leave, I discovered that it was about to get even weirder. I opened the door and stepped out, and there on the floor lay Jay’s black cape, the one I’d been repairing for him the other day. I blinked, wondering if I was seeing things, because the cape was huge, and I definitely hadn’t remembered him bringing it with him.

Kneeling down, I gathered it up and went to find my husband. He wasn’t in the party, but when I asked around, I was told he’d gone outside to have a smoke. Stepping out onto the terrace, I saw him bring a cigarette to his lips and take a drag. He turned, a welcoming look on his face, like he’d been expecting me. Stepping closer, he exhaled the smoke, blowing it over my face. For some reason, it made me feel sleepy.

“Hey, Watson, I want you to relax now. You’re going to go to sleep for a little while,” he said, his voice a flat monotone. Less than a second later, I was falling, and I felt Jay catch me just before I lost consciousness.

Part Four: The Trick

My head felt foggy when I woke up, and I was cold, so cold my skin was prickling. It was strange, because I hadn’t felt this kind of cold since I’d arrived in Vegas. It was forever hot and humid here unless you were somewhere that was air-conditioned. It got a little colder at night, but not this much, not in my experience, anyway. I could also hear rain pounding down on the roof of wherever I was; a roll of thunder rang out, causing me to shudder. When I was little, I’d always been scared of thunder.

My body was sore because I’d been lying flat on dirty wooden floorboards. It was dark, and I didn’t know where I was, couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there.

I searched my memory for clues, but the last thing I could remember was having lunch with Jay on the stage after I’d been mending his cape. For some reason, I felt like there was a gap, like there were things that had been blanked out. They were just within my grasp, but when I tried to reach for them, they disappeared like wisps of smoke. The imagery of smoke triggered something, but my brain couldn’t work to comprehend what that something was.

Pushing myself up onto my knees, I looked around. I could hardly see a thing until a fluorescent light bulb began to flicker in the distance.

It blinked on and off, providing me with the opportunity to take in my surroundings. When I did, my gut sank. I was in a gigantic, rundown, grotty old room in what felt like an abandoned factory or warehouse. There was rusty old equipment scattered about, but I couldn’t tell what it might be for. I was shivering hard, because this felt like a kidnapping to me. There was no way I’d set foot in a place like this of my own choosing.

“Gah!” I yelped as I felt somebody tap me on the shoulder. I turned, startled, but there was no one. Then I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. Oddly, there was a large mirror on the wall at the other end of the room. It was large, with an antique frame, and completely out of place for the setting. Feeling compelled, I walked toward it, and when I got near enough, I gasped because there was a figure standing there, still as a statue, looking at me through the glass: a tall male form wearing all black with a white mask over his face. The mask had a single black question mark on one cheek, which for some reason I found highly disturbing.

I glanced all about frantically, trying to figure out where the reflection was coming from, because I was standing right in front of it and I couldn’t see myself, only the man. It was almost as though he were trapped inside the mirror.

He was still staring at me.

“Who are you?” I called out, and the moment I said it, the glass cracked, causing me to jump. More thunder rang out, this time followed by the loud wailing of a woman who sounded like she was in extreme pain. I was trembling all over now; the wail was foreboding, and it made my skin crawl. Seeming uninterested in my fear, the man within the glass turned and walked away. Then he was gone, but I still couldn’t see my own reflection.

It was eerie. I was only wearing a thin lacy dress, and I was freezing now as I rubbed at my arms. Freezing and terrified.

“Help!” I cried. “Please, somebody help me!”

My voice echoed around the empty space. I ran to one of the windows, trying to see outside, but it was so coated with dirt that I couldn’t make out a thing. When I noticed the open door at the end of the room where I had originally woken up, I ran for it. If I could at least get out of the building, then I could figure out where I was and perhaps get to safety. Before I reached the door, a strange hissing sound filled the room and I froze.

It started out low and soft, but rose in volume little by little. It was a horrible sound, and it made my skin crawl, like somebody had crossbred a snake with a vampire. A vampire! For crying out loud, I was being ridiculous. This was rapist territory, not horror movie territory. Still, the imagery of the man in the mask had my mind conjuring up all sorts of macabre ideas. Someone was trying to fuck with my head. I tried to will myself to believe I’d imagined him because it was the only way I knew how to carry on.

I felt something move by my foot and looked down to see a massive snake slithering through my legs. My mouth dropped open in a silent scream, and then I heard a whisper echo in my ears. A single word.

“Murder.”

When I looked back down, the snake was gone, but now I could feel a new presence advancing behind me. I didn’t want to turn around to see what it was, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. For some reason, my brain wanted to see what it was frightened of. I could hear footsteps advancing behind me, and when I looked, I saw the man in the mask. Now he wasn’t trapped inside the mirror, he was real and coming straight at me. He wasn’t wearing the mask anymore; it had been pulled down and hung around his neck, but I wished he’d kept it on. His face was deathly pale, like a corpse, and his eyes were blood red. There was no white at all, just red. He was holding a knife in his hand and it was covered in blood.

His movements sped up once he saw me looking, and I sprang into action, screaming as I ran for the door. I made it and discovered a narrow staircase, practically tripping over myself as I scurried down the steps. All the while I could hear the red-eyed man coming after me, hissing and grunting. Luckily, I was a fast runner. My entire body broke out into a sweat, and my every pore was pulsing with pure, undiluted fear, adrenaline rushing through my system. I had never felt anything quite like it. Had never felt the imminence of death so strongly, because something deep down in my bones told me that if the man caught me, I was done for.

It didn’t even bear thinking about where the bloody knife had come from and whose blood it was. My muscles were drawn tight, and my mouth was dry and rough like sandpaper. If this was a dream, then I desperately wanted to wake up. Tears were streaming down my face as I reached the bottom of the stairs and entered another room, this one almost identical to the first. I hated it. I felt like I was in a labyrinth that never ended. But then I scanned the space and realised it was worse, because lining the far wall were about twenty people standing there, still as stone, all replicas of the man in the mask, like their clothing was a uniform or something.

Who the hell were these people?

The hissing got close again, so I knew Mr. Red Eyes had caught up with me. I was penned in. No escape. Arms came around my middle, gripping me tight like a vice, and I whimpered. This was it. I was done for. All at once the line of identically dressed people started to move, marching toward me, their movements strange and staccato, their footsteps ringing loud and harsh as I was held in place. I struggled to break free, but it was no use — my captor’s strength was far superior to my own.

“Please! Please let me go,” I begged.

When the line of people was just two feet away, they stopped, and the tall one right in the centre stepped forward. My chest rose and fell frantically in terror, and then he pulled off his mask, revealing a familiar face. The face of my husband.

My breath escaped me all at once, and I felt like I might faint.

Confusion washed over me as Jay came and took me from the man and into his own arms.

“Hush now, it’s okay, you’re safe,” he whispered, bringing his hand up to my face. He clicked his fingers, and the sound reverberated in my ears. Then I was out again.

* * *

I woke up to the sound of an engine running. I was lying down, this time in the back of a car. Jay’s car. I’d recognise his smell anywhere. My head was in his lap, and he was stroking my hair away from my face in a soothing manner. The windows were down, and the fresh night air flowed in. I swallowed down deep gulps of it, my heart still going ninety as the events leading up to this moment rushed into my head all at once.

Now I remembered the party, Halloween, and our bet. While I’d been inside that strange nightmarish scene, I’d forgotten about all of it. I guess that had been the point. Jay had hypnotised me, somehow made me forget everything so that I’d believe what was happening was one hundred percent real. For a brief moment in time, very specific things had been wiped from my memory. It was incredible and infuriating in equal measures.

“Where are we?” I asked, my voice a little raspy as I tried to sit up.

“We’re in a parking lot, darlin’. Lie back down. You need to relax.”

He was right; I did need to relax. For now. Once I’d recovered from my fake near-murder experience, I was planning on giving him the tongue lashing of his life. And not the sexy kind. I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to summon some calm.

“I’m going to kill you,” I muttered, and he chuckled in response.

He continued stroking my hair. “You gave me permission to do this, Matilda. I gave you a choice, and you asked for a mind fuck. You can’t complain that I gave you what you asked for. If you’d chosen a simple scare, my zombie routine back at the hotel would have been it.”

I reached out and slapped him hard on the arm. “I was terrified, Jason! Some scary Halloween fun is fine, but that felt too real. I could have fallen down those stairs and really hurt myself.”

“You wouldn’t have. I was with you the entire time. You just couldn’t see me.”

“Are you going to tell me where all that took place and who all those people were?”

Jay gestured to the tall building in front of us. “It’s a film studio. The whole thing happened on a specially designed, climate-controlled set, and those people wearing the masks were all actors. They’re in a drama group that meets in a center near our hotel.”

“You took it too far,” I complained, some of my anger dissipating. Jay was right — after all, I had given him permission to do this.

He leaned in and kissed me softly. “I’m sorry. You know that when I set my mind to something I can get a little…extreme. But you felt fear. I saw it. That was the whole point. You wanted me to scare you, and I did.”

“You didn’t just scare me, you terrified me, Jay,” I said, and began to massage my aching temples. This whole thing was bringing on a migraine. “Seriously, if you ever get tired of magic, you should start making horror films for a living.”

“Nah, movies aren’t my thing. But I did have an idea to make this a whole experience next Halloween. You know, have people pay for me to scare the shit out of them. Could be fun.” He grinned playfully.

“You have a very warped idea of what fun entails.” I scowled. “And anyone who’d sign up for that needs to have their head examined. I can’t believe you hypnotized me! I mean, I’ve seen you do it to other people lots of times, but I didn’t think I’d be susceptible to it.”

“Most people are susceptible — you just have to tailor the technique to the individual. The cape was the trigger, and my voice was what put you under.”

I slapped him again, this time more in surprise than in anger. “I knew there was a reason why you were having me repair that old thing. That was sneaky!”

He grabbed my hand right after I slapped him and used it to pull me closer. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

I sighed. “You won the bet.”

He nodded and brought his lips to mine, tasting me leisurely. “I won the bet. But since you’ve been such a good sport, I’ll give you one concession and let you choose my outfit for tomorrow night’s show. I’ll give you carte blanche, wear whatever you want.”

A big smile spread across my face, all annoyance from his elaborate horror stunt wiped clean. “You will?”

“I will for you. Only for you, Watson, because I love you.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted kisses all over his face. “You’re the best. And I love you, too.”

The next night I was still smiling as I straightened out Jay’s Dickie bow. I’d paired it with a dark brown three-piece suit and a pair of Italian leather shoes. He hated it, and I adored it. After our confrontation at her party, Tina was skulking around, giving me the evil eye and then plastering on a sweet-as-pie expression whenever Jay was looking.

She sauntered by, swinging her hips as though hoping he’d check her out, even though I was standing right there in front of him. The woman was shameless.

“You know, I’d been hoping her behavior was something to do with your trick, like maybe I had to be pissed off in order for your hypnosis to work, but seemingly I don’t have that kind of luck,” I griped, and stood back to admire my work. Jay looked absolutely dashing. I needed to take a picture before he went on stage, because I knew by the end of his show, half the buttons would be undone and he’d have stripped down to the waistcoat at the very least.

He ran a hand down my arm and leveled his eyes on me. “Ignore her. She might as well be wallpaper to me, and besides, we’re stronger than that. Nobody else can touch us. I told you before — all I see is you.”

His words made me breathless. I ran my hands over the lapels of the suit, acting like I was dusting it off when really I was just taking any excuse to feel him up.

His mouth hovered over my ear when he whispered, “Hold that thought. After tonight, I have two days off. As soon as we get back to the suite, I’m cashing in on my winnings.”

Trust him to be able to read my desire. I wanted him badly. I’d been too exhausted for anything when we got back last night, so our week of abstinence was still going strong. I trembled with anticipation, licking my lips. He bent down for a quick, hot kiss full of promise, and then the house lights were dimming and it was time for him to take to the stage. I stood and watched him perform. Even though I’d seen the act dozens of times before, there was always some new detail that fascinated me.

After his show, we took the elevator up to our suite. The car was empty when we stepped inside, and the moment the doors closed, he was on me.

“I should get a fucking trophy for sticking to this sex ban,” he growled as he backed me up into the wall and brought his mouth to my neck.

I giggled and then moaned when his hand went between my legs and cupped me hard. Immediately, I was aching. “Oh, indeed, a medal at the very least,” I replied, my voice raspy.

He chuckled, and the deep sound reverberated through me, making me shiver. It felt like it had only been seconds when the door pinged open, and Jay was scooping me up into his arms and carrying me to our door. It seemed he didn’t have the patience for walking. I almost regretted putting him in the suit tonight, because it felt like it took forever for me to get his shirt off. Since it was tailor-made for him, it went against everything I believed in to tear open the buttons, so I summoned some willpower and forced myself to unbutton it carefully. He watched me the entire time, a wry, knowing smile on his lips.

When I had him topless, I ran my hands over his body, and he allowed me a moment to savor him. I loved that about him; even though he was desperate for me, too, he held back, letting me go first. He didn’t hold back for long, because the next thing I knew, he was scooping me up in his arms again and carrying me into the bedroom. I bounced when I hit the mattress, and Jay made short work of pulling my dress up over my head and off me in one fell swoop.

His mouth went instantly to my breasts, yanking down the cups of my bra so he could lavish my nipples with attention. I squirmed beneath him, and my hands fumbled for his belt buckle. We had all weekend to have our fill of one another. But it had been a while, and right then I just needed him inside me.

He seemed to sense what I wanted, because he came up for air. “No foreplay?”

I shook my head. “Later. Right now I need to feel you.”

His eyes darkened, and he practically growled in approval. Before I knew it, his pants were off, and he was plunging all of his hot, hard, silky flesh into my needy core. I cried out when I felt him, my walls clenching tight around him.

Our eyes locked, held, as he moved his hips, thrusting in and out, slowly building up a pace. Then he was out and out fucking me, giving me everything, not holding back an inch, and I took everything he had to give. We were frenzied, lost to each other. There was so much love in his eyes that I became breathless and hot all over. In that moment, I knew I’d been silly to think that anybody could ever threaten what we had together. Jay and I existed in our own little bubble, and we always would. We’d been through so much. He had fought hard to get us where we were right now, and I knew he’d never do anything to jeopardize that.

The revelation warmed my heart.

And then I was so overtaken by lust that I couldn’t form coherent thoughts any longer. Hours later, our bodies spent, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

Perhaps I’d make a bet with him every Halloween, because if this was where betting with my husband got me, I was quite happy to take a gamble.

END

Want to read Jay & Matilda’s story from the beginning? Check out L.H. Cosway’s contemporary romance, Six of Hearts.

Step right up and meet Jay Fields: Illusionist. Mentalist. Trickster.

I think in triangles. You think in straight lines.

I show you a table and make you believe it’s a chair.

Smoke and mirrors, sleight of hand, misdirection. I trick and deceive.

But most of all, I put on a good show.

The world thinks I killed a man, but I didn’t. Bear with me. It’s all a part of the plan.

Revenge is what I want. I want it for me and I want it for her.

I want it for all six of us.

She doesn’t remember me, but she’s the reason for everything. She’ll be my prize at the end of all this — if I can hold onto my willpower, that is. Maybe I’ll slip up a little, have a taste, just a small one.

So go ahead and pick a card. Come inside and see the show. Look at my hands, look so closely that you can’t see what’s happening while you’re so focused on looking. I’ll be destroying your world from right here in the spotlight.

You’ll never see me coming until it’s too late.

I’ve only got one heart, and after I’ve pulled off my grand deception I’ll hand it right to her.

So, sit back, relax, and let my girl tell you our story. You’re in for one hell of a ride.

Praise for Six of Hearts

"This book was sexy. Man was it hot! Cosway writes sexual tension so that it practically sizzles off the page." — A. Meredith Walters, New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author.

"There is a way that certain authors write that just grips me by the throat because I can see the world, I can smell the sounds, I can hear the voices, and I can feel their hearts." — Marie Hall, New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author.

"I loved the twist at the end. I loved how sexy it was. (DAMN IT WAS SEXY!!)" — Penny Reid, Author of Neanderthal Seeks Human.

"Six of Hearts is a book that will absorb you with its electric and all-consuming atmosphere." — Lucia, Reading is my Breathing.

"There is so much "swoonage" in these pages that romance readers will want to hold this book close and not let go." — Katie, Babbling About Books.

About the Author

L.H. Cosway has a BA in English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilisation and an MA in Postcolonial Literature. She lives in Dublin city. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books.

She thinks that imperfect people are the most interesting kind. They tell the best stories.

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Candy, Dentures, and Way Too Much Spandex

by R.S. Grey

…or My Night Chaperoning a Nursing Home Halloween Party

“There’s been a murder in Paradise Springs!” Sandy exclaimed, clapping her hands wildly in the front row of the residents’ meeting.

“Well there will be,” I clarified, trying to calm the outburst that was sure to ensue.

Sandy’s grin gave away the fact that the theme for the Paradise Springs’ Halloween party had been decided in her favor. The small living room erupted into shouts as other residents clamored to be heard. As the head of the party planning committee, it was my job to make sure these meetings ran smoothly.

“I don’t think a murder mystery party will be fun for everyone,” a resident shouted.

“What’s wrong with doing the Hawaiian Halloween party again?” someone else yelled from the back. “Why does Sandy always get the final say in these things?”

I was standing at the front of the room, surrounded by drapes that hadn’t been updated since the 1950s and couches that always had a certain stench to them. I tried to get everyone’s attention, but it was no use.

I thought being a nurse would be glamorous. While I studied on nights and weekends in nursing school, I’d picture myself walking through the halls of a hospital in perfectly fitted scrubs. There’d always been an imaginary fan blowing my hair back, and I’d point to someone and wink as I walked by them in slow motion.

Sadly, reality hadn’t worked out that way. I’d graduated from nursing school during a year where the job market was flooded with new applications. As a mediocre human being with average grades and of average height, I’d wound up as a nurse at Paradise Springs, a premiere retirement community, or so it was described on the information packet.

“Everyone, calm down!” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the group.

There was no use in even trying. It was the start of October, and we’d just voted on what the theme would be for Paradise Springs’ Annual Halloween Party. And no, apparently “Halloween” isn’t a theme in and of itself. I’d had my head chewed off for suggesting such a ludicrous idea when I first started my job two years ago.

Last year’s theme was “Christmas in October”, and our Jewish residents had protested outside of the party with signs and tastefully done sugar cookies that involved decapitated Santa Clauses. For dramatic effect, they separated the heads and the bodies onto two plates. The year before that, it was a “Hawaiian” Halloween. They’d tried to stuff a live pig, but it escaped and ran around the community for two days before Animal Services had finally come in to catch it.

So you can imagine my surprise when the residents voted on a theme for this year’s party and it actually made sense.

This year we would do a Murder Mystery Halloween Party.

“How much does it even cost to hire one of those fancy party crews?” one of our residents asked. “You know, the ones who come in and set up the murder mystery for you.”

I glanced down at my clipboard where I’d circled the party’s total budget in red pen three times. I wouldn’t let them sweet-talk me into breaking it again this year. Last time it ended up coming out of my paycheck.

“Guys, we have $100 to spend on the entire party. That includes food, drinks, and decorations. I don’t think we can hire a party crew to come in and host the event.”

“What about having George write a script for us?” Anne asked from the front row. I smiled down at her, glad to have an ally during these monthly resident meetings.

“Oh please,” Sandy responded haughtily.

“What? I think he could do a great job,” Anne insisted, swiveling around in her chair to turn her green eyes on Sandy. The two did not get along very well, but I was team Anne all the way. You would have been too. She looked like a cooler version of Queen Elizabeth, and she was my best friend.

George, who had remained silent until that moment, stood up and straightened his black-framed glasses on the tip of his nose.

“I accept the role and will gladly write a murder mystery! The likes of which could grace the Broadway stage,” he said, holding his chin up high and exiting the room while we all watched him, confused as to why he was leaving considering the meeting wasn’t over yet.

“Are you kidding me? Him?” Sandy asked, pointing to the doorway that George had just exited.

“He’s worked in theater his whole life, and it’s not like we have any other options,” Anne protested.

I glanced around the room, toward the other silent residents, but no one seemed to want to volunteer to argue with Anne or Sandy.

“Okay,” I sighed. “It’s decided. We’ll have a murder mystery Halloween Party,” I said, setting the clipboard down on the table behind me. “I’ll talk to George about the script and make sure it’s ready in time.”

“Now, let’s talk about the food,” Sandy said, rubbing her hands together like she was planning something diabolical.

That was the point where I pretty much tuned out. It’s strange that nowhere in my nursing training had they discussed proper party planning techniques. Oh yeah, because they’d assumed I’d actually be a nurse. I mean, I did do some nursing duties, but when I first started at Paradise Springs, they’d been majorly understaffed. Management had asked me to help coordinate a few things, and I agreed without a second thought. As the months passed, and they continued to be understaffed, I fell even more into my “jack of all trades” role.

“No! No! I said Halloween Chic, do you think marshmallows made to look like spiders is chic, Mary Joe?” Sandy’s harsh words pulled me out of my daydream.

“Okay, alright.” I held my hands up in the air like an orchestra conductor. “Let’s settle down, everyone.”

Thirty minutes, one pair of missing dentures, and one hysterical Mary Joe later, I finally walked out of the meeting with Anne by my side.

“Boy, I tell you, that Sandy is a piece of work,” Anne said, taking her glasses off so that they hung limply from the lanyard around her neck.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it, though. The party will be a hit, and George will make a good script,” I said as we rounded the corner toward Anne’s room.

“I hope so. My grandson will probably be attending the party,” she said, sliding her gaze to me from beneath her lashes. I knew what she was doing, and still, I was helpless to stop the blush that always crept onto my cheeks whenever she mentioned her grandson, Sawyer. A vision of his handsome appearance popped into my head before I could tamp it out.

“Yeah, well, I’ll probably have a date, so we can introduce them,” I said, flailing for a response and landing on one that had no basis in reality.

* * *

October 31st arrived much faster than I had hoped it would. My plan had been to transform into a cooler, sexier version of myself before the Halloween party so that I could impress Sawyer, but as I stared at the mirror inside the employee bathroom of Paradise Springs, I decided I hadn’t even come close.

My pale blonde hair was styled in a pixie cut, and my brown eyes were rimmed by lightly mascaraed lashes. I mostly looked like a grown-up version of Tinker Bell, which I knew from experience, was not every adult male’s fantasy. On a scale of one to Kim Kardashian, my curves and sex appeal fell at about a one.

I sighed and exited the bathroom, knowing I was already ten minutes late starting my rounds. I had a few residents who were assigned to me as patients. Most of them didn’t need constant supervision, but it was still policy that at the start of my nursing shift I was supposed to check-in with all of the residents on my watch.

First up was always Sandy. I made it a point to get her over with at the very beginning.

“Sandy, are you done getting ready for the Halloween party?” I asked, knocking gently on the cheap chipboard doors that dotted the hallways of Paradise Springs. I didn’t want to knock. Given the choice, I would have walked right on by Sandy’s door, but I had no choice.

Let me warn you. Sandy is the opposite of a fine wine. Instead of getting better with age, she’s only become crabbier. And don’t you dare pity her. She wasn’t like some of the patients here who were irritable because they were experiencing chronic pain or some other serious illness. No, Sandy was fit as a whistle and was the resident ringleader at Paradise Springs. She ruled that nursing home cafeteria with an iron fist, and she even scared me a little bit.

“Oh yes, I’m ready,” she sang with her shrill voice.

I wish I could go back in time and throw bleach on my eyes before opening that door, but alas, time travel hasn’t yet been invented. So instead, I opened the door to see Sandy standing in a head-to-toe black spandex jumpsuit that was only half zipped in the front.

You know who shouldn’t wear spandex? 80-year-old women.

“AHHHHhhhhhh.” I couldn’t stop the scream that erupted from me, but midway through I felt bad so I tried to turn it down a notch.

“I know! Have you seen a cat woman this sexy before?” she asked, staring at herself in the mirror.

I couldn’t answer that question because my eyes were trying to retract into my brain. She spun around in a circle for emphasis, and I just stood there, too shocked to comment.

“Sandy, are you going to zip it the rest of the way?” I asked, trying to sound gentle and not judgmental, but, I mean, her left boob was just hanging there, flapping in the wind. And while I see a lot of body parts in this job, usually they aren’t just out there for anyone to see.

She glanced down. “Damnit, the left one keeps popping out.”

Andddd, my life is now complete.

“Alright, well you tuck that back in there… and I’ll see… go… the party starts in thirty minutes!” I dashed out of that room like my life depended on it, not bothering to form a complete sentence prior to my departure.

I know what you’re thinking and, yes, my job as a nurse in a “retirement community” is pretty glamorous. What twenty-three-year-old wouldn’t want to spend their Halloween night supervising a bunch of crazy old people? I didn’t need friends or a boyfriend when I had these guys to keep me company.

I kept walking down the hallway in pursuit of my next resident, trying to scrape the image of Sandy’s boob out of my mind. Before I could turn the corner toward Anne’s room, I saw Gertie— one of Sandy’s side-kicks— walking straight toward me with a friend. She was a small woman, seemingly even tinier every time I saw her. Her back hunched over at a chirp angle, but she wore bright colored muumuus and always had her hair styled into cute, white curls.

“Oh Ruby, you look like a prostitute in that outfit,” Gertie hissed as she passed me in the hallway with her walker.

I glanced down at my navy blue scrubs and Nikes. “Gertie, these are my work clothes… I’m not even dressed up for Halloween.”

Gertie’s friend, who was walking beside her with a walker of her own, patted her on the back. “If she wants to dress up like a slutty nurse, let her. She’s young. These kids are so reckless these days.”

They kept walking off in a tizzy, shaking their heads at how deplorable I was dressed.

“I’m literally in my normal work scrubs!” I yelled after them, only then realizing that they couldn’t even hear me anymore.

I pressed my fingers against the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes, repeating the phrase “I love this job, I love this job,” over and over again in my mind.

This was going to be a long shift. I had actually been looking forward to a quiet night at home in my apartment. I was going to make some popcorn and talk myself into buying Halloween candy for kids, but then eat it all myself since no one trick-or-treats in an apartment complex. It would have been perfect.

Instead, I’d picked the short straw at the beginning of October and had landed Halloween duty. But, I’d come prepared this time. I had two years of Paradise Springs under my belt, which is why I had the following items inside the pockets of my scrubs:

— Band-aids

— a roll of butterscotch Lifesavers

— a pair of small latex gloves

— two condoms

— a small bottle of disinfectant

One couldn’t be too prepared during the Halloween shift at Paradise Springs. I was running through the possible outcomes of the night in my head when I knocked on Anne’s door. Anne was always my favorite stop during my rounds. I’d camp out in her room during my shifts, explaining that she needed some extra TLC. In reality, we would sit on her bed flipping through rag magazines and gossiping together.

When I knocked and entered her room that day, she was sitting at her small vanity getting ready for the party. I breathed a sigh of relief as I pushed through the door and closed it behind me. Her vanity was small and old, a relic from her house. It didn’t seem to belong in the sterile room when she’d first moved in, but we’d decorated her room for months, making it feel homey and comfortable. Now there were a series of framed photos that hung on the wall beside her vanity: her and her late husband, her and her grandchildren, and even one of her and me together.

“Hot mama alert!” I said as her gaze met mine in the mirror.

“I thought you said you were going to dress up,” she frowned.

I reached to grab the pair of ears out of the back pocket of my scrubs. The moment I positioned them on top of my short pixie cut, Anne smiled.

“There, much better. Those mouse ears really suit you,” she said, adding a bit of blush to her cheeks. If I had any say in how I aged, I hoped I would look like Anne. She was beautiful with emerald green eyes (just like her grandson), white hair that she always spun into artfully done up-dos, and just enough wrinkles to give her a wise appearance.

“Are you saying I’m mousy?” I joked, narrowing my eyes on her as I moved to take a seat on the end of her quilted bed.

She laughed. “No. You’re cute, like a little mouse.”

“Whatever you say,” I smiled. “What are you supposed to be anyway?”

I glanced down her royal blue dress that wrapped around her in tight folds. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t place it as any costume I’d seen before. A gold statement necklace wrapped around her neck and hung down her chest.

“I’m not dressed up as anything. I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to do since George will be giving us characters to play in the murder mystery. I thought it’d be too confusing if I was in costume as well.”

I nodded. “That’s a good point. Too bad Sandy is already dressed up as Catwoman.”

Anne’s mouth dropped open. “Is she really?”

“Yes, and Gertie called me a whore in the hallway.”

Anne started laughing then, and the skin around her eyes crinkled as her grin overtook her features. When she finally took a deep breath, I asked her a question.

“Hey Anne, is it really a good idea to do a murder mystery in a nursing home?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

I pressed my lips together as I tried to work out the precise way I should word the next sentence.

“It’s just that… some of you are older… not you, Anne, but you know.” I was flailing around like a fish on a hook.

She laughed and clapped her hands together. “You mean because one of us could actually die!?”

Well at least she thought I was a hoot. You see what I just did? “A hoot.” When you work with old people for two years, you start to adopt their language. I would have never said “hoot” before becoming best friends with Anne. Yes, I am friends with an eighty-two-year-old. But, let me tell you, she can kick my ass. They did a self-defense class one time at Paradise Springs right after I was hired. Apparently, there’d been a break-in and they wanted to make sure everyone knew some basic skills on how to defend themselves. (Seriously, who breaks into a retirement home? Apparently, the criminals didn’t take anything except for some chocolate pudding from the kitchen. And I’ll admit, if I no longer worked at Paradise Springs, I’d break in for that chocolate pudding, too.)

Anyway, yeah, Anne was my partner for the self-defense class. She was putting me in a choke-hold, and when I thought I was going to pass-out, I tried tapping out like the instructor had shown us. Anne wasn’t listening during that part, so she thought I was just encouraging her to strangle me harder. No, yeah, please keep going. I want to die at the hands of an eighty-two-year-old today.

And that’s the story of how Anne almost killed me.

After that, we’d become inseparable.

“Well, I for one, think it’d be hilarious if someone keeled over today. It would make the murder mystery feel real.”

I burst out in laughter, holding my hand over my mouth.

“Anne, if you’re killed,” I began in a mock serious tone, “I swear I will avenge your death and find your murderer.”

She laughed, and then turned around on her chair to face me.

“You’ll have Sawyer to help you solve the mystery. He’s supposed to be here any minute.”

My heart rate picked up at the mention of her grandson, but I tried to sound casual as I asked my next question.

“Oh, is Sawyer going to be here tonight?” I glanced down at my hands spinning circles on her hand-made quilt. I didn’t think I was fooling anyone, least of all, Anne. Even still, something kept me from admitting my serious crush on him.

“Yes. He promised me he’d stop by before he went to another Halloween party. I thought I had already mentioned this to you?”

She had, but I didn’t want to appear too obsessed with him. “Do you think he’s bringing a date?”

The edge of Anne’s mouth tipped up. “You know, I’m not sure. He broke up with that Lisa girl. Did I tell you that?”

My eyes practically bulged out of my head. “What?! No, you didn’t tell me that!”

She smiled. “Surprise.”

* * *

The first time I saw Sawyer, I’d only been working at Paradise Springs for two weeks and I had urine in my hair. Not my urine. No. I was going through rounds during my shift and making sure that everyone was doing okay. I’d just left Mr. Tennon’s room, where he’d thrown a fit about getting a sponge bath. He was one of the high maintenance residents, and I was still learning how to handle him (I’d learn six months later that if you enticed him with the promise of an episode of Baywatch, the man would do anything you wanted).

Anyway, I was helping Mr. Tennon take off his clothes and as I dipped down to pull his pants over his ankles— I felt it. Urine seeping into my hair and running down the side of my face. I tried my best to stay calm, it’s not like he meant to pee on me. I knew incontinence was something that came with the territory, but it was a low blow to my self-esteem either way.

Becoming a nurse seemed so much more heroic and adventurous when I was studying in school. I thought I’d be caring for gunshot victims and yelling things like “10 ccs stat!” and “We’re going to have to intubate!”

Instead, I was standing in Mr. Tennon’s bathroom with my head under the sink faucet, taking deep breaths and trying to calm my anger.

My hair was still wet and I was patting my face with some scratchy paper towels when I finally stepped out into the hallway to check on my next resident. But, the moment I shut his door behind me, I wished I’d just stayed under the urine stream.

Because he was right there. The man that I would pine after for the next two years:

Sawyer.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, gripping either side of my shoulders to steady me. I’d almost walked directly into him when I’d exited Mr. Tennon’s room.

His hands dropped back to his sides as I turned to take him in. He was tall, taller than me by a couple inches, so I had to tilt my head back to look up into his emerald green eyes. Those eyes were connected to a face that was friendly, open, and handsome. It wasn’t perfect in the traditional movie star sense, but it made me pause all the same. His brown hair was a little too long on top, and his thin layer of facial hair made him look older than he was.

“I… have to get urine out of my hair,” I stammered like a simpleton before staring at him for two more seconds and then turning to bound down the hallway.

After that first day, I chopped my long hair off into a pixie cut and wore a shower cap whenever I was undressing Mr. Tennon.

The second time I saw Sawyer, I was sitting in Anne’s room during my lunch break. We were sharing a chicken salad sandwich and watching daytime television when there was a knock at the door. Anne told the person to come in, and as the door opened and Sawyer walked in, my mind froze.

I hadn’t known he was at Paradise Springs for Anne the first time I bumped into him, so to suddenly glance up and see him standing in her doorway really threw me for a loop.

“Oh, Sawyer! I wasn’t expecting you so soon!” Anne pushed up off her bed and went to greet him as I sat in complete shock. Their hug gave me a quick second to take him in without them noticing, and boy, did I take him in. He was wearing black converse, jeans, and a soft-looking t-shirt that fit him well. He looked to be a little older than me, but it was hard to tell.

“Yeah, I was able to cut out from work early,” he said, dipping to kiss her cheek. It wasn’t until he pulled away that his gaze finally settled on me.

The normal reaction would have been to keep eye contact and smile or wave. Instead, I dropped my gaze to Anne’s quilt and ignored his presence all together.

Did he remember me as urine girl?

“You got a haircut,” he said, drawing my attention back up to him. He was smiling as he crossed his arms, not in a rude way, but in a relaxed, easy-going sort of way.

“Yes,” I answered meekly.

“You know Ruby, Sawyer?” Anne asked, glancing back and forth between us.

I pushed off the bed and straightened my scrubs.

“No, I ran into her a few weeks ago, but we didn’t get the chance to meet,” Sawyer explained. “She ran off too fast.”

At that fact, Anne turned toward me with a look like she was about to reprimand me.

I squirmed in my shoes. “That was the day that Mr. Tennon had an accident on me, so I was in a rush,” I explained, knowing she’d recall that sordid tale.

Her brows nearly shot up to meet her hairline and her laughter rang out around the room. “What an interesting first encounter,” she said between laughs.

Interesting didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Well, I have to get back to work,” I said quickly, brushing past them and out of the door before anyone could continue the embarrassing conversation.

The third time Sawyer came to visit Anne, I finally got the chance to talk to him. I was down in the kitchen fixing a meal to bring up to Sandy, who didn’t “take her lunch in the dining halls” like everyone else. I was preparing her plate with all the specific things she’d requested (“I like a little bit of mustard on my sandwich, but not too much, and make sure the mustard is touching the turkey and not the cheese or I won’t be able to eat it”). Sawyer had come into the cafeteria to get some frozen yogurt for him and Anne.

I saw him out of my periphery, but I didn’t work up the courage to look at him.

“Ruby?” he asked with a confident half-smile.

I peered up at him as if shocked to see him. “Oh, hello!” I said, my voice an octave higher than it usually was.

He smiled wider. “Hi, I’m Sawyer, Anne’s grandson,” he reminded me.

He even reached his hand out to shake mine, that’s how polite and adorable he was. I was completely out of my element.

“Oh, yeah, I remember,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand and cringing when I saw a bit of mustard on my thumb. I pulled back just before our hands touched. “Mustard,” I said, reaching for a napkin and wiping it away.

He laughed as I held my hand out again.

“Want to try it one more time?” I asked, mostly because I just really wanted to touch him.

We shook hands, bouncing them up and down for what felt like five minutes before either one of us thought to pull away.

“I was going to tell you that I liked your new haircut the other day, but you ran off too quick,” he said as he put his hands in his back pockets.

“What — me? This — hair?” I could apparently say words, but stringing them into a coherent sentence was another thing all together.

Sawyer laughed and glanced down to his feet before turning back to the frozen yogurt machine.

“Well, I better go get some yogurt for my grandma or she’ll kill me.”

I cleared my throat and turned back to Sandy’s sandwich. “Okay, I’ll see ya.”

He gave me one more smile before leaving.

And that’s how it went for the whole first year that I knew him. He’d visit Anne at least once a week, usually on Thursdays. So for one year, every Thursday, I put on a little bit more mascara and made sure I didn’t have anything embarrassing in my teeth in the hopes of running into him. I’d try to bring him up to Anne as casually as possible and try to plans subjects we could talk about if he came to visit so that I wouldn’t look like a blubbering idiot.

Then one year after I first met him in the hallway, Anne broke the news to me that he had a girlfriend and my school-girl crush started to crack. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter that he had a girlfriend since we hardly knew each other. But most days I’d wander through my shift at work and think about what it would be like if he suddenly appeared in front of me, single and ready to mingle.

It wasn’t easy to push him out of my mine, and I hated to admit that my crush had grown even more in the last year, but I’d kept it to myself.

It was hard to face him when he came to visit Anne. Every time I saw him, I feared his girlfriend would be by his side, but she never was. The whole time they dated, he never brought her to Paradise Springs.

But apparently now he was SINGLE again, and Anne decided to break that news to me three seconds before his arrival for the Halloween party.

Just great. I had no planned conversations, I hadn’t practiced talking to myself in the mirror in months, and I could have at least stashed my mouse ears under Anne’s bed.

I was going to have to kick some grandma ass.

Or yeah, maybe she’d kick my ass again. I wouldn’t test her.

* * *

I stood at the top of a ladder trying to hang balloons from the ceiling in the dining hall. The party was due to start in an hour, but no one had signed up for the decoration committee, which had left me as the only back-up available. I’d already blown up two dozen balloons and was feeling the effects of depleting all of my oxygen stores, but the old people needed balloons, because y’know maybe this would be their last Halloween and who was I to stand in the way of their death and one last night of geriatric partying.

My head felt woozy, and I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to catch my bearings.

“Sweetie, you don’t look so good up there,” Anne called as she held the ladder for me. I was a good ten feet off the ground, and the longer I hovered in the air, the more I realized that I should have blown the balloons up on the ground.

“I’m fine, I just feel lightheaded,” I assured her as I tied off the balloon and reached up on my tiptoes to tape it to the ceiling. You know what looks like crap? Balloons stuck to the ceiling in random spots. Once again, I thought of how strange it was that my nursing curriculum had failed to teach me party decorating considering it made up 50 % of my job. The other 50 % consisted of urine. So much urine.

“Grandma, they have you on ladder duty?” A deep voice asked from a few feet behind me. I twisted around with enough force to cause the ladder to twist out of Anne’s grip.

“Ahhhhhhhhh,” I screamed as I tried to grab onto anything around me, but I was only coming up with empty air. My life was flashing before my eyes as that ladder slowly toppled toward the ground.

“Byyyyeeee Annneeeeee,” I said in what felt like slow motion speech, just as I fell into strong arms.

“Whoa,” Sawyer said as he steadied the two of us. “Are you okay?”

AM I OKAY?!

I am in the arms of my lover. My unknowing lover. I’ve never been more okay.

“I fell,” I said lamely.

A smile broke out across his face, and I caught an up close view of straight, white teeth. “You did, and then I caught you.”

I nodded, connecting the dots.

“You’re really strong,” I pointed out, appreciating his physique. “Like the hulk.”

He laughed and then slowly set me back onto my own two feet. If I had thought faster, I would have feigned injury to stay in his arms. Oh weird, my leg just fell off, so why don’t you just carry me around all day? That would have worked like a charm.

“Sawyer! You made it!” Anne sang as she swooped in and gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. I took the moment to take him in, appreciating his soccer jersey and jeans.

“Hey grandma,” he said before meeting my eye. “Hey Ruby. Cute ears.”

I instinctively reached up to feel the fuzzy, gray mouse ears. I’d forgotten I still had them on.

“Oh hi — thanks,” I said.

“What’s with the jersey?” Anne asked, eyeing his choice of clothing with an air of judgment.

Sawyer reached down to hold the loose material between his fingers. “It’s the only thing I had at my apartment that would work as a costume.”

“So — you’re a soccer player?” she asked, trying to connect the pieces.

He shrugged. “I guess. This is Liam Wilder’s jersey. He’s a forward for the LA Stars.”

Anne narrowed her eyes on him. “That doesn’t count as a costume!”

“I think it does,” I protested. The words were out before I could stop them. Anne shifted her gaze to me and raised her brow, shocked that I actually contributed to the conversation. Sawyer gave me a wide grin.

“There you have it. You’ve been outvoted, Grams,” he said, patting her shoulder.

It was always about this time in my encounters with Sawyer that I would excuse myself to get back to work, so I took a slow step backward, hoping Anne wouldn’t notice.

“No. No, don’t even think about,” Anne said, holding up her hand.

“What? I have to get back to my shift.”

“Bullshit.”

Sawyer’s eyebrows shot up. “Grandma! Let her get back to work.”

Anne shook her head, staring at me with narrowed eyes. “If Sawyer hadn’t just walked in here, you would have stayed and continued to decorate with me for another thirty minutes. You always just skiddadle as soon as he arrives.”

My mouth fell open in shock. No she did not just call me out.

“Grandma,” Sawyer warned again.

I couldn’t even look his way at that point because the old ho-bag had essentially just spilled all the beans for me.

“Oh, what’s that?” I said, cupping my ear and pretending to hear something. “Yup, I think Mr. Jenkins is calling for me down the hall. Oh, yup, he just broke his hip. Oh wow, no, both hips. I better go check on him.”

“Ruby!” Anne called as walked to the door.

I stuck my tongue out at her when Sawyer turned around. She and I would have a major discussion later, and I’d be sure to stay at least a few feet away from her so she couldn’t put me in another choke-hold.

When I cleared the door to the dining hall, I stood there for a moment, wondering how long Anne had known about my crush on her grandson. I thought I’d been so sly; I’d never directly asked her about him. I’d wait for her to bring him up and then just piggy-back off of her discussion. I thought I’d covered my tracks flawlessly, but apparently not.

I leaned against the wall, trying to collect my thoughts.

Okay, Sawyer is here and you will have to talk to him, I told myself.

Sure, most of my encounters with Sawyer had been terrible in the past, but I was going to change all of that. Today, we would have an actual conversation that didn’t consist of me slurring my words as I shuffled past him. I’d speak slowly and clearly and be the most charming version of myself. Which might only be about one-fourth as charming as anyone else, but it was the best I could do.

* * *

“Come in, take a packet,” I said, standing at the door of the dining hall beside George as residents started to trickle in. “Come in and grab a packet.”

“Thank you,” Sandy said with a touch of attitude as she strolled in wearing her spandex costume.

Gertie walked in a second later, taking a packet and giving my work scrubs another tsk tsk. I groaned and tried to ignore her, continuing to pass out packets as people strolled in.

I’d done my best to transform the dining hall into a Murder Mystery set, but since I didn’t really know what that meant, I just went with orange and black streamers, balloons, and a bowl of punch with plastic spiders floating on top. As I finished up decorating (once I was sure Sawyer and Anne were gone), George was in a tizzy about how his script would play out. He paced around the dining hall while I set up, repeating the same concerns over and over again.

“What if no one is committed to their characters?” he asked as I dropped spiders in the punch bowl.

“They will be,” I’d replied, taking a step back and slipping on some of the punch that I’d spilled on the floor by accident. I landed flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling while I caught my breath. George didn’t even notice.

“I just want everyone to immerse themselves in the story. If they don’t, this will just be a train-wreck,” he said with a dramatic flare of his hand. All the while I was lying on the ground.

I’d been lucky to survive the afternoon, and I was still trying to console George as Anne and Sawyer walked through the doorway. Sawyer smiled at me as he walked by. Anne paused, watching him take a seat in the middle of the room, before turning to me.

“Are there enough packets left for everyone to participate?” she asked, glancing between me and George.

I looked down at the packets in my hand. There were still four left. Which meant out of the twenty people who’d already arrived, only two of them decided they wanted to participate in the game.

“Why yes, Anne, there is enough,” I said, holding her eye contact as I passed her a packet.

The edge of her mouth lifted in a smirk. “You aren’t mad at me, are you?” Her tone gave her away. She knew I was annoyed with her and she was playing the innocent old woman card. It wouldn’t work on me.

“Nooooo.” I exaggerated the o’s until I knew that she knew she was in deep shit.

She leaned in closer and whispered so that only I could hear. “I’ve lived on this earth for a very long time and I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to cut the shit. You’ve been eyeing my grandson for the past two years and both of you are too scared to do anything about it.”

I scoffed, even holding my hand over my heart for emphasis. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mmhm,” she mumbled as she pulled away from me. “George, make sure Ruby gets a packet. She’s sure good at acting today.”

Had she not been my best friend and eighty-something years old, I would have flipped her off. Damn that, Anne. I couldn’t ever stay mad at her.

The rest of the attendees finally strolled into the dining hall, and by 7:30 P.M., George and I were standing in front of the room with two packets remaining.

“We need two more resident volunteers before we can start,” I said, waving the packets out in front of me like I was trying to auction them off.

The sea of residents stared at one another, waiting for someone else to volunteer. Out of twenty of them, there’d only been four volunteers so far: Anne, Sandy, Gertie, and Mr. Tennon. George would have volunteered, but he was out since he knew the plot.

“Seriously, someone has to volunteer or we’ll all just sit here,” I said, trying to get the ball rolling.

Sawyer glanced around the room before he finally shrugged and stood up.

“If it’s okay with everyone, I’ll play,” he said.

Anne clapped wildly, but no one else cared to comment as Sawyer stepped toward me.

“You should play, too,” he said with a devious smile as he slid the packet out of my hand.

I didn’t want to be a part of the murder mystery. I think I even specifically opted out of it on numerous occasions, but we were still down one player and if no one wanted to volunteer, I didn’t really have a choice.

I glanced around the room one more time, even holding eye contact with a few residents to make them squirm in their seats.

“Okay, fine, I’ll be the last person. Let’s do this,” I said, opening up my packet and peeking inside to find a script, a small description card, and a few props.

George clapped his hands and shouted, “Players, go read your cards and put on anything provided for you in your packet. We’ll meet back here in five minutes to start the game.”

As I made my way toward the bathroom, Sawyer caught up to me.

“Who are you?” he asked with a small smile.

“Detective Maverick,” I said, reading the front of the packet.

He nodded. “Apparently I’m Jim Fitzpatrick, the son of Gwyneth Fitzpatrick.”

I laughed at the silly expression he was making. “Thanks for volunteering by the way. I thought we were just going to sit there all night.”

“Yeah, no worries. I have a Halloween party to go to, but it doesn’t start until later,” he said with a shrug.

I thought about what I had planned for later. The options were: reading, watching a scary movie, and eating enough candy to go into a coma. I’d most likely do all of the above. Of course, I didn’t dare tell Sawyer that.

“Oh yeah, me too.” I nodded with what I hoped was a cool, nonchalant expression.

He smiled as we turned a corner toward the bathrooms near the dining hall. “Well then, let’s solve this mystery.”

Ten minutes later, the five of us were standing up at the front of the dining hall with our scripts in hand and our props attached to various parts of our bodies. George strolled across the stage in front of us, announcing the players to the crowd of on-lookers who would be helping us solve the mystery. I browsed over my script as he read aloud.

SETTING: An old estate in the heart of Savannah, Georgia.

THE PLAYERS

Gwyneth Fitzpatrick: An eighty-year-old woman who has oil money from generations past. She owns an estate in Savannah and has invited a few close friends over for a dinner party. She has two children, Jim and Hannah Fitzpatrick, who are both attending the party.

Gwyneth was played by Sandy in her latex Catwoman suit. Seemed appropriate.

Jim Fitzpatrick: Gwyneth’s eldest child. He’s a prominent lawyer in downtown Savannah. He was married to a young debutante when he was younger, but she died in a horrible lipstick accident the year before.

Jim was played by Sawyer. He still had his soccer jersey on, but now he’d added a cane, pipe, and monocle as well. Jim Fitzpatrick was apparently very stylish.

Hannah Fitzpatrick: Gwyneth’s youngest child. A struggling artist who doesn’t get along with her older brother. She has a lover named Antonio Ricardo.

Hannah was played by Anne, who was carrying a paint palette and a paint brush. She’d added a few streaks of paint to her hair which I thought was a cute touch.

Antonio Ricardo: Hannah Fitzpatrick’s lover. He’s a Latin underwear model currently between jobs. He’s never gotten along with Hannah’s brother, Jim.

Antonio was played by Mr. Tennon, who I knew from experience was probably sporting some whitey-tighties beneath his suspendered pants. Meow.

Izzie Jenkins: Gwyneth’s maid of ten years. She’s a young girl who grew up in a bad neighborhood in Savannah. Gwyneth took Izzie under her wing and provided her with a job when she had no other prospects.

Izzie was played by Gertie,who did not look pleased to be wearing a skimpy maid’s outfit over her pants and blouse. She had her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to conceal the feather duster in her hand.

Detective Maverick: A no-nonsense Savannah police officer that has never had a case he couldn’t solve. He has a thick Scottish accent and a serious drinking problem.

Detective Maverick was played by me. That’s right. I opened up that packet to find a thick mustache stuck to a gold police badge, a pair of aviators, and some plastic handcuffs. I’d stood in the women’s bathroom after sticking the mustache on, trying to find any sort of humor in the entire situation. It was so thick, and brown, and did I mention thick? I waggled my eyebrows for emphasis. That’s right, Sawyer. I hope you like your girls with big ol’ mustaches. I’ll admit, once I put the aviators and badge on, I’d fallen into my character. Heck, I even started walking with a bit more swagger.

Anne couldn’t look at me without cracking up, but that might have been because I kept telling her she had the right to remain silent as we walked back to the dining hall.

“You look like an 80s porn star,” Gertie said to me with her lips pressed together and her head shaking back and forth.

I wanted to ask her how she knew what an 80s porn looked like, but Sawyer walked out of the bathroom right then and I didn’t think we were close enough yet for me to say the word “porn” in front of him. At least not while looking like a male porn star. That might have been overkill.

“Okay! Does everyone understand who is playing whom?” George asked, walking in front of us and going through the names again.

“I’m confused,” one resident said, raising his hand. “Why is Sandy in a cat woman outfit if she’s supposed to be hosting a dinner party?”

George crinkled his paper and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Yeah — this is confusing,” a few other residents chimed in until George had to go through and explain the scenario again to everyone.

“Pretend that everyone is in proper costume and that they aren’t your friends. They are now characters in a murder mystery.”

While George rambled on, Sawyer leaned closer to me and pulled the pipe out of his mouth. “I think you should wear a mustache all the time. It looks really good,” he joked with a sly smile.

I stared straight ahead. Sawyer is joking with you. Be funny. Be funny or so help me.

I stroked the fake hair above my lip and turned to him. “That monocle doesn’t look so bad either.”

“How long did it take you to grow that cool ‘stache?” he asked.

“About ten seconds,” I joked. “What’s in the pipe?”

“Just some manly tobacco or something,” he said, repositioning his monocle so that it wasn’t poking him in the eye.

We were joking, right? So why did it actually feel like we were flirting with each other?

“Are you the murderer?” I asked with a smile.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Wow, Detective, you’re really straight forward. There hasn’t even been a murder yet.”

Oh right, I’d forgotten how the game actually worked. Maybe I should have been paying attention to George after all.

“Okay!” George said, clapping his hands and walking over to the doorway of dining hall. “I’m going to flip this light switch and then the game will begin. Does everyone understand the rules?”

There were still a few murmurs in the crowd, and a few random words were thrown around, like “dentures” and “fiber”, clearly indicating the level of confusion felt throughout the room (were we all still on the same topic?), but George chose to ignore them and flipped the light switch anyway.

When the lights cut out, Sawyer’s hand brushed mine and I glanced over to try to see him in the darkness. There was no use; my eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet.

“This monocle doesn’t have night vision,” he whispered next to my ear.

I burst out laughing, ruining the seriousness of the scene.

“Get into your characters!” George bellowed across the room before flipping the light switch back on a moment later.

When he did, we found not one, but two bodies, lying on the ground.

The game had taken a dark turn.

Gwyneth Fitzgerald, aka Catwoman Sandy, was lying on the ground with her limbs artfully spread out around her. She’d been murdered and we were supposed to be concerned about that, but everyone was focused on the fact that a random audience member, Beatriz, was also lying on the ground, blinking her eyes and staring up at the ceiling.

“Uh, Beatriz?” I asked, stepping forward.

“What’s going on? Were there two murders? This is confusing,” Anne asked, glancing back and forth between the bodies.

George flew into action, practically fuming. “Beatriz, why are you lying on the ground? You aren’t supposed to be dead. You aren’t even a character in the game.”

Beatriz propped herself up on her elbows, her dyed red hair now sticking up all over the place.

“Oh, I was confused about the rules,” Beatriz began to explain in an old, scraggly voice. “I played a game once when there were random murders and then we had to guess—”

George cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Beatriz! This is not that game and there was only one murder tonight.”

“Stop trying to steal my thunder, Beatriz,” Sandy said, temporarily breaking her character.

Even in death, Sandy was a bully.

“People! Let’s focus. Beatriz, please take a seat and we’ll keep going as planned,” George said, dabbing the sweat from his forehead. He was losing control of his cast, and I could tell it was stressing him out. “Everyone take our your cue cards and read what you’re supposed to do first.”

I pulled out a note card that had a #1 printed at the top, and read the first instruction: Detective Maverick, you arrive on the scene after Hannah Fitzgerald calls you. Make sure you examine the body for clues.

I turned to Anne, Hannah Fitzgerald, and waited for her to read her cue card.

“Oh dear,” Anne began, with mock seriousness, as she read straight from the card. “Gwyneth Fitzgerald has been murdered in her own home during her own dinner party. We have to call the police!”

I had to bite my hand to keep from laughing while she read the words. But when Sawyer nudged me forward, I realized everyone was waiting for me to start reading from my card, considering I was the police.

“Don’t worry, I’ve arrived!” I said, only remembering that my character was supposed to have a thick Scottish accent after I started, so I quickly worked it in. “Don’t fret, lads and lassies. I’m here to solve the case!”

“I couldn’t understand any of that,” Sawyer said with a laugh.

“You didn’t sound Scottish, Ruby, you sounded like you were from the Middle East,” George said, rolling his eyes.

I pressed my mustache back into place and tried again.

“Heeelllooo evverryonnee, I’m Deteccttivvee Mavverriickkk.” I mostly, sounded like a drunk version of Shrek.

“Nope. No. Now you’re just talking really slow, Ruby,” George said, interrupting me. “Damnit, just scratch the accent all together!”

I shrugged and stepped forward to examine Sandy’s body. It was kind of awkward since she wasn’t actually a dead person and she was blinking up at me while I circled around her. Her character’s blonde wig was still on straight, a strand of pearls hung around her neck, and a big fake, diamond ring hung on her bony finger. Nothing seemed out of the place except for the fake knife lying directly next to her head with blood on it. At least, I thought it was blood. It smelled like ketchup. I pretended to be horrified either way.

“No!” I gasped, pulling out the gloves that I’d spied in my packet earlier and slipping them on so I could pick up the knife and hold it up for everyone. “She’s been stabbed to death!”

Everyone gasped and Sawyer even screamed “Nooooooooooo,” for emphasis. George applauded him for being committed to his character. I laughed until our eyes met, and then I quickly looked away like a nervous school girl. You’d think my badass detective outfit would have helped with my nerves. I really thought I was pulling off the mustache look rather well, but still, one look from Sawyer and I was like a shy three-year-old.

After I confirmed that there weren’t any more clues surrounding Sandy (Gwyneth), we all looked to George for our next piece of instruction. He shoved his hands into his argyle sweater and sighed. “You’re supposed to put together the clues and figure out where to go next.”

“Oh right,” I said, glancing back down at the knife in my gloved hand.

I frowned at my lack of intuition about where to go next. I wasn’t an actual detective, people.

“Is there a card that tells us where to go next?” Sawyer asked, stepping toward me and kneeling down so that I caught a whiff of his cologne. Let me tell you, it was not that cheap stuff that makes your nose fall off. It was light and masculine and it made me forget that we were in the middle of a nursing home.

“No! You have to think,” George replied, enunciating “think” like we were a couple of simpletons.

“Alright well, we have a knife, and…” my sentence trailed off as I realized I had nothing else to contribute.

“And where do you get knifes from?” George gestured in a circle with his arms, trying to get us to fill in the answer.

“The kitchen!” Sawyer and I yelled in unison, smiling at each other as we got to our feet.

“Okay, let’s go check the kitchen for clues,” I said to the other characters in the game.

“How about you two go check it out and we’ll all hang back here and search for more clues,” Anne suggested. I glanced toward her, trying to decide if she was being sly in trying to get Sawyer and I alone.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Sawyer said, looking toward me to lead the way.

I nodded silently, heading toward the kitchen, but not before looking back at Anne. The little devil winked at me.

Sawyer caught up to me as I exited the dining hall. “This is better,” he said. “They’d just slow us down anyway and we’re on the trail of a murder.”

I laughed. “A made-up murder.”

Sawyer guffawed. “You’re Detective Maverick. You’ve never had a case you couldn’t solve.”

I thought for a moment, wondering if I was going to shy away or if I was going to show him my true personality. I decided there was no point in trying to be cool. I was still wearing my mouse ears, after all, let’s not try to kid ourselves.

I stopped walking and turned to him, pointing toward his chest. “You’re damn right, and this one won’t be my first!”

Just before we pushed open the shiny, swinging door that led to the massive kitchen of Paradise Springs, Sawyer put his hand on my shoulder.

“I have a confession to make,” he said.

My heart rate picked up at his serious tone. Was he about to confess his love for me? Right here in the doorway to the kitchen with the smell of potato salad in the air?

I cleared my throat. “What do you have to confess?” I asked, purposely keeping my gaze on the metal door in front of us.

“I think I know who the murderer is,” he said.

“What? No! Don’t tell me,” I said, holding my hands up to my ears to block out his voice.

He laughed and reached over to pull my hands away. “I won’t tell you, and anyway, I don’t know for sure.”

“Maybe you should have been the detective,” I joked.

He thought for a second, narrowing one eye on me before announcing, “Nah. You make a cute detective.”

Cue internal breakdown. Sound the trumpets. Open the gates. He thought I was cute!

“Desserts going out!” a voice shouted behind me just as the metal door leading to the kitchen swung forward. I didn’t have time to move before the door slammed into me so hard that my face smashed into Sawyer’s chest and he had to reach forward and catch me.

“Oh no! Sorry! Sorry! I just hit you, didn’t I?” The cook was overly enthusiastic with his apologies, and Sawyer’s hands were a little too tight as he attempted to steady me.

“Are you okay?” Sawyer asked, bending low so that his eyes were level with mine. The entire situation was almost too endearing to handle.

I nodded, wishing he’d pull his hands away before I did something weird, like bend down and lick them.

“Your mustache is all crooked,” he said with a smile, reaching up to straighten it on my face. Oh great, his fingers just accidentally brushed my lips. I was practically salivating in the hallway with a random cook looking on.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? You really shouldn’t just stand behind that door. That’s a safety hazard,” the cook said, starting to ramble on like I was a complete idiot for idling behind a swinging metal door.

I shook my head clear of thoughts about sexing Sawyer in the hallway and turned to the chef.

“We were on our way into the kitchen for the murder mystery game,” I explained.

The chef glanced over our costumes, as if seeing them for the first time. Before that moment, he probably just thought I was a girl wearing a mouse ears, aviators, and a fake mustache for fun.

“Oh, right, right. You can go on in, just don’t get in anyone’s way,” he warned before stepping around us to deliver the platter of food that he was carrying.

I watched him walk away for another second before Sawyer pressed his hand to my lower back and gently nudged me forward.

“Let’s go, Detective,” he said.

The sounds coming from the kitchen made me assume that it was packed inside, but when we stepped in, it looked like most of the staff had gone home for the day, probably to celebrate Halloween with their families. The kitchen was large and industrial with clean, metal surfaces and a few oversized refrigerators. Along the back wall there was a massive assembly line of dishes being run through a machine to wash and dry them. A man stood at the very end overseeing the process. He nodded his head in greeting at us before going back to his task.

“Where should we look?” I asked, continuing to glance around the space. Shouldn’t the clue have been obvious considering we weren’t actual detectives and this was just a game? I wanted to ask one of the men in the kitchen, but the man had warned us to stay out of everyone’s way.

“You take that half,” Sawyer said, pointing toward the industrial washer. “And I’ll take this half.”

Before he could even finish his instructions, my eyes landed on a large knife block sitting in one corner of the kitchen. It held dozens of kitchen knives, but there was one slot notoriously empty at the very bottom of the block.

“Ah-hah!” I said, pointing toward it, at once proud of myself for being an actual sleuth, but also concerned that George had incorporated an actual knife into our murder mystery game.

“What is it?” Sawyer asked, his gaze following my outstretched finger.

I didn’t bother responding. I headed toward the knife block like a detective on the trail. Which I guess I actually was. Hah.

From across the kitchen I’d only seen the knife block and the empty slot, but as I stepped closer to the chromed surface, I noticed a folded note stuck beneath the heavy wooden block. I twisted around, unsure of whether or not the letter belonged to a staff member in the kitchen or if I had actually found another clue for the murder mystery game.

“Do you think we should touch it?” Sawyer asked from behind me. I jumped at his voice, not realizing how close he was to me. When I glanced over my shoulder, our mouths were only a few inches away from one another and my shoulder hit his chest.

“I think it’s our next clue,” I said, feeling more confident about it once I peered back around and saw that the handwriting on the front looked like George’s.

Sawyer reached forward and tilted the block back so that I could slide the letter out.

I read it aloud as Sawyer searched around the area for any more clues.

“Dear Mrs. Fitzgerald,

I am very busy with clients for the next few days, but I do have a few spare moments to help you update your will. However, I will need you to come down to my office at your earliest convenience, as you will need to sign off on the changes you requested in person.

Sincerely,

Jerry P. Lane, Esq. Office 113”

I flipped the note over, looking for more hints, but the back of the paper was blank.

“Who is Jerry P. Lane?” Sawyer asked, resting his hip against the chrome countertop after concluding his search for more clues. The letter was the only thing we had to go on.

“I don’t know, but he’s a lawyer and he was going to update Gwyneth’s will. Maybe the will had something to do with her murder.”

Sawyer’s lips split into a shit-eating grin. “Of course it does. I think every murder ever has had to do with a will.”

I laughed and shook my head, rereading the letter once more.

“Where should we go next?” I asked.

He thought for a moment. “We can either go back to the room and tell everyone what we found, or we can try and find office 113.”

Office 113. I liked that idea. It meant I got more alone time with Sawyer, and I also didn’t have to stare at Sandy in a Catwoman outfit any longer than necessary.

“Okay. George might have just meant the office at Paradise Springs, so we can head there,” I said.

Sawyer nodded and put his hand on my lower back again to guide me toward the kitchen door.

“We make a good team,” he said with a confident tone.

I tried to concentrate on walking through the door to the kitchen without having the metal chrome smack me in the face, but there was a question nagging me, and before I thought better of it, I decided to bring up the subject while I was feeling ballsy.

“So, Anne told me you and your girlfriend broke up?” The second the question was out, I instantly paled. Could I have asked that in a smoother way? Or should I have just kept my mouth shut? We weren’t on a date, or even hanging out as friends. No, instead we were walking around a nursing home solving a pretend murder. Oh wait, I’m sorry, retirement community.

Sawyer’s face twisted into a funny expression before he answered. “Does my grandma blab about my love life to everyone?”

“No! She’s not like, ‘Hey everyone, Sawyer is single and ready to mingle.’ She and I just talk a lot,” I shrugged, trying to play it cool.

Sawyer laughed. “Ah, well she always talks about you to me, so I figured it probably worked both ways.”

I smiled, imagining all of the insane things Anne probably told Sawyer about me.

“But yes, I’m single,” he added as we turned down the corridor that led to the main office for Paradise Springs. It would probably be locked since it was after hours, but maybe there was something waiting for us on the door. “What about you?”

My heart stopped. “Me?”

He nudged my shoulder, playfully. “Yeah, are you seeing anyone? My grandma never gives me any details when I ask about you.”

My heart stopped again. Am I dead?

“You ask Anne about me?”

“You’re really good at answering questions with more questions,” he laughed, his eyes locked on me for a moment before they drifted to something behind my head and his brows tugged together.

I spun around to see what he was looking at, and that’s when I saw a small piece of paper taped to a janitor’s closet. On it, someone had scribbled “Office 113”.

* * *

The hallway surrounding the janitor’s closet was dead quiet. The normal sounds that accompanied life at Paradise Springs were absent.

“Why does it feel like an actual murder has happened?” I asked, stepping up to the brass-handled door, suddenly too nervous to open it.

“Are you scared?” Sawyer asked, stepping beside me to reach for the handle so that our arms brushed together. Goosebumps bloomed across my skin as I nodded.

“A little. George is a bit out there, and I have no clue how serious he took this whole game,” I admitted. “I feel like something is going to jump out at me as soon as we open the door.”

Sawyer took a pretend puff of his pipe, studying the door. “I’ll check it out first then.”

His tone was confident, as if he was taking the game as seriously as I was.

“Step back, Detective,” he said, the slight upturn of his mouth pulling him out of character.

When he turned the handle and pulled open the door, the small space was pitch black. The scent of cleaning products and cardboard storage boxes stung my nostrils as he pulled the door open even wider.

I reached out to touch his shoulder just before he stepped inside. He turned to look back at me, his green eyes catching hold of mine.

“Be careful,” I mocked in the same tone a wife would use when she sent her husband off to war.

Sawyer dipped his head and stepped inside, his shoes hitting the tiled floor with a soft clap. He dipped out of site for a moment, and then his head popped back into view when he pulled the long cord to turn on the overhead light.

“Oh,” I sighed, a bit disappointed with the contents surrounding him.

Brooms and buckets and boxes were piled up high in the corner. Not a decaying dead body or a spooky ghost like I’d been anticipating.

Sawyer turned in a circle, inspecting his surroundings, before his eyes fell to something at his feet. He squatted down to grab it and I leaned forward, trying to see what it was. When he stood back up, he had a piece of silky material in one hand and what I recognized to be a tube of lipstick in the other. I reached forward for the tube, opening up the lid to see a bright red color. When I glanced back to Sawyer, he’d unfolded the silky material and was holding it between his thumb and pointer finger with both hands.

“Oh my god.”

It was a banana hammock, a bright yellow banana hammock, and when our eyes met on top of the material, we both completely lost it in a fit of hysterics.

“Don’t touch it! What if that isn’t even a clue and you’re just touching some random janitor’s underwear!” By that point I was practically on the ground laughing so hard. Sawyer instantly dropped the material and it fell the ground, still splayed out enough for me to read what was on the front: Sexy Thang. Yes it said “thang” as in “thing”, but with an A instead of a I. Oh boy, I really hoped it was a clue for our murder mystery game or I wouldn’t be able to make contact with any of the janitors for a few months at the very least.

“You still have your gloves on,” Sawyer pointed out. “You carry the underwear back and I’ll take the lipstick.”

I groaned, but reached down for the thong anyway.

“What if it belongs to George,” Sawyer asked, making the disturbing images playing in my mind even more disgusting than before.

“No! Stop,” I groaned, closing my eyes as if that would help.

Sawyer laughed, enjoying my misery far too much.

* * *

We were almost back to the room when Sawyer glanced over to me. “You never answered my question from earlier,” he pointed out.

“What question?” I asked, even though I knew what question he was referring to.

“Are you single? Or are you seeing someone?”

I blew out a puff of air and decided to give him a straight answer. “Single. Super single. I don’t think people get more single than me. Your grandmother is my best friend and the last person she tried to set me up with was forty years older than me and was getting fitted for dentures.”

Sawyer burst out laughing, forcing me to crack a smile. If I couldn’t laugh at my sorry excuse for a dating life, then who could? Oh right, everyone.

“Well, once you solve this case, you’ll have people banging down your door for dates.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Yeah, but no one will be able to understand my life as a detective. They’ll want to pin me down and force me to start a family. They won’t understand my craving to get out there and clean up the streets.”

Sawyer nodded. “Ah, yes. The life of a detective.”

“I didn’t choose the detective life. The detective life chose me.”

His smile widened. “Maybe when you get tired of the grind, you can come see me.”

We were skirting toward dangerous territory, and I wasn’t sure where our jokes ended and our true feelings began.

“You’re too young to wait for me. You deserve to have someone who can be there for you now,” I mocked with a serious tone.

“Don’t you tell me what I need,” Sawyer quipped.

I couldn’t keep it together after that. I cracked up and shook my head as we turned the corner into the dining hall.

“Finally!” George called.

“There you guys are,” Anne sang.

“We’ve been sitting here for an hour waiting for you guys,” Sandy groaned, still sitting on the floor, but looking less like a corpse than she had when we’d left.

Everyone was talking over one another as we walked in, clearly annoyed with how long we’d been gone.

“I’m sorry! We were on the trail and we couldn’t stop. But we found some clues,” I said, gesturing to Sawyer to lay them down on the table in the front of the room.

In a perfect row they all sat there together: the bloody knife, the letter from the lawyer about the will, the tube of red lipstick, and the awesomely out-of-place banana hammock.

“What? What is this thing on the end? It looks like a headband or something,” Anne said, reaching down to pick it up and already aiming it for her head.

“No!” I yelled, stepping forward to yank it out of her hand. “Anne, that goes on someone’s butt. It’s underwear.”

Her eyes grew two sizes as she realized her mistake. Sawyer couldn’t stop laughing for a solid minute.

“There’s still something missing,” I said as I strolled up and down the table, eyeing the evidence and mulling it all over in my head. Someone wanted Gwyneth dead so that they could reap the benefits of her will, but who? I ran through the evidence in my head again.

“Yeah, I have nothing,” I said, throwing up my hands in defeat and turning around to look around the room. No one else seemed to know what was going on either, and a part of me, a very big part, suspected that maybe George hadn’t actually made it so the case could be solved anyway. He probably just wanted to lead us on a wild goose chase to teach us the art of acting or some bullshit like that.

“Has she had that purse the whole time?” Sawyer asked, drawing my attention over to Sandy, aka Gwyneth, who was still sitting on the floor. Directly next to her there was a small brown leather purse. I’d noticed it earlier, but I hadn’t realized that it was part of the game. I thought she’d just brought her purse with her.

I glanced over to George to see his eyes light up, and I knew that Sawyer was on the right track.

“Get the purse!” I shouted dramatically. Sawyer grabbed it and flipped it open as I watched over his shoulder. The only thing inside was a small folded piece of paper. The contents of which were the final clue we needed to solve the mystery.

The letter inside of Gwyneth’s purse was short and straight to the point.

“Dear Mrs. Fitzgerald,

Per your request and signature, we’ve adjusted the funds in your will. Ms. Izzie Jenkins will now be the sole heir to your fortune effective immediately.

Sincerely,

Jerry P. Lane, Esq.”

“Oh my god! Gertie you are such a hussie! Or rather, your character is,” I said, pointing to the older woman who was wearing a sly smile. Our suspicions were confirmed even more when we saw that Gertie was wearing bright red lipstick in the exact shade that we’d found inside of the lawyer’s office, aka the janitor’s closet.

But still, the underwear didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the evidence.

Not until I ran through the character cards again inside of our packets.

Antonio Ricardo: Hannah Fitzpatrick’s lover. He’s a Latin underwear model currently between jobs.

“Latin underwear model!” I read aloud, watching as Sawyer connected the pieces at the precise moment I did. “They were in on it together!”

Gertie threw her head back dramatically and rested the back of her hand on her forehead like a bad soap opera actress. Her maid’s outfit only made her appearance even better.

“You have no proof!” Gertie protested with a dramatic flare. “Antonio is my lover, not Hannah’s and we’re going to run away together! There’s nothing you can do to stop us!”

“That’s what you think.”

I reached into my packet to pull out the very last item: a pair of plastic handcuffs. I circled one around Mr. Tennon’s wrist (Antonio Ricardo) and one around Gertie’s wrist (Izzie Jenkins).

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say, can and will be used against you in the court of law.” I paused and looked up at Sawyer. “Is that how it goes? I really want to sound like a detective.”

He laughed, pretending to puff on his pipe. “I honestly don’t know, but we solved the murder and I think it’s time to celebrate.”

* * *

After we took a group picture with big cheesy grins, everyone stuffed their props back into the packets and headed toward a table of refreshments set up along the back wall of the dining room. There was lemonade and coffee on one side and little finger sandwiches, cookies, and bite sized candy on the other.

I tossed a few things on my plate and then went to sit down, ravenous from all of my detective work.

I didn’t notice Sawyer approaching me until he sat down across from me at the table.

When I glanced up, he feigned shock. “You were a girl this entire time?!”

I laughed and shook my head as if he were ridiculous. Which he kind of was. “I know. It’s scary how well I can pull off looking like a dude.”

He winked and then took a bite of his cookie, and by bite, I mean he ate half the cookie and then wolfed down the other half immediately after. I would eat cookies like that too if I could have gotten away with it. Sandy would have called me a lesbian if I ate that quickly. Which made me think, Sandy probably didn’t even know the definition of a lesbian.

“So are you going to head to that party of yours soon, Sawyer?” Anne asked as she sat down on the empty seat beside me at the table.

I purposely kept my eyes trained on my plate while he answered. He would have seen the hope in my sad, non-aviatored eyes.

“Um, actually, I thought I’d hang out here for a little while longer. I wasn’t really looking forward to that party anyway.”

“Oh, is that right?” Anne asked with a curious tone. “I’m sure Ruby would love that.”

I cleared my throat, shoved half a cookie inside of my mouth, and then just shrugged as if I didn’t understand English and therefore couldn’t contribute to their conversation.

“I think I finally won Ruby over tonight. She avoided me like the plague for two years, but you bond really quickly with someone when you’re holding janitor’s underwear and hunting down murderers.”

I laughed and swallowed down a sip of lemonade before clarifying. “I thought they were janitor panties, but it turns out they’re just part of George’s collection.”

He grinned at that and took a bite of his tiny sandwich.

“Is that true, Ruby? Did you finally bond with Sawyer?”

The way she said the word “bond” made it sound like we were having weird cult sex together. So, I decided to play along.

“Yes, Anne, I bonded with your grandson. Does that make you happy?” I could tell from the mischief in her eyes that she had caught onto my sarcasm.

“Well, I’m really tired, so I’m going to head to bed, but you guys should bond for however long you want,” she quipped, pushing up out of her seat and kissing each of our heads before heading off toward the exit. The party wasn’t even close to ending, but Anne had probably had her fair share of Sandy and Gertie for the day. I can’t say I blamed her.

Sawyer caught my eye. “Were you just talking to my grandma about sex? It really felt like it, and I’m not sure if I need to go purge that from my memory or not.”

I laughed and kept the truth to myself, taking another sip of lemonade without answering his question.

The shrill ring of a microphone pulled my attention to the stage just as George began speaking to the crowd lingering around for refreshments.

“It’s time to start the next phase of our party,” he announced, taking off his thin glasses and placing them in the front pocket of his argyle vest. Oh no, shit was about to go down.

And boy, did it.

It started innocently enough, some music played over the loud speaker in the dining hall. Just a little jazz at first. A few couples started to stand up and slow dance, shifting their weight back and forth to the smooth beat. But then someone turned on a local radio station that played everything from rap to Taylor Swift.

That changed everything.

For the next hour, I was on official “grind-prevention” duty. As soon as Jay-Z started playing over the speaker system, the space between dance partners lessened more and more.

“Okay, alright, let’s leave room for Jesus and for Muhammad and for Buddha and whoever else we can shove in there,” I said, stepping between Mr. Tennon and Gertie. I’m all for bootie dancing, but I draw the line when Mr. Tennon started spanking her on the ass.

“So does your job mostly consist of preventing public intercourse?” Sawyer laughed as I joined him at the punch bowl.

I cracked up. “Yes, and I don’t even do a very good job of it,” I said.

Sawyer turned to me, pinning me to the spot with his green gaze. “Do you mean to tell me—”

His question drifted off as I started nodding my head. “Apparently sexual prowess peaks at around eighty-five,” I joked.

Sawyer tipped forward, holding his stomach as he laughed. “So we have a really long way to go then.”

I smiled with the edge of my mouth, surveying the sea of people around me. “A long way.” Just as I finished speaking, I saw Mr. Buchanan sit down at the piano.

“Oh no,” I murmured under my breath and turned to set my cup of punch on the table behind me.

“What’s wrong?” Sawyer asked, trying to follow the path of my gaze.

How do I explain this as quickly as possible?

“Do you see that man that just sat down at the piano?” I asked. Sawyer nodded. “Well, he’s lost all of his hearing. For some reason, within the last year, he’s gotten it in his head that he’s a piano prodigy.”

Sawyer nodded. “Is he any good?”

As if on cue, Mr. Buchanan pressed down on a couple of piano keys will all his might so that a loud “wompppppp” was heard over the rap music.

“Oh,” Sawyer said, seeming to find his own answer as Mr. Buchanan continued to thud awkwardly on the keys, creating a tune that made me want to claw my ears off.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to Sawyer before walking over to the piano and waving to get Mr. Buchanan’s attention.

He couldn’t read lips very well, so I spoke slowly and used my hands to help him figure out what I was saying. “Do you want to go dance with me?” That’s the only thing I could think of to get him away from the piano without hurting his feelings.

I had to ask him the same thing three times, eventually even reenacting a little waltz before it clicked for him. He beamed up at me, shut the lid of the piano and then reached out to lead me toward the dance floor. He held one of my hands confidently in his and then gently placed the other hand at my hip. I glanced up at his eyebrows, white, bushy, and overgrown, but beneath them there were crystal blue eyes with smile lines around them.

He led me around the dance floor at his own pace since he couldn’t hear the music anyway. It was kind of hilarious doing a waltz to a Nicky Manaj song, but Mr. Buchanan didn’t care, so neither did I.

Just as he was about to dip me down for our grand finale, I saw Sawyer approach us out of the corner of my eye.

He tapped Mr. Buchanan on the shoulder and then did the universal gesture for, “May I cut in?”

Mr. Buchanan nodded and handed me off with one last warm smile. Sawyer held me the same way Mr. Buchanan had, but he stood a little closer to me, his grip a little more warm and possessive.

“I’ll dance with you, but I’ll warn you, there’s no way you’ll be better than Mr. Buchanan,” I said with a smile.

As if to prove me wrong, Sawyer spun me out quickly and then twirled me back against his chest.

“Challenge accepted.”

* * *

An hour later, after some truly terrible dance moves and two more glasses of punch, we stood at my car, encased in the moonlight surrounding us. Usually I tried to get in my car as fast as possible after a late shift, but I wanted linger as long as possible with Sawyer.

“Thanks for helping me clean up,” I said with a small smile, trying not to look up into his eyes.

“Thanks for putting another murderer behind bars tonight, Detective.”

I laughed and glanced down at the cup of punch in my hand.

“Here’s to a night of getting to know each other, pulling apart gyrating geriatrics, and handling banana hammocks. I can’t say I would have wanted to do it with anyone else,” he said, holding out his cup of punch for a toast.

I laughed and clinked the lip of my cup with his before meeting his eye and taking a long sip.

“I liked that toast,” I said.

He smiled.

“Well I guess I should get going,” I replied, conscious of the awkwardness surrounding us.

“I have one last thing to ask you before you go,” he continued, taking a step closer.

“Oh?” I asked, tilting my head back to meet his eyes.

“Would you rather have me kiss you right now or when I come back to visit my grandma on Thursday? You get to pick.”

My heart kicked up a notch as his words sank in. I couldn’t believe how much had changed in the matter of a day. I’d had a crush on this man for two years. TWO LONG YEARS. And now he was just casually talking about kissing me.

I must have drifted into my own thoughts for a moment because Sawyer asked, “Is it that hard of a decision?”

I laughed and shook my head, letting my empty cup fall to the ground at my feet.

“Easiest decision I’ve ever made,” I said before lifting up onto my tiptoes and placing a kiss directly on his lips.

(And don’t worry, I picked my cup up later. I’m not a litter bug, jeez.)

END

About the Author

I am a lover of books, chocolate, reality TV, black labs, and cold weather. Seriously, if I had it my way I would be curled up on the couch with all of those things…Every day. I live in Texas where I spend my free time writing and reading. My favorite authors are Mindy Kaling & Jonathan Safran Foer. I’m a comedy geek and love all things ‘funny’. Women like Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Mindy Kaling are definitely the biggest inspirations for my writing, though I think my work tends to skew a bit smuttier than theirs.

Connect with RS. Grey

Website: www.RSGrey.com

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Other Books by R.S. Grey

Scoring Wilder

With This Heart

Behind His Lens

The Duet (Due out November 10th)

Mystery, Matzo Balls and Moxie

by Z.B. Heller

A mystery weekend gets steamy and stuffed… with food

*Warning: This story contains panty-melting sex and a woman who cannot contain her swearing. No matzo balls were harmed in the creation of this story.

Chapter 1

I sat in the teachers’ lounge of Montgomery Elementary School enjoying my hot cup of disastrous coffee. It tasted like what I imagine tar mixed with gravel would taste like. We needed to dethrone the school secretary, Mrs. Kramer, and lobby Dunkin Donuts to build a store in the school. Good coffee and tasty donuts every morning would make teaching more bearable. Especially when I had to deal with evil-spawn children on a daily basis.

I’d been teaching at the school since graduating college and had been upgraded this year to first grade instead of kindergarten. Okay, it wasn’t that much of an upgrade, but I didn’t think I could handle teaching fifth grade considering my math skills ended with simple addition and subtraction. And that was usually with the help of a calculator.

My name, Moxie Summers, meant determined or vigor. And I was determined… determined to drink something better than the battery acid Mrs. Kramer called coffee.

“Hey, Triple Titties. What’s up?” my best friend and co-worker Renee said as she entered the teachers’ lounge.

“Don’t be hating on the girls.” I motioned to my chest. “You’re just jealous because God didn’t bestow unto you the greatness of plump breasts, even though you have Miss America good looks.”

“Moxie, your breasts aren’t plump; they take up and entire football field.”

“Perfect. Better for guys to put their balls onto.” I laughed and took another sip of coffee.

Okay, so maybe my name should have meant bigmouthed and crass instead.

Yes, my breasts were big, but they balanced out my size sixteen frame. I thought Renee secretly admired my long red hair and the junk in my trunk. I loved my best friend, but if you blew air on her she’d tip over. However, Renee’s long brown hair, green eyes, and stick thin body weren’t exactly a deterrent for keeping men at bay. Renee and I met my first day teaching and we quickly became best friends. I was the only child and Renee was the closest thing I had to a sister. What other person would pretend to be your lesbian lover just to ward off nasty guys who were trying to hit on you? Renee was also a good yin to my yang as we balanced out each other’s personalities.

“And I wonder on a daily basis how Miles puts up with you.” She snickered while pouring herself a cup of crap coffee.

“The beautiful Adonis has no complaints when this Jewish princess rides him like a stallion.”

Renee rolled her eyes and joined me at the table. “It’s because you give him great head.”

“Well there’s that, too.” I smirked.

“I give the man a lot of credit. After emptying the contents of your stomach on him and asking him about hairy testicles, he still wanted to cuddle up to your Pound Puppy.”

Renee loved that I could conjure up different names for the female genitalia. Pound Puppy, cooch canoe, triangle of heaven, and my favorite, putang.

“Excuse me, but the tall hunk of Miles meat couldn’t resist my charm. Plus, I have a complete weakness for brown-haired, blue-eyed guys. It was meant to be that I upchucked on him. I was marking my territory.”

I did have a heavy thing for dark hair and light eyes. I dated a couple of blonds in my time and was freaked out when I saw the lack of pubes they had going on down south. I really lost it when I dated a fellow red head. I mean my drapes matched the color of my rug, but on a guy it just seemed wrong.

“I thought you peed on something to mark your territory.” Renee smiled.

“Listen, bitch, it was only the one time and the guy was about to run off with my new bike. I had to protect my property. Not to mention the fact I desperately had to piss, and it saved me from going up to my apartment.”

Renee took a sip of coffee and winced. “But your bike smelled like piss for weeks afterward. Who took a shit in the coffee maker this morning?”

“Mrs. Kramer and her fantastic barista skills.” I gave her a thumbs-up in jest.

“Does she not understand teachers need a healthy dose of caffeine if they are expected to deal with insubordinate students?”

“Put it on the list of gripes for the staff meeting.”

“Right,” Renee scoffed. “Like we’re allowed to say anything at those meetings. Not with the hoochie bitch Amber leading the meeting.”

“It’s like we have our own personal Stalin running the meetings.”

Amber was my elementary school arch nemesis. Scratch that. She was my life nemesis. The bleach blond, orange spray tan, hoebag tried to scheme and plot her way into breaking Miles and I up earlier this year. She used my insecurity about my weight to conspire her way into Miles’s bed. It didn’t work, and I am convinced the bleach she used on her hair must have seeped into her brain and destroyed the few brain cells she had left.

My phone buzzed on the table and I checked the caller ID. It was Ryan, my other best friend. Ryan and I became tight after I’d shamelessly hit on him at a New Year’s Eve party. I was smashed and could have blamed it on the alcohol, but I took a chance only to find out he preferred large sausages. Another beautiful man unobtainable to females because he played for the other team. It was a sad day for women everywhere.

“Hey, salami sucker.”

“Hey, beautiful Moxie girl.”

Ryan and I had a thing about insulting each other during our greeting. It was a sign of love rather than of malice. His voice had a sickening sweet tone he used only when it benefited him the most.

“What do you want?” I said with an edge to my voice.

“What? Can’t a guy compliment a beautiful lady?”

“Maybe if I had a big beautiful penis, then yes, I would believe you. But since I’m not a gay man, I would say the compliment means you want something, so spill.”

“You know me too well.” He sighed.

“It's a good thing your boyfriend and I put up with your shit, or you'd be left to die in a Michael Kors dressing room.”

“That isn’t a necessarily bad way to go. Although, it would be in the Top Shop dressing room, not Kors. Listen, I’ve got these tickets for a weekend getaway, and I wanted to invite you, Renee, and your respected loved ones to join Tom and me.”

“Amazing! Where to?”

“It’s a weekend at Sullivan Manor just over into the Wisconsin border. They do a mystery whodunit weekend over Halloween. We all get characters to play, and we have to solve a murder mystery.

I rolled my eyes at Renee as she scooted in closer so she could listen to Ryan’s end of the conversation. “A murder mystery… so it’s all right if I kill you for including me in this stupid idea.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! We’ll get new identities for the weekend and be all sleuthy.” Ryan whined like a two-year-old when he didn’t get his way.

“Is sleuthy even a word?”

“Probably not. But I need a break from the TV station, and so does my co-worker aka your boyfriend. Plus, it will give Tom the opportunity to bitch about someone else’s cleaning habits.”

“I’ll chat with Renee and get back to you. What’s the theme for the mystery anyway?”

“Murder at a High School Reunion.”

“Ryan, I hated high school the first time around. Why the hell would I want to relive it?”

“Just because you were the antisocial Goth girl in high school doesn’t mean you have to be one at the party.”

“I wasn’t Goth! I just wore a lot of black. It was slimming.” And with that I ended the call, making sure to press the end button with extra oomph.

I wish I could forever erase my time in high school. Memories of braces, perms, and Tommy Sullivan trying to get to second base behind the bleachers clouded my mind. I had been excited a boy was into me. Until I found out Steven Sanders bet him ten bucks and a Twinkie to touch my boobs. If he were smart he would have asked for the Ding Dongs and the Twinkies.

Renee looked at me with curious eyes.

“Ryan wants us to go to one of those murder mystery parties for Halloween.”

“I’ve always wanted to do one of those!” she said with a squeal.

It reminded me of an Orca whale and a feral cat, and I groaned.

“I guess it’s a whole weekend event at Sullivan’s Mansion in Wisconsin.”

“Oh, I hear it’s totally haunted.”

“I don’t think it’s haunted, but I’m still scared the shit of it. It’s Wisconsin for God sake.”

“Why is Wisconsin scary?”

“A state that has too many cows means someone has to slaughter them all, which means there are ghost cows mooing in the fields.”

Renee stared at me for a moment. “Did you talk to your therapist today?”

I flipped her off just before our principal, Mrs. James, came in.

“Good morning, girls. Where’s the coffee?”

“Mrs. James, since I think you’re the coolest principal out there, I’ll save you from drinking the sludge they consider coffee.”

“Mrs. Kramer made it again, didn’t she?” She sighed.

Both Renee and I nodded.

“Damn,” Mrs. James hissed. “The woman can organize files like no other, but when it comes to making coffee it’s like she dug up a dead body and ground it into a pot. Anyways, are both of you ready for the school Halloween party?”

I was not a fan of Halloween parties. I think it’s because I was traumatized by Rachael McCoy’s Halloween party in the third grade. She made everyone play this game where we had to stick our hands in bags that were labeled things like “brains” and “eyeballs,” when it was just food. I was caught eating the “intestines,” which were licorice rope. The other kids made fun of me for days after.

“Yeah, about that, Mrs. James. I feel like I’m coming down with typhoid fever. I might have to take a sick day.” I moaned and put my hand on my forehead for emphasis.

“Moxie, If you were on your death bed, I would still get you for the Halloween party even if I had to tape your body upright to a pole,” she said.

“But Mrs. James—” I whined.

“Moxie it’s the party or you’re on bus duty all winter.”

“Morning or afternoon shift?”

“Both.”

“You don’t play fair, Mrs. James, but”—I pointed my finger at her—“you’re a worthy opponent.”

“See you ladies later. I need to see about getting Starbucks delivered,” she said, walking out the door.

“See…” I turned back to Renee. “Even our fearless leader needs quality caffeine.”

“Again, good luck bringing that up in the staff meeting,” Renee said.

“I’m not afraid.” I stood and gathered my things. “Amber is like a monkey. I’m sure she’s used to shit being thrown at her.”

Chapter 2

I pulled up into Miles’s driveway about two hours after I left school. Miles moved out of the city a few months ago so his son Dilion could have more room to run around and “be a boy.” Miles had moved with Dilion from Maine after his wife was killed in a car accident two years ago. After I vomited on Miles at our unusual first meeting at the bar, I had been surprised to see Miles again, this time as the widower father of my new student Dilion. I went on to form a great relationship with Dilion who was much smarter than his seven years gave him credit for. The boy knew more than I did. Okay, sometimes a flea knew more than I did, so I supposed that wouldn’t be the best comparison.

I loathed driving from the city into the suburbs. Taking the train would be better, but then I’d be stuck without a car and places were too far apart to walk. The grocery store was a mile away, for crying out loud. That was like when my ancestors walked from Egypt to the Holy Land, forty days and forty nights. Therefore, I’d been stuck in traffic, looking at the guy in the car next over as he picked his teeth. I swore he picked his entire lunch out of there.

I pulled my house keys out of my purse and let myself in. Yes, I had my own set of keys to Miles’s house. After a night of hot sex, he presented me the keys and said I had all access to his dick anytime I wanted. After kneeing him in the nuts for that comment, he apologized by going out at three in the morning to buy Funky Monkey ice cream for me. Good man.

“Moxie!” Dilion ran up for a hug.

“Hey, bud, how was school?” I kissed the top of his floppy brown hair.

“Good, but Mrs. Washington didn’t believe me when I told her you consume one tenth of a calorie when you lick a stamp.”

“And did you do what I told you to do when Mrs. Washington disagrees with you?”

“Moxie…” Dilion whined. “I can’t throat punch a teacher. Plus she’s too tall.”

“Then take her knees out like Tanya Harding.”

“Who?” Dilion scrunched his face up in confusion.

“Never mind,” said a much deeper voice from the kitchen.

I bent down so only Dilion could hear me. “Next time, tell that crotchety old woman her breath smells like banana peels after being left out on the pavement on a hundred-degree day.”

He laughed and skipped back to the family room couch to resume his game on his tablet. I walked into the kitchen to see my beautiful Adonis chopping vegetables, and I snaked my arms around his waist. Miles was tall and sturdy. Not like a football player, but the man definitely had some muscle. I pressed at kiss to his back and he craned his neck sideways to look at me.

“Trying to corrupt the young one again, I hear,” he said with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

I unhooked my arms and popped a piece of red pepper from the cutting board into my mouth. “I’m teaching him how to defend his argument. He’ll need to learn how to do it when he joins the debate team in high school.

“I don’t think taking your opponent out by shattering their kneecaps is part of the debate team.” He put down the knife and turned to face me.

“I disagree. I was on the debate team in high school. Mike Cameron tried to defend his argument of whether they should put vending machines in the cafeteria.”

“And what was your defensive?”

“I argued that you shouldn’t pay girls to give you blow jobs in a bathroom during math.”

“Who won?”

“I can safely say, I had Cheetos and a Snickers every day for lunch my sophomore year.”

“That’s my girl,” Miles said, embracing me.

I buried my head in his gray shirt, which was one of my favorites because it outlined his torso just enough to make me crave what was underneath. His cologne wafted into my nose, and I felt a tingle south in my Bermuda Triangle. Scent had always been a hot zone for me. Miles’s scent turned me on faster than a meth head running from an exploding lab.

I couldn’t help myself as cupped his massive cock. He was already halfway hard.

“Someone is happy I’m here.” I nuzzled my face in the crook of his neck. I loved that Miles was tall. His six-foot-four-inch frame easily encompassed me at five seven.

“He’s very happy you’re here. Maybe you should give him a kiss… with tongue.” He palmed his cock and gave me a wink.

I backed away and slapped his shoulder. “Your son is in the next room, you fiend.”

“Hasn’t exactly stopped you before. Remember the time Dilion and I were playing Wii, and you said you had a problem in the bathroom? If I recall, the problem was that my dick wasn’t inside you.”

“It was a problem. A very large and thick problem.” I winked. “What are we having for dinner, chef?”

“Stir-fry and rice.”

I reached for another pepper, stopped, and looked at Miles. “Oh God. That’s not that quinoa shit, is it?”

He laughed. “No, it’s regular white rice.”

“Oh, thank God! Quinoa is like eating gravel.”

I went to the cabinet and grabbed some plates to set the table. Being at Miles’s place felt like being home. As much as it sucked commuting into the city for work, it would be nice to actually live with the two boys I loved beyond words. It wasn’t the same as going home to an empty apartment and a vibrator that needed new batteries.

“I got a call from Ryan today. He’s invited us to a murder mystery getaway for Halloween weekend,” I said.

“He told me at the station today. I think it would be fun.”

“Seriously? How about instead of the getaway, I create my own mystery. I kidnap my obnoxious Girl Scout student Katie and have a trail of Thin Mints leading in different directions to throw people off.”

Katie had the perfect technique down for selling her Girl Scout cookies — blackmail. One might be surprised at how cunning a seven-year-old could be, but she knew what she was doing. One time I told her I wouldn’t buy any cookies, and her response was she would tell the other kids in class that I secretly ate chocolate behind my desk while they worked on their assignments. I’m convinced she is the child of the devil.

Miles looked up from the stir-fry. “It wouldn’t be a mystery, then. Everyone would know it’s you because of the trail of Thin Mint crumbs from your desk to the woods.”

Putting the final utensil on the table, I turned and put my hands on my hips. “Hey, murdering someone is hard work, and maybe I got hungry from exerting myself and nibbled on a couple of cookies.”

“Anyway, you can’t do it unless you want the entire Girl Scout troop coming after you with pitchforks and torches,” he added, taking a fork from the drawer and poking me lightly with it.

I started laughing. “I can see it now. They will lower Katie’s casket into the ground while singing “Kumbaya,” and instead of throwing flowers into the grave, they would throw assorted cookies.”

“As long as we get conjugal visits while you’re in jail for murder, I’m all good with the plan.”

“I’ll have to clear it with my prison wife. I don’t want to cheat on those bitches or else I’ll get shanked in the middle of the night.”

Dilion came into the kitchen holding a hand written sign which said: Will not eat vegetables. Hunger Strike in progress.

“Sticking it to the man again I see,” I said, pumping my fist in the air to show him my alliance.

“Dad buys stuff with GMOs in them, and I demand all organic vegetables and other products in this house.”

I looked to Miles. “Why can’t this kid be dumb as rocks and make fart jokes like other kids his age?”

“Because he insists on watching the Nightly News with Brian Williams instead of depleting his brain cells watching SpongeBob SquarePants.”

Dilion and I sat at the table while Miles brought over the stir-fry and rice from the stove. I loved it when we all ate together. It was a peaceful time where we shared the daily happenings of our lives. This meal was so unlike when I grew up. My stepmother would measure out my portions of food while my dad took his plate and eat in front of the television. Apparently Wheel of Fortune took precedent in our house.

“So, Dilion, any thoughts on what you’re going to be for Halloween this year?” Hoping he would choose something others understood. I heard last year he had to explain his Alexander Graham Bell costume to every house he went to.

“I was thinking either Gandhi or some other Nobel Prize winner.”

“What, Spiderman and Darth Vader costumes out of stock?” I asked.

“Everyone dresses up as those guys. I want to be something different.”

“But you’ll have to explain what you are to every house you go to.”

“No, I’ll just tell them I’ll break their knee caps if they don’t give me candy like you taught me.”

Miles froze with a fork full of stir fry and his eyes shifted to me. I gave him a cat-swallowed-the-carney smile.

“Kelly will have to take you trick-or-treating this year because Moxie and I are going away.”

“Yay! Aunt Kelly is awesome, and she lets me stay up late. Where are you guys going?” Dilion shot out of his seating and started bouncing up and down while clapping. I was a little disappointed he didn’t want Miles and I to take him. I wanted to see him dressed up and collecting candy from neighbors. Then I might have snuck some candy out of his bag when he wasn’t looking.

“We’ve been invited to a haunted mystery weekend,” Miles said.

“Aww man! I want to go to that.”

“Trust me, Dilion. If I could give you my spot, I would. But I don’t think you’ll look good in a red wig, and we would have to stuff pillows in your pants to make it look like you have my same butt,” I added.

“I’ve heard Dad say your butt looks bootylicious, whatever that means. Do you guys get to dress up?” Dilion asked.

“We all get parts to play for the weekend. So I think we have a dress up like our characters would dress,” Miles answered.

I raised my glass. “Well, here’s to hoping I get to play the school tramp.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Miles smiled as he clinked his glass with mine.

Chapter 3

It was the Friday before Halloween weekend and our getaway. But first, I had to survive the Halloween party at school with my students. Every Halloween the Girl Scouts put on a spooky carnival for the students and teachers to enjoy. The only thing spooky about this carnival was Mrs. Simmons, Katie’s mom. She was the head troop leader at the school and the PTO president which meant the Girl Scouts where taking over the school much like when the Nazis took over Germany. Trust me, there isn’t much of a difference between the two.

Mrs. Simmons was like Martha Stewart on speed. She was always perfectly dressed with her blond hair tied up in a twisty bun. Her makeup was flawless, her teeth were impeccably white, and she wore a rock the size of Russia on her wedding finger. Her husband did something with hedge funds or hedgehogs or something of that nature. Whatever the case, Mrs. Simmons had a lot of extra time on her hands to make my life a nightmare.

If matters weren’t bad enough, students and staff had to dress up for the event. Since I couldn’t put the dirty devil costume I wore for Miles to use, I came up with something family friendly. As a special nod to our classroom pet, Chloe, I decided to dress up as a bunny. It also helped that it was a low-cost costume, and I could use it again with a bow tie and be a Playboy bunny for Miles at another time. I wore a pink long sleeve shirt, bunny ears, and pink yoga pants with a puffy tail pinned to my ass.

I sat at my desk, checking my e-mail before the kids came in for the day, and saw I had something from Ryan.

To: Moxiebun86@ibsglobal.com

From: Rystheguy@ibsglobal.com

7:38 a.m. CST

Subject: Questionnaire

Hey Mox,

Here’s a questionnaire you need to fill out. The party host likes to give out characters that are similar to our own personalities. When we get there they will give us character information cards with everything we need to know. Sounds like fun, right? RIGHT?

Love,

The Always Fashionable BFF

Homework was involved with this weekend, and it irritated me even further. I wanted this weekend to be a show up, get drunk, get laid, and go home kind of weekend. Maybe get laid and then get drunk. I’d have to feel out my mood.

To: Rystheguy@ibsglobal.com

From: Moxiebun86@ibsglobal.com

8:03 a.m. CST

Subject: Can’t I go naked?

Stud Muffin,

There’s a scary idea.

Love,

The only one you can’t live without

I downloaded the attachment Ryan sent and figured I had some time before the kids came in. If Ryan wanted me to have fun, then that’s what I was going to do.

I read the first question: How would you describe your personality? Really? They needed my personality traits. I felt like I was applying for a job and they were checking to see if I played well with others. I thought it was time to make this questionnaire fun.

1. How would you describe your personality? I would say I’m a deep thinker. I spend most of my time reading The Economist and eating brie cheese. Some people might say I’m antisocial. But they wouldn’t know because I don’t talk to them. I have a sunny disposition, but then again, I never go out to see the sun since I’m agoraphobic.

2. What do you do for fun? I enjoy spelunking in dark caves. I find it extra exciting to find a bat so I can bite its head off like Ozzy Osbourne. However, I prefer the lighter colored bats. The darker ones taste a touch to gamey. I also enjoy cow tipping and betting on giraffes fighting each other to the death. I won five thousand dollars on Betty the giraffe. No one thought she had it in her, but I saw a special look in her eyes.

3. What is your favorite kind of food? Fava beans and a nice Chianti.

4. If you had to describe your worst enemy, who would it be? Wait, is this questionnaire from the government? I told those rat bastards I didn’t know anything about the release of monkeys from the medical testing facility. They’re watching me, aren’t they? I’ll have to check my phone for bugs. I will not fall over for the Man.

5. What is your favorite color? Chartreuse.

6. Who is your favorite actor or actress? The robot from Lost in Space. His talents were highly underused. How many places were the words “Danger, Will Robinson” appropriate. I tell you… many.

Kids started piling into the classroom as I sent back the e-mail and shut my laptop. All my students were dressed in a variety of outfits including feathers, sparkles, gory masks, and more.

“Okay, everyone put your stuff away and come to the meeting circle.”

I put my bunny ears on my head. I even went as far as painting my nose pink and drawing on whiskers. I was a very serious actress, and I dedicated myself to the role I was playing. But instead of carrots, I ate Twinkies for breakfast.

A few minutes later I sat down in my chair and scanned the room to make sure none of my students were goofing off by the cubbies. “Good Morning, everyone! Is everyone excited for the Halloween carnival?”

The kids screamed in their loudest voices. It’s a good thing I kept Tylenol in my desk drawer because sometimes those screeches were enough to give anyone a migraine.

“Why don’t we go around the circle and tell each other about our costumes?”

Olivia, who was dressed up as Cinderella, raised her hand.

“Yes, Olivia?” I said.

“Miss Summers, what kind of cat are you supposed to be?”

“I’m not a cat; I’m a bunny like Chloe, our class pet.”

“So does that mean you poop in a litter box, too?”

“Umm, no, Olivia. I use the potty like everyone else.”

Another boy, Ethan, pointed his finger at me. “You said potty!”

All the kids laughed like hyenas while I realized the next generation was completely screwed and had no chance for producing intelligent people. In an effort to change subject, I pointed at Quinn who was dressed in what looked like a woman’s suit.

“Quinn, what did you dress up as?”

“I’m the next president of the United States.”

Finally, someone with wonderful career aspirations. “That’s a great costume, Quinn. What would you do differently if you were president?”

“I would make sure my brother learns how to put the toilet seat down after he pees and learns how to aim his dingle berry.”

Another round of laughter filled the room and my dreams of having at least one intelligent student went out the window.

“Miss Summers, aren’t you going to ask me what I am?”

“Well, Katie, it looks like you’re a Girl Scout. Didn’t you want to dress up as something different for Halloween? You get to wear your uniform throughout the year.”

“Miss Summers, I’m not just a regular Girl Scout; I’m a Girl Scout Ambassador. That’s the highest Scout you can be. See, I’m wearing a khaki vest instead of my blue Daisy one.”“

“And how many cookies do you have to sell to become an Ambassador?”

Katie glared at me. “We do more than sell cookies, Miss Summers. We help old people like you walk across the street.”

At that point, I was wondering how to make a noose out of Katie’s Daisy apron and have her accidently trip into it when Mrs. James’s voice over the loud speaker interrupted my thoughts.

“Good morning, everyone. I hope everyone is excited for today’s festivities. We will all meet in the gym in ten minutes. Teachers please make sure all your students are accounted for and lunch money has been collected. I hope everyone has a spooktacular time.”

I rolled my eyes and told my kids to line up at the door so we could make a bathroom run before heading to the gym. I wasn’t sure why I even bothered. At least one student would swear they didn’t need to go, but then as soon as we’d get to our destination, they’d ask to go the bathroom.

After everyone’s potty and drink break, we shuffled into the gym, which has been transformed into a Halloween fun house. I prayed there weren’t going to be any clowns at this thing because I hated clowns. I was a true believer clowns had secret motives behind the creepy makeup. Seriously, who decided it was fun to be crammed in a tiny car with ten other clowns and a dog? I’ll bet there was a clown orgy happening in there.

My students were like rabid dogs trying to scatter in every direction. Luckily, I had some parent volunteers helping me out. We had the kids break into small groups so everyone would get a chance to see everything. I, however, just wanted to stand next to popcorn balls on the treat table. Now, if a guy’s balls tasted like popcorn, a lot more girls would spend some quality time down there.

“Well, well, Miss Summers, were you not able to fit into your Shamu costume this year?” Amber blew up her cheeks and waved her arms back and forth like a whale.

I moved away from my students so they couldn’t hear me. Amber was dressed as Malibu Barbie, which was completely appropriate considering the fact she looked like she was made of plastic.

“Amber I didn’t think anyone at the school ordered a sex doll. And if they did, I would highly suggest they ask for their money back. I’m guessing their dicks fall out of your pussy that’s been stretched out from overuse.”

The thought of Amber having sex at all was nauseating. It fit into the same category as knowing your parents or your siblings had sex. As far as you were concerned, they were all celibate and all their babies came from the stork. But in Amber’s case, any babies who came to her rose from the depths of hell.

“Tell me, Moxie, does Miles put an apple in your mouth instead of a ball gag since he’s fucking a pig?”

“Do the men who are with you wear a biohazard suit because your crotch is toxic?”

“Girls!”

The clicking of high heels announced Mrs. Simmons as she approached. “Thank you so much for making this carnival possible. I have gift baskets for all of you in the teachers’ lounge.”

“Wow, that’s so generous of you, Mrs. Simmons,” I said, plastering on a fake smile.

“Oh, it was the least I could do. I understand it’s Halloween, and you have so many yummy treats, I thought a nice basket of assorted Girl Scout cookies would complement that,” she said, clasping her hands together.

Well, at least the feral cats will have a hearty meal when I get home tonight. Shit, whom was I kidding? I’ll probably eat them all before I even get home. Damn voodoo Thin Mints. Amber gave me a tiny snarl and walked back with her group. I saw Renee standing by the inflatable bouncy house and steered my group in her direction.

“What they hell are you wearing?” I asked when I approached her. She was wearing a red dress, green and white knee-highs, and a red baseball cap.”

“I’m Strawberry Shortcake.”

“Umm, doesn’t Strawberry Shortcake have red hair and a big poufy hat?

“Do bunnies wear white Lulu Lemon yoga pants after Labor Day?

“Touché.”

“Are you ready for this weekend? I think it’s going to be a blast.” Renee grabbed my shoulders and shook me with excitement.

“If there are liquor and sex swings, I’m sure it will be fun.”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.

“Come on. Where is your sense of adventure? And we are not going to a swinger party.”

“Thank God! I don’t want to see Raj’s uncut earthworm.”

“The uncut earthworm of which you speak gives me multiple orgasms each night, thank you very much.”

I’ve always tried being a good friend by listening to Renee’s sexcapade details. However, she knew an uncircumcised penis completely creeped me out. She would tell me vividly grotesque stories about pulling on Raj’s foreskin during a blow job.

“Do you ever role play like you’re calling for computer help, and he’s the tech support in India?” I said with a sly grin.

“Moxie just because Raj is Indian does not mean he has perfected an Indian accent. Plus he lived with his family in London for so long his British accent is more predominate.”

“So do you role play you’re the queen and he’s your English butler?” I offered an amused grin.

“Fuck off! We’ll pick you guys up tonight at six thirty.”

“I’ll be waiting with bated breath. And I’ll make sure to pack my knife, rope, and candlestick.”

Renee chuckled as she walked away. I placed one hand on the bouncy house and crossed one foot over another. I had a feeling my weekend was going to be like the fun house at the carnival. Annoying and full of surprises.

Chapter 4

Renee and Raj pulled up to my apartment at precisely six thirty. God forbid Renee were a second late for this weekend’s festivities. She was probably worried the murder would happen without her there and she’d be clueless. I loved my best friend, but she was anal when it came to playing games and the rules.

A few weeks ago everyone was at Miles’s place for game night. It ended in Renee walking out because someone embezzled money in Monopoly. I tried to explain we were playing real life rules and that assholes at Boardwalk Place here knocking down the slums of Baltic Avenue and putting in million-dollar high rises. I could only imagine how serious Renee would be over this murder mystery game.

Miles was already at my place since he had to drop Dilion at his sister Kelly’s house, which was also in the city. Raj was driving his BMW S series, which was rather impressive. One of the things Raj and Renee had in common was his their love of cars and how they treated them like they were perfect children.

“Raj, you do understand we drive on the right side of the road, right?” I liked ribbing him since he grew up in England.

“Really?” he asked in a sexy British accent. “Someone might want to tell the cab drivers around here that.”

Have I mentioned another reason he and Renee got along so well? They’re both road Nazis. You were on your own if one of them saw you make a turn without your blinker on.

“Are you guys excited?” Renee turned and flashed and beauty queen smile.

“I can’t wait!” I said with too much zeal. There was only so much sarcasm I could throw at this weekend. But it was kind of fun just to annoy Renee because I loved how her nose crinkled up whenever she would get pissed.

“Moxie, don’t be a party pooper,” she chided.

Everyone in the car, including myself, laughed at Renee’s rebuttal.

We got out of the city and headed north to Wisconsin. The mansion wasn’t too far across the border, so the drive wasn’t long. Since it was Halloween weekend and Chicago traffic played a factor, we’d be lucky if we arrived next week. About a half hour into our drive, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from the man sitting next to me.

Hi.

I looked up from my phone and to the beautiful man next to me. He was focused on his phone and acted as if he hadn’t just texted the person sitting next to him.

You realize I’m sitting right next to you.

I saw a hint of a smile tug at his lips. Within seconds his fingers where flying over the keyboard of his phone. I didn’t think you wanted me announcing to the entire car that your tits look great in that shirt.

I smiled at him, but he was still focused on his phone. Miles was a filthy talker, and I loved every dirty word that slipped from his mouth.

I thought about not wearing a bra, but everyone would see my nipples. I knew the comment would get a rise out of him. He loved all aspects of my body, but my nipples had a special place in his heart… and dick.

He growled low under his breath and typed, If anyone else saw your nipples, I’d shove their eyeballs up their asses. Those beautiful buds are mine and mine alone to suck and bite.

I crossed my legs and shifted in my seat to relieve some of the sexual ache Miles was inflicting on me. But two could play at this game. You know, I love those jeans you have on, but I like them even more when they are wrapped around your ankles while I’m sucking you off.

Miles cleared his throat, shifted in his seat, and typed, I’m fucking pissed at you.

What??

Miles continued typing. You’re not wearing a skirt so I can’t slide my fingers under your panties and make you scream in the back of this car.

I pouted. The thought of Miles taking me in the back seat of a car was hot. However, I would have to take lessons from a contortionist because the space was so small.

Well, I’m pretty pissed at you, I typed.

Oh, really?

There is no room in this car for me to get on my knees and suck on your cock until your come slides down my throat.

Miles let out a strangled cough and now it was his turn to readjust himself. Well, wouldn’t that be the car’s fault, then?

Fuck off.

Miles’s eyes went from looking at his phone to scanning my body. He licked his bottom lip and returned to texting. Trust me, there is nothing I’m rather be doing in the back of this car besides having you straddled on my lap fucking the shit out of you.

I was about to text back something equally as filthy when I received text from Renee.

You two are awfully quite back there. Everything okay?

I snapped my head up, forgetting there were other people in the car. Yep. I’m just looking out for ghost cows.

She replied quickly, What are you doing back there? Giving Miles a silent hand job?

There is nothing silent when I give this man a hand job. He screams like a banshee.

Renee giggled in the front seat while she continued to text. Oh, nice Halloween tie in there.

A text from Miles interrupted our exchange. Who are you texting? I tell you I want to fuck you senseless, and you’re texting someone else.

It’s Renee asking if everything is okay.

Miles looked like I’d just killed his dog. I lost the text-off?

I shook my head and rolled my eyes at Mile’s overreaction. Renee was worried. I couldn’t let her think we stopped breathing, could I?

You’ve been a bad girl, Moxie. Do you know what I do to bad girls?

I sat up a little straighter, eager to read his response. Oh, do tell.

Just before Miles could send a return text, Renee screeched, “Eek, we’re here!”

Raj parked the car on the street in front of a beautiful Victorian mansion. Even though it was dark outside, there were spotlights showcasing its beauty. The siding was painted a pinkish peach color while the cornices where painted green and white. There was a large round turret and windows in all shapes and sizes.

We exited the car and grabbed our luggage from the trunk. Miles, being the stud he was, carried my bag up the stairs and placed it on the gorgeous wraparound porch.

“This is so exciting.” Renee bounced up and down while clapping her hands. You would have thought she was a kid in a candy store.

“Okay, can you tone it down about three notches? You’ll scare off the ghosts,” I said.

“Oh my God. Do you think it’s haunted?”

I rolled my eyes, walked past her, and rang the doorbell. Someone inside opened the door and greeted us with a generous smile.

“Hello, welcome. You’re our first guests! I’m Sean, the innkeeper and your host for this weekend.” He held his arms out wide as if he were going to hug us all at once.

Sean was somewhere in his early fifties with salt and pepper hair. He had brown welcoming eyes and a long face that reminded me of a horse. His jaw had a few days of gray stubble. Sean was tall and lanky, maybe two hundred pounds soaking wet.

“Please, come on in. Let me help you with those bags.” He took our bags and set them in the entry. “Like I said, you’re the first ones here. Let me get my wife, Marie, and we can do some introductions.”

This gave me a minute to look around the room. It looked like a florist had a bad case of the flu and vomited flowers all over the place. Everywhere I turned I saw flowers — on the wallpaper, the rugs, and in vases all over the room. Looking at it made me dizzy. Although if I did puke, I’m sure no one would notice since the perfume from the flowers would mask the stench perfectly.

“Wow,” Miles whispered to me. “This is very—”

“Art Deco?” I added as I looked around and took in all the intricate designs.

“I was going with mortuary.”

“Welcome, welcome, welcome.” A female trotted from another room into the entryway. “I’m Marie, Sean’s wife, and your hostess for the weekend. We are so excited to have you here for a murderistic weekend.”

Marie hugged each one as if she had known us for years. It felt awkward to have that kind of intimacy with someone you didn’t know. It kind of reminded me of when my Aunt Beatrice, who I hadn’t seen in ten years, hugged me and told me I’d developed into a beautiful woman.

I leaned into Renee and said, “Is murderistic a word?”

“I wouldn’t know, I only teach the fifth grade. I believe it’s a high school word.”

Marie was a short middle-aged woman, maybe five three with heels. She had mousy brown hair that was somewhat curly and brown eyes to match. Marie wore an apron over her red top and floral ankle length skirt. Great, more floral.

“Well, I’m Raj, this is my girlfriend, Renee, and our friends Miles and Moxie.”

Marie looked at me as if I’d just grown three heads. “Moxie? Well, isn’t that a usual name.”

“My parents were hippies and continually high. They thought they put Margaret on the birth certificate,” I replied. Miles bumped me with his hip, and I decided I could behave for a while.

“Well, let me show you to your rooms while we wait for the others to get here. One of the gentleman called, saying he was lost, so hopefully it won’t be too much longer,” Marie said.

“Was the gentleman named Ryan?” I asked.

“I wasn’t quite sure. Another gentleman was screaming at him, calling him obscenities, so I couldn’t quite hear.”

“That would be Ryan and Tom,” I confirmed.

Marie led us up a squeaky wooden staircase to the bedrooms. After depositing Raj and Renee at their room, she led Miles and I down the hall to ours. Marie opened a door that could have used some WD40 in its hinges. Miles walked into the room first and I followed. The room was a decent size, but held a small four poster bed. This posed as a problem, considering Miles said I were bed hogs.

The room was decorated in shades of deep crimson The wallpaper was scarlet with shiny red imprints of flowers. The carpet was also red, but instead of flowers, it had specks of gold woven in. The portraits on the wall were of people from the nineteenth century. I doubted they were relatives of the owners, but instead purchased at Frames R Us. Next to the bed there was an antique oil lamp, probably a replica.

“I’ll let you two get comfortable and unpack. Sean or I will alert you when the other guests arrive, and we’ll meet in the sitting room,” Marie said before closing the door behind her.

I turned to Miles to say something sarcastic about the room, but he grabbed me so fast it almost knocked the wind of out me. He scooped me up in his arms and walked us over to the bed were he proceeded to throw me onto the mattress. The mattress made a loud squeaking sound when I landed; it was probably as old as the house.

Miles hovered over me and braced his arms on each side of my head. I could feel some growth when his groin rubbed against me.

“Miles, there’s no need to be afraid. I’ll hold your hand during the scary parts,” I said with a sly smile.”

“Oh the only person who should be scared here is you. You were very naughty in the car and need a good spanking.”

“Whatever do you mean, Mr. Dane?” I tried to do my best southern belle impersonation, even pretending to fan myself for extra effect.

Miles rolled us over so I was on top of him. He gripped my ass in both hands and squeezed hard. But then he surprised me and slapped one of my ass cheeks. Maybe I should have been pissed, but holy hell, it was such a turn on. Before I could retaliate there was a knock on the door.

“Hey, Miles and Mox, we’re wanted in the sitting room,” Renee called.

I dropped my head into the crook of Miles’s neck and whined, “Can’t we just have sex all weekend? We can role-play. You be Hannibal Lector, and I’ll be the woman you want to eat… You can start with my pussy.”

Miles chuckled as he rolled out from under me and pulled me up from the bed. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, Miss Summers. I’ll get you, my pretty.”

“And my little pussy, too,” I cackled as we left the room to join the other guests.

Chapter 5

Miles and I walked down the wooden staircase met Ryan and Tom at the bottom. Ryan look devilishly handsome as always, reminding me of the time I hit on him and subsequently found out he was gay. The dark jeans and V-neck sweater did it for me every time. Tom had a few years on Ryan when it came to age and was starting to gray at the temples. He said Ryan was making him go gray from all the shit he caused, like leaving dirty dishes out on the table.

When Miles and I approached them, they were still amid the argument from the car.

“I told you we should have turned at Spruce Street, but you insisted on going straight. And now we’re late.” Tom huffed.

“I would never insist on anyone going straight,” Ryan said, winking.

“If you kept your damn hands out of my crotch then I could have paid attention to the damn road.”

“Right. ‘Please don’t give me a hand job’ said no man ever,” Ryan said in a mocking voice.

“I don’t like to do shit like that in the car. It makes a mess everywhere,” Tom continued to argue.

“Ah yes, how can I forget my OCD boyfriend and his frantic need to keep everything in order.”

Ryan turned to Miles and I. “I would have taken it in the mouth anyway.”

Miles coughed at Ryan’s statement. “Okay, then. On that happy note, let’s we meet Raj and Renee in the sitting room.

“Good, I need a drink.” Ryan sped past Miles and I into the sitting room.

I whispered close to Miles, “Seems like everything isn’t kosher under the rainbow.”

“Seems to be a love-hate relationship,” he said.

“Yeah, Ryan loves Tom, and Tom hates all the crumbs Ryan makes.” I laughed.

In the sitting room Sean and Marie served wine and appetizers, and my heart started to pound and I started to shake.

“Moxie, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, she’s fine,” Renee said. “When she gets into a room full of appetizers, she goes into a seizure-like state because she doesn’t know which one to try first.”

“It’s just so… overwhelming. Pigs in blankets, assorted cheese. Is that a relish tray? Get the defibrillator, stat!”

“We always said if we quit teaching, we would start a restaurant that only served appetizers. We’d call it Appiteasers,” Renee continued.

“Can you imagine? A restaurant that had jalapeño poppers, egg rolls, and spinach artichoke dip? It’s like an orgasmic smorgasbord,” I added.

The doorbell rang, and we all looked toward the entryway as Sean moved to open the door.

“Welcome!” Sean greeted the new guests. “You’re just in time to mingle.”

A woman missing ninety percent of her clothing and didn’t look a day over twelve walked in. She wore booty shorts, although they showed more booty then shorts. On top of her nice-sized breast she wore a Clash T-shirt under a leather motorcycle jacket. The outfit was completed by cowboy boots and a straw cowboy hat. She had, from what I could tell, dark brown hair that lightened to blond at the tips.

Next to her was, what I assumed, her date for the weekend. He looked like he’d just crawled out of the cradle too. He wore a wife-beater and jeans that sagged way past his ass. He was probably five eleven and wore a White Sox hat with the shiny MBL sticker firmly attached to the visor.

“I didn’t realize we were babysitting this weekend,” I whispered to Renee.

“If I ever have a daughter walk out of the house looking like that, I’ll shoot her.”

“It will be too late because I would have already shot you for raising a daughter like that. That would be something from my loins, not yours.”

I peeked at Miles to see if he was enjoying the bootyful view, but he was deeply engrossed in conversation with Raj about the Cubs. Good man I had there.

Sean walked over with our newest guest. “Everyone, I would like to introduce Destiny and Sam.”

All six of us waved to our new arrivals as the doorbell rang once again.

“That must be our last arrival, excuse me,” Sean said as he darted back to open the door.

Meanwhile Sam left Destiny’s side and sauntered up to me. “Hey, I’m Sam. And what is your name, fair maiden.”

I looked around to see if there was a girl dressed in a princess costume with one of those tall cone hats and streamers coming out. But Sam’s gaze was directed at me.

“I’m taken,” I said with a rush.

“I would only assume,” he said with a wink.

“My boyfriend Miles is over there talking with the British Indian guy. He’s very tall and fierce. Oh, and he’s territorial. Likes to mark me with pee and all,” I added. I usually didn’t get nervous around anyone, unless they were threatening to discontinue Snicker bars, but there was something about Sam that made my skin crawl. Maybe it was because he looked like he hadn’t washed his hair since the extinction of the dinosaurs.

“Mmm, kinky. I like it.”

“Umm, isn’t that you’re girlfriend.” I pointed to Destiny.

“We don’t use labels. We are always opened to new adventures,” he said, eyeing me as if I were a piece of prime rib and he were a lion.

“Yo, dipshit,” Destiny called to Sam. “Stop waving your dick around and help me get the bags upstairs.”

“Dipshit is her nickname for me,” he said, giving me a toothy grin. He did a full body scan of me before helping Destiny carry their stuff to their room.

Renee looked at me, “What was that?”

“That was an uncomfortable moment.”

“Kind of like when you have to take a crap and the only place around is McDonald’s? And then you plug up the toilet and don’t tell anyone because you’re utterly embarrassed?”

I turned to her. “Did that happen?”

“Totally hypothetical,” she replied.

“Well, howdy, y’all!”

Renee and I turned our attention to our newest arrivals. A stunning raven-haired beauty came prancing into the room. She was dressed in a cream, silk shirt that was buttoned low showing her ta-tas, which were too perky to be considered natural. This was paired with black straight-leg pants and fuck-me shoes. That wasn’t what caught my eye, though. This woman was dripping in jewels. I had to snap my mouth shut because my mouth hung open so big I could have caught hundreds flies in it. I seriously considered getting my sunglasses because all her bling was making my eyes hurt.

Walking in behind her was a white-haired man who had to be double, if not triple her age. He was dressed in a tweed sports coat, slacks, and white button down shirt. He too had a very interesting accessory: something that looked like a furball a cat threw up. The object moved in the man’s arms and let out a bark, which sounded more like a shriek. Fantastic!

“I’m Debbie and this is my husband, Bob.” Then Debbie reached toward Bob’s arms and pulled the rugrat into her arms. “And this is Ruby, our shih-poo.”

I will not comment, I will not comment, I chanted to myself. But Renee had it covered for me.

“What’s a shih-poo?” Renee tilted her head and scratched her chin in confusion.

“It’s a shih tzu poodle mix,” Debbie said with a very strong southern drawl.

“I thought that was something that happened after you eat a lot of Arby’s in on sitting,” I muttered to Renee.

Miles, Raj, and a now harmonious Tom and Ryan joined in our small gathering and offered introductions since I seemed to be focused on Debbie’s assortment of fine gems.

“Hi, I’m Miles. This is my girlfriend Moxie and our friend Renee, Raj, Tom, and Ryan.”

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet y’all.”

“I like your puppy,” I said, reaching to pet the ball of fur. But the crapper growled and bared its teeth.

“Oh, Ruby. Stop that nonsense,” Bob scolded from behind is wife and placed his hands on her shoulders. “He’s very sweet, just a little territorial when it comes to my Debbie.”

“You’ve got quite the southern drawl. I can’t imagine you’d be from anywhere around here,” Ryan said.

“Oh no.” Bob shook his head. “We’re from Dallas. I own several farms up in this area, and we heard about this adventure and thought it would be fun. It’s nice to get out amongst every day folk instead of dealing with the old fuddy-duddies of the cooperate world.”

Again, I leaned into Renee and whispered, “Do I make the joke about Debbie Does Dallas first or the one where Bob is an old fuddy-duddy?”

She elbowed me in the side and gave me a sideways dirty look. Sam and Destiny came down looking disheveled and joined the rest of the party. Sam entered the room and threw me a wink while adjusting himself. The thought of Sam and Destiny having a quickie upstairs was enough for me to toss up the appetizers I had eaten.

The group mingled for a bit, and I was able to get some information out of our new guests. Bob owned a large cattle ranch in Texas and sold a lot of cattle to dairy farms around the county, hence his business here in Wisconsin. Debbie was thirty-three years his junior and did charity work. Basically he needed some hot tail, and she needed his finances to fund her Liz Taylor Diamond collection. Apparently Rudy went everywhere they went, and I wondered if the dog even had legs because Debbie hadn’t put him down on the floor even once. At one point, Ruby and I had a stare down over the last pig in a blanket. I won because, frankly, I was human and could squash that piece of shih-poo with my toe.

And then there was Sam and Destiny. Destiny was a twenty-year-old exotic dancer studying to become a licensed masseuse. Sam was a twenty-three-year-old guy. He seemed to be lost and searching, which was a nice way of saying he was unemployed. When I asked what he was looking to do, he answered. “Grow weed.” Ding, ding, ding! I do believe we have a winner here folks.

Sean and Marie made it back into the sitting room with a cluster of paperwork. “First, Marie and I would like to thank everyone for joining us on this very mysterious Halloween weekend. We have the characters you will be playing in the murder mystery game. Each of you will get your identity and some background information about your characters. We will give you some time to become familiar with your characters before continuing. The theme for the mysterious murder weekend is High School Reunion.”

Oh. Dear. God. To say I hated high school would be a lie. I flat out loathed it. I was the chubby redhead with enough metal in my mouth to conduct electricity. The fact that I had to reenact any part of that time in my life caused a plethora of angst. A knot formed in my stomach and the room started to spin.

“I wish I’d known you in high school,” Miles said, looking at the mixture of emotions on my face.

“Why is that? Did you need someone to stand on your roof to get a better TV signal?”

“What?”

“I had a mouth full of braces and was teased constantly.”

“I was thinking more like stealing you away underneath the football bleachers and devouring you between your legs.”

I gave him a wry smile. “While it sounds nice, I wouldn’t have been able to return the favor. Unless you wanted your penis torn apart like paper going through a shredder.”

“Well, thank God for present day and straight teeth.” He chuckled.

“Moxie and Miles, here are your characters.” Sean handed each of us our packets. Characters were designed around the questionnaire you filled out.”

I opened the manila envelope and pulled out the contents. I was not surprised at what the paperwork revealed.

Your character for the high school murder mystery is… The Punk.

Chapter 6

I’m the fucking punk. I’m not surprised considering what I wrote in my questionnaire. I was totally assholish when filling it out. They probably figured I was aiming for the misfit of the group. Instead of being annoyed, I would embrace my inner punk. But there are different kinds of punk. Did I want to be the rocker punk and spike up my hair? Or the Goth chick in an all-black wardrobe? Wearing black was slimming. Each of our packets came with character descriptions, so I flipped through mine to decipher how I should make my character.

The Punk

Every high school had that one person who would not conform to the rules. You were the person who picked fights and made sure everyone in the room knew who you were. Your body was adorned with earrings, tattoos, and multi-colored hair. If anyone told you to do something, you did exactly the opposite. Your reason for attending the high school reunion? To make sure everyone still knew who you were and, after all the years that passed, you were still living a non-conforming lifestyle.

My translation of the description: Be an asshole. It was something I could manage. I strode over to Miles to get a peek at his character. My guess — the guy who everyone tried to get into every girls’ pants.

“So, what did you get? Strong, attractive teen with no acne and a constant raging boner?”

“Close enough; I got the high school jock.”

“Surprise, surprise,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“And you?”

I slouched and bowed my head. It was my own fault, considering I’d been such a pain in the ass I filled out that questionnaire.

“I got the school punk.”

Miles roared with laughter. “I’m shocked.”

I slugged Miles arm and he took a step back, covering his mouth to hide his continued laughter.

“Yeah, well that’s what happens when you fill out the questionnaire like a two-year-old.”

Raj and Renee walked over to us after they saw Miles laughing.

“So what about you two?” I uncrossed my arms and pointed to Renee.

“I’m the captain of the pom-pom squad!” Renee kicked a leg into the air a demonstrated fake cheer face.”

“I’m the bloody class president.” Raj huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

I snorted. “A bit of an overachiever, are we?”

“Why couldn’t I be the football star or something.” He threw his head back and sighed.

“For some reason I can’t see an Indian guy being the captain of the football team. Maybe the math team. Or the president of outsourcing.” I pretended to type into an imaginary computer.

“Bugger off. When said football, I was talking about what you Americans refer to a soccer.” He tried to look angry, but had difficulty hiding his smile.

I tuned back to Miles. “So, what does you’re description say?”

He handed me his card, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes when reading description.

The Jock

As the class jock you were well-known and liked by everyone in the school because of your good looks and athletic abilities. You had a string of relationships in your senior year, but ended up falling in love with the head cheerleader. The two of you married, and you got a full football scholarship to the college of your choice, but injured your knee during a game and lost your scholarship. You went through a deep depression and reconnected with the captain of the pom-pom squad from high school. The two of you had an affair, which your wife doesn’t know about. Since your knee injury, you attended a community college and now work as a Phys Ed. teacher at the same high school you were once a star at.

“Oh my God, you’re a manwhore!” I bent over, slapped my knee, and started laughing.

“I was not a manwhore. It was the depression and injury which lead me astray from my beloved wife. Who knows, maybe I was addicted to pain pills and thought I was sticking it in my wife instead of the pom-pom girl.”

“Eww! In my character description it said you and I had an affair.” Renee shivered and scrunched up her face as if she’d just tasted something sour.

“Excuse me, that’s my man you’re saying ‘eww’ about. That’s eight plus inches you’re shuddering over.”

“Aww, sweetness. Except it’s more like ten plus inches,” he said with a devilish grin.

“It’s about to become a one-inch nub if you don’t wipe that stupid smirk from your face,” I made a saw and cutting board motion with my hands.

Miles leaned into me and whispered in my ear, “But then how would I be able to satisfy that beautiful pussy of yours with only a nub?”

I smiled. “That’s why God gave you a tongue.”

“Saucy wench.” Miles smacked my ass.

“Excuse me, sex fiends. Can we get back to the game here?” Renee interrupted.

I heard arguing and turned to Ryan and Tom in the corner, waving their cards in each other’s faces.

“Uh oh, looks like I need to perform quality control,” I said to Miles.

I walked up to the sparring couple. “Hey, love birds, whatcha get?”

Tom huffed. “I got the chess and math club president, and Ryan got the newspaper editor.”

“So, what’s wrong with that?”

“Clearly, I’m more suited to work as an editor of the newspaper and I hate chess,” Tom said.

“Don’t you mean you hate chest… like boobs… you know, cause you’re gay?” I laughed.

Both Tom and Ryan looked at me with growing irritation.

“Okay, then. I’m butting out now. I’m going to hide in my hole now,” I said, slinking away.

“What has their jock straps in a bunch?” Renee stood next to me, pointing her chin in Ryan and Tom’s direction.

“A lover’s quarrel. One wanted to be homecoming queen and the other the beauty school dropout,” I said.

Renee giggled just as Sean clapped for our attention.

“I believe everyone has their character cards and had had a chance to review them. Why don’t we go around the room and say who our characters are and how they related to the murder. Bob, I believe we need to start with you.”

Bob looked at his card. “I’m Bob and I was the AV guy in high school. I went on to become a high-profile director. I’m the one being murdered.” Bob read the card without enthusiasm.

Renee and I couldn’t contain our chuckles. It was a slightly cliché that Bob was being the one murdered considering he was the oldest person in the room. Sean and Marie probably just looked at his age on the questionnaire and stereotyped him for the role.

“Great,” Sean did a fist pump into the air. “Now we can go one by one and say who we are and how we are connected to the director’s death. I’ll begin. My character was the hall monitor in high school. I give the instructions and lead you through the murder investigation.”

“So you have no connection to the death? I asked.

“Correct.”

“Then I say you did it,” I continued.

“Did what? The murder?”

“Yes. Isn’t it obvious? It’s the whole whoever smelled it, dealt it.”

“Umm, I’m confused,” Sean said with a look of puzzlement on his face.

“You say you had nothing to do it with it. In the Law and Order Special Crimes unit that automatically makes you a prime suspect.”

Sean looked nervous when I said this, which fascinated me since this was just a game. “No, I can assure you that I had nothing to do with this. Why don’t we move on to Marie’s character.”

Marie looked at her husband with big eyes and shifted from side to side. Perhaps the woman had too much caffeine before we got here.

“I’m Marie and I’m in the marching band. After high school, I started my own music studio and wrote and produced music in my spare time. My motive for the murder was providing a score of music to the director, but never got paid the royalties for the music she created.”

“Because the music probably sucked,” I said to Renee under my breath.

It was Debbie’s turn. “Hi again, y’all. I’m Debbie and I was the class drama queen. I was real popular in high school and was the lead in all the school plays. After high school, I moved to Los Angeles where I met ‘the director’ in hopes he would advance my career, but he didn’t, and I was forced to take a job as a porn star. I always blamed the director for my downfall.”

“Maybe if she spread her legs for the director, she wouldn’t be in that position.” Renee swatted my arm and gave me a low shush.

“Renee, why don’t you two go next,” Sean said.

Renee stood proudly, reading off her card. “I’m Renee and I was the captain of the pom-pom squad. I was so good that after high school, I went off to community college and became a famous choreographer. My relation to the murder is blackmail. That’s all I can say right now.”

Next was Destiny and Sam. Destiny smacked her gum as she spoke. “I’m Destiny and I was the head cheerleader and homecoming queen. But in high school I was best friends with the jock and ended up marrying him.

Destiny winked at Miles because she overheard him say he was the jock. I couldn’t help the eye roll. It was then Sam’s turn to take the floor.

“Wait,” Raj interrupted. “Isn’t being a cheerleader and a pom-pom girl the same thing?”

“Umm, not even close.” Renee put her hands on her hips and looked at Raj. “Cheerleading and pom-poms are two totally different things. Poms are more about dancing than cheering and Poms is less important.”

That comment prompted Destiny to throw dagger eyes at Renee.

“Yo, I’m Sam. My card says in high school I was the class flirt. I guess that’s right since I was a named that in my real high school.”

I leaned toward Renee and murmured, “He went to high school? I thought for sure he was born in a barn.”

“Maybe there was a school inside the barn. Something like Animal Farm?”

“What the fuck is Animal Farm?”

She looked at me as if I’d just asked the most absurd question.

“Animal Farm, by George Orwell. It’s a novel where the dictator pig takes over the farm.”

“Well, you got the pig part right.”

Sam continued. “Now I’m all grown up and shit. I own and run an online dating service. It says here… wait, what the fuck?”

“What’s wrong, babe?” Destiny asked.

“It says I was having a secret affair with the director, but now I have a thing with the newspaper guy.” He continued to look at the card and scratch is chin. “Who’s the newspaper guy?”

Ryan raised his hand proudly and smiled. “Looks like you were into all sorts of pants during high school.” He gave a wink at Sam.

I barked out a laugh, but quickly covered it up with a cough.

“Hey, I’m not into dudes,” Sam said, grabbing his junk as if to stake some masculine ground.

“It’s just a game, babe,” Destiny said, trying to comfort a displeased Sam.

“That’s perfect timing to introduce the next person. Ryan, will you tell us about your character?” Sean said.

“Sure. I’m Ryan and I was the head of the high school newspaper. Now I’m a top reporter for the Wall Street Journal, and I’m a big supporter of the class president because now he’s running for Congress.” He gave Raj a high five.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with the Wall Street Journal if it bit you in the ass,” Tom complained.

“We’ll you bit my ass this morning when you were trying to gain access to it, and it seems I know how to handle you,” Ryan retorted. “Why don’t you go next, sassy pants.

“Fine,” Tom moaned. “I was head of the math team in high school, and now I’m some big accountant. Even though I should have been the head of the newspaper, but you don’t always get want you want.”

“Especially when you whine like a bitch,” Ryan said under his breath.

Raj cut in before another Ryan and Tom argument occurred. “I’m Raj and I was the class president.”

“Stereotype,” I said, trying to hide it in a cough. Miles nudged my arm and gave me the naughty look, but Raj smiled at me, understanding I was just joking around.

“After high school, I studied political science and now I’m running for Congress. Apparently, I asked the director for financial backing and he flaked on me.”

“He’s a dickweed,” I said.

“What’s a dickweed?” Renee asked.

“A dickweed in someone who is a total dick and continues to be a dick like a growing weed,” I said.

“Well, that certainly clears things up.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

Miles and I told the rest of the group what our cards said. Ryan couldn’t contain his laughter when he found out my role was the school punk. I don’t think he’ll still be laughing when this class punk gives him a big atomic bomb size wedgie.

Sean interrupted our banter. “Now we know who everyone is, it’s time to play the game!”

Well, since I forced to be a part of these shenanigans, I was going to use my punk status to the fullest.

Chapter 7

Our character debriefing was only the first phase of the game. Sean gave Raj an envelope he was supposed to open and read to the group. I wasn’t quite sure why Raj was given the distinct honors, but Sean said he had to excuse himself to prepare for the next phase of the game. I suspected he was going to get some ketchup to throw on Bob to make it look like a real murder. I had to remind myself it was supposed to be a dead body and not a hamburger. Although, if you threw some lettuce and a pickle on there, Bob might turn out to be a tasty treat.

Raj opened the envelope and quickly looked over the contents.

“Because I was the class president and now a politician, it’s my job to tell you all about the next phase of the game.”

“Wait!” Sam called out. “Can I take a quick piss break before we’re lectured, Mr. President?”

“Can’t it wait?” Raj crossed his arms over his chest and started tapping his foot.

“Unless someone is playing the part of the school janitor and wants to clean up my piss from the floor, no it can’t.”

Sam sprinted out of the room and for some reason Destiny followed him out.

“Can he not pee without someone holding his dick for him?” I said to Miles.

“Maybe his dick is so huge he needs help holding it.”

“I’m going with the idea that his dick is so small, he needs someone’s help trying to find it,” I countered.

Ten minutes passed and Destiny returned to the room, looking disheveled, and Sam followed, looking sated. I had no doubt they took the time in the middle of the game to go play their own game of how far can Sam stick his cock into Destiny’s mouth. Even the thought of that made me want to toss my cookies.

“Now that you’re finished in the loo, may I continue?” Raj asked, sighing heavily.

“Carry on, Mr. President,” Sam said while readjusting himself.

Raj shook his head and started reading what was in the letter, opened the envelope, and removed the paper inside. “It’s been twenty years since we graduated high school, and we’ve all have come a long way.”

“Do you come a long way?” Sam snickered at his crude joke.

I groaned. “Who invited the ten-year-old?”

“You’re just jealous because your man can’t shoot like a pro,” Destiny said as she tried defending Sam’s honor.

Oh, that’s how she was going to play it? The punk in me certainly couldn’t let that one slide. “It’s true. I don’t like to wash my hair with come shampoo just because my man overshoots his mark.”

Renee laughed and Ryan snapped is fingers in an oh no, she didn’t style.

“If you two cats are finished, put your claws away so I can finish,” Raj said.

I crossed my arms over my chest, and I could have sworn Destiny stuck out her tongue. Apparently someone invited a ten-year-old boy and girl to the party.

Raj continued. “Among us tonight, we have everyone from a Hollywood director to an acclaimed accountant.”

“That should have been a newspaper reporter,” Tom mumbled.

“You put your claws away too, big man.” Raj said, speaking slowly to annunciate each word.

“As graduates, we have all chosen different paths, but they all started right here in high school. Throughout this mystery you can use bribery, extortion, blackmail, or whatever means necessary to find the guilty party. Good luck and may the force be with you.”

“It really says that?” Miles asked.

“No, I added it for dramatic effect,” Raj said.

And without warning the lights went out, stranding us in the dark. Miles grabbed my arm, and I felt mushy inside from his protectiveness. Either that or Sam was trying to cop a feel, in which case his arm would be detached from the rest of him when the lights came back on.

I room was lit once again, and Bob was lying on the floor with his tongue hanging out.

“Really, Bob? That’s the best dead body you can give us?” Debbie said in her southern twang.

Bob lifted his head and looked at her. “Being dead ain’t easy.”

“I’m sure it isn’t when your gold-digging wife drains you’re fortune away after you die,” I whispered to Miles.

“I’m sure she’s disappointed it wasn’t a real murder,” he replied.

Sean came back into the room and clapped his hands once to grab our attention. “As you can see, there has been a murder. The victim is your old classmate who was a famous director. At this time I ask for your full cooperation during this investigation. I have another envelope for each of you, containing information, evidence, and objects to help you conduct your investigation. Play the game wisely and make sure your secrets are not revealed. I will present evidence I have found in which everyone will get a chance to examine.”

Sean fumbled with a manila envelope, which I guessed contained the evidence. It’s probably what he was doing while Raj was preaching. He pulled out a few small cards.

“These are business cards found in the victim’s wallet. The cards are that of the accountant, the musician, the punk, and the actress.”

“Let me see my business card. Does it at least look good? Does it say Moxie the Punk? Or does it say Le Punk de Moxie?”

“It’s a blank card,” Renee said.

“I’m firing my graphic designer,” I said with irritation.

“There is an invoice for payment,” Sean continued. “It’s from the victim’s accountant, and it shows the victim owed the musician a great deal of money.”

“At least I’m doing my fucking job right,” Tom snarled.

“These pictures were handed over by the punk. She claims she’d been tracking the flirt on the victim’s behalf and discovered his affair with the editor of the newspaper.”

“I still don’t think I’d stick it in a dude,” Sam huffed and turned his back to the group like he was a small child having a tantrum.

“I have a feeling if it walks, you’d stick it in it,” I slapped him on the back like we were old buddies joking around with each other.

“Hey, I’ve got limits.”

“You’re right. House plants are an exception.”

Sean cut off our sparring. “Finally, there is the blackmail note that was provided by the musician. It was found earlier tonight. I will give you all a chance to look at all the evidence. Afterward, take all you have learned and think it over. The investigation will continue in the morning. I wish you all a good evening.”

I walked over to the table where Sean placed the note.

If you don’t do what I want, I will expose

your secret and your career will be over!

Really? That’s it? I was hoping it would say something like what we passed in junior high: Do you want me to bribe you? Circle yes, no, or maybe.

“This all has been very exciting, but I’m ready to hit the hay, or hit Sam, whatever comes first,” I told Renee.

“I’m with you. I have to go plot out all the evidence and post it on the wall, then take string and attach the clues together like they do in crime shows,” she said.

“Seriously?” I looked at her in amazement.

“Fuck no, I’m probably going to give Raj a blow job then go to bed.” She smiled like the Cheshire cat.

That plan sounded like something I could get on board with. I walked over to Miles who was taking to Ryan.

“Hey, are you ready to go to bed.” I gave him a wink.

“Yeah, I just need to talk to Ryan for a bit. I’ll meet you up there.”

I felt disappointed that Miles didn’t scoop me up and drag me up the stairs like Rhett Butler did in Gone with the Wind. Well, fiddledeedee.

I walked up the stairs while talking to Debbie, but not actually listening to anything she said, just ogling at the rocks wrapped around her fingers and neck. She had to have had an entire diamond mine plastered to her body. I caught some basic words of the conversation. Cows, charity, Bob’s prostate…

I was in luck as my room was the closer to the stairs then Debbie’s was and I could escape Debbie before I had to hear any more about Bob’s genitals. I was about to strip my clothes off when I noticed a piece of paper on the bed and I picked it up.

In the kitchen you will find a desert that is so fine.

Something that will make your mouth water.

And it has nothing to do with this high school alma-mater.

Your clue awaits at 1:30 a.m. in the kitchen.

I rolled my eyes and put the note in the drawer of the side table. Sean was going to taste my shoe after I stuck it so far up is ass for this stunt. Really? One thirty in the fucking morning? I would have completely ignored this except for one thing: I was in it to win it.

Chapter 8

At about one thirty in the morning, my phone alarm vibrated, waking me so I could follow through on the mystery note. I had a serious bone to pick with Sean for pulling this stunt. Maybe I’d slip some milk of magnesia in his oatmeal. I peered at the other side of the bed to a sleeping Miles. I could have roused him for a quickie before I trotted downstairs. But I was out to win this game, so I didn’t share my secret clue.

I slid out of bed and put my bra, shirt, and sweatpants on. No need to scare the house ghost I was sure haunted the place because of my jiggling triple D love mounds. I supposed if it came down to it, I could always use them as weapons. Sometimes they felt like heavy boulders. I padded my way across the dark room and made sure the bedroom door didn’t squeak. The creaking stairs proved to be another feat. I took one step at a time, cringing if the steps made a popping noise. I finally hit the bottom of the stairs and glanced back up to see if I woke anyone up using my stealthy ninja techniques.

The house was dark and I made a mental note to talk to Marie about getting some night lights in place before they got sued by someone breaking their neck. However, that would make the murder mystery game more authentic if someone actually kicked the bucket. I looked at the note again to remind myself of my task.

Obviously, I was supposed to head to the kitchen for something. Maybe I’d be surprised with cupcakes with cream cheese frosting! I shook my head to clear my thoughts. Focus! I looked around for the kitchen. When I found it, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and I was thoroughly disappointed my fantasy cupcakes were not waiting for me. I looked on the granite countertops for any notes left behind. I even searched through the cabinets. I huffed in frustration because I could have been sleeping in my warm bed next to my man meat, but instead I was chasing an empty clue.

“Find what you’re looking for?” a deep voice said from behind me.

A deep voice I was well acquainted with. A deep voice that usually whispered dirty things in my ears.

“Don’t turn around. I like the view from behind,” he said.

“I’m supposed to be searching for a clue for this stupid ass game,” I waved my hands around the kitchen, then felt along the counter top to see if anything was there.

“There was a note left for you in our room?”

“Yes. I’m going to have a serious talk with Sean and Marie about their game tactics.”

“Maybe they didn’t write the note.”

“Oh, then who did?”

I heard him move behind me, and he brushed my hair over my shoulder. He blew a small breath across my bare neck, making my body shiver.

“Maybe it was the house ghost.”

“You mean the house ghost with an impressively large cock that’s hard and pressing into my ass?”

“Perhaps,” he whispered.

Oh, the whispering! It sent electricity straight to my Bermuda Triangle. He wrapped his large hands around my abdomen and slid them under the hem of my shirt. I sucked in a breath when his hands touched my skin. Slowly, he raised them until he was cupping my breasts.

“Why the fuck are you wearing a bra? Your tits should be available at all times.”

And in one solid motion he grabbed both cups of my bra and pulled them down, releasing my breasts from their confinement. He skillfully rolled my nipples with his fingers, giving them a small pinch. I cried out in both pleasure and pain.

“Shh, or I’ll have to grab one of those kitchen towels and gag your mouth.”

Oh, holy hell, I was going to explode like Slimer in Ghostbusters. All that would be left of me would be a puddle of orgasm on the floor. That would make interesting morning discussion.

He continued his onslaught of my body by moving his hands from my breasts down to the front of my sweatpants and slipping his hands inside.

“Let’s see how wet my sweetness is for me. If it isn’t slick enough, I might have to use my tongue.”

Christ on a cracker. The man was going to kill me with his dirty mouth. My tombstone would read: Here lies Moxie. She was killed by dirty words. She didn’t stand a chance. God help her soul.

Two thick fingers slid inside me, searching for the answer to his question.

“Ah, you are wet. But you could always use some more slickness.”

With urgency he pulled my sweatpants and panties down to my ankles, leaving me exposed to the cool air.

“Bend forward, grab the counter, and spread.”

I followed his instructions, bending at the waist and gripping the granite as if my life depended on it. Miles went down on his knees and pulled my hips back to meet his mouth with urgency and fervor. His tongue delved into my core, sweeping across in my clit with every stroke. I panted as the pleasure built up in my gut. His hands gripped my hips so hard, I knew he would leave bruise marks. And I loved every second of it.

But then he stopped before I could find my release and moved back up my body. His mouth met my ear, and I could smell myself on his breath.

“I was going to let you come on my tongue, but I need to be inside you right now, or I’ll fall apart.”

My knees threatened to buckle at those words. I heard him pull his boxer briefs down releasing what I knew to be an impressive erection. He grabbed my sore hip and plunged deep inside of me, letting a pleading groan escape his lips.

“Oh God, sweetness, you’re so damn tight,” he grunted in a low tone.

I was swept away in the pleasure of the moment. His pace quickened and his breath became ragged. He reached around my waist to he could fondle my clit while to pounded into me.

“Moxie, I want you to fucking come for me.”

It only took those words to send me off the cliff. He moved the hand he was stroking me with up to cover my mouth and stifle my cries of pleasure. After a few more thrusts, he buried his head in my neck, biting the skin to quiet his own cries. After a few moments we both returned to earth and the present.

Through my ragged breathing, I said, “We could have done this upstairs in bed.”

Miles panted as well. “But where would be the mystery? That is the game right?”

“I think you’re using sex as a distraction technique so you can win the game.” I chuckled.

“No, I’m using sex because you’ve made my dick hard all night.”

“You mean the love affair with the head of the pom-poms squad wasn’t it doing it for you?” I said, poking his chest lightly.

“Nah, I always liked the misfits better. They were always more kinky.”

I turned around and placed a sweet but hard kiss on his lips. “This misfit is now sated, happy, and ready to go back to bed.”

I pulled my clothing back into place. Miles followed suit and grabbed my hand to lead me back upstairs. I reached our room and opened the door. When Miles had gotten up to come down stairs he had left a lamp on in the room so we could see our way back to the bed. But instead we saw Sam lay on our bed spread eagle naked as the day he was born. It was a horrific sight! He saw Miles and me and quickly grabbed the sheet to cover himself.

“What the fuck?” I yelled. “What the hell are you doing in my bed butt ass naked?”

“Didn’t Miles get the note?” His eyes widened and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“You wrote the note?” I said.

“Yeah. But he was supposed to get it so I could come in here and find you gloriously naked and horny.”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do with the note?” Miles asked, trying very hard to keep calm.

“You were supposed to go downstairs and look for clues. I figured you didn’t look very bright, so it would take you a while,” Sam said.

Miles and I looked at each other, I gave him a wink and a smirk. Without saying anything he knew exactly what I meant.

“You’re right, Sam, I must not be that bright. I’ll go back down and look for clues.” Miles took one more look at me and walked out of the room.

Sam looked pleasantly surprised with this turn of events and eyed me like I was dessert. I glided over to the bed, crawled on top, and swung my leg over Sam’s lower thighs.

I smirked at him and, in my most sultry voice, said, “You were right all along. I’ve been wanting you, bad.”

“Yeah?” Sam said with the same excitement as a dog waiting for a bone.”

“Yes. I’ve been waiting all night to do this,” I sat on my knees and flipped my hair, bringing on all the charm I could think off.

“Give me all you’ve got, baby.”

I smiled, balled my hand into a hard fist, and punched his groin.

He let out a high pitched yelp, grabbed his balls, and tried twisting his body to the side. Miles came back into the room and surveyed the damaged. He threw his hand in the air and gave me a high five. “Nicely done.”

I climbed off the bed and turned my attention back to Sam. “You have two seconds to get your bruised balls out of our room.”

He slithered out of the room, still clutching his balls.

“So much for his family jewels,” Miles said.

“Yup. He’ll be lucky if there are any family jewels left to sell on QVC after that punch.” I laughed.

Chapter 9

Morning arrived too quickly after our romp in the kitchen. I woke up alone and felt cold in the sheets. Miles had gotten up some time ago and was probably downstairs getting his coffee. I was sore all over my body, especially were Miles gripped my hips. But I loved feeling this way, taken by the man who stole my heart. And my vagina.

I took a quick shower and got ready for a day of sleuthing. I walked downstairs and heard fast conversation. Or was it crying? I hurried into the dining room and found Miles, Renee, Ryan, Bob, and a crying, distressed Debbie.

“What’s wrong?” I inquired.

Debbie tried to speak through her broken sobs. “My jewelry is missing.”

I thought back to last night and the impressive amount of jewelry she had on her body.

“How much was taken?”

“About one million dollars’ worth of jewelry,” Bob said as he tried to console his young bride.

I couldn’t stop my lower jaw from falling to the floor when he said one million. I tried to put it into perspective by thinking about how many cupcakes I could buy with a million dollars. That was how I equated things… money to food. And that was a shitload of cupcakes.

“Are you sure? You were wearing a lot of beautiful jewelry last night?” I asked when what I really wanted to say was, “Ho, you were drowning in diamonds last night, quit your bitching.”

“Why don’t we go for another look,” said Ryan. “I’ll even go up and help you to look. Sometimes having a third set of eyes helps.”

Debbie nodded and Ryan and Bob took her back upstairs to start searching. I looked at Miles and Renee who sat in silence, staring at their cups of coffee.

Renee shrugged. “I guess we have a new mystery on our hands.”

“Dammit. I was finally on board with this stupid murder mystery, although last night there could have resulted in a real dead body.”

“Excuse me?” Renee looked from Miles to me.

“I’ll let Miles share the lovely details while I go feed the creature who owns me: my stomach.”

I walked into the kitchen to get a helping of whatever Marie had made for breakfast. I was hoping for some pancakes, bacon and hash browns, but was sorely disappointed when all I spotted were a few Danishes and fruit. The Danish. What a disappointment when it came to breakfast pastries. Not as advanced as the croissant and not as fruity as a torte. Basically, it was just a damned outcast. Don’t even get me started on the cheese Danish. What a travesty.

Marie stood at the stove, rolling something in her hands. I walked over to see if maybe I’d get lucky, and we’d have pancakes after all. She quietly muttered to herself and nervously shifted back and forth on her feet. I decided that I would have to cut off her coffee immediately or search for the coke was sniffing.

“What are you making?”

Marie gasped and turned around, dropped a ball of dough and put her hand over her chest.

“Moxie, God you scared me.”

“I see you’re a little on edge there. You might want to tone down the caffeine or take a break from a meth addiction,” I said, chuckling.

She returned my joke with a small laugh, but turned around and continued her cooking.

“What are you making?” I asked.

“Um, dumplings.”

“Those aren’t dumplings. Those are matzo balls,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, matzo balls. They’re like dumplings but they are made from matzo meal and shaped into balls like the ones your making.”

“Those aren’t balls. They’re dumplings. Besides, they’re made with flour.”

I could see I was going to have to give Marie a lesson on Jewish culture. The matzo ball was an important part of Jewish food groups. It was sort of like the food pyramid. Except at the top of the pyramid was corned beef and pastrami, followed by chopped liver, pickled hearing, kugel, and then at the bottom was matzo balls. This diet was otherwise known as the constipation diet.

But before I could argue my case of the matzo ball any further, yelling erupted from the dining room. I quickly exited the kitchen to see what was happening, and wondered idly if I needed to get the pepper spray from my bag. When we were packing, Miles asked why I had packed pepper spray in my bag. I told him if the house was haunted, I wanted to be prepared. And like the good man he was, he rolled his eyes at my oddities and continued on his way.

“You took my jewels!” Debbie screamed at Sam, who was in nothing but his boxers.

“What jewels? What are you even talking about? Sam raised both arms in the air as if someone was pointing a gun at him. “I did no such thing! I just woke up.”

“Did you forget the rest of your clothes in our room?” I sneered.

“I slept on the couch,” Sam admitted

“Why was that?” Renee asked.

“Destiny kicked me out.”

Miles and I exchanged a silent agreement. We weren’t going to offer up the reason why Destiny might have kicked Sam out of the room. And like magic, Destiny appeared at the bottom of the steps with her bags.

“You trashy bitch! You stole my jewelry,” Debbie snarled and prowled up to Destiny.

“What the fuck are you bitching about, you beauty queen has-been.” Destiny got into Debbie’s personal space, and I swear she bared her teeth like a dog about to attack.

I realized two things were happening. First, the mystery was no longer about the high school reunion, but instead Debbie’s lost million dollar jewels. And second, things were about to get ugly real fast.

“You and your man-trash left the group yesterday so you could go into my room and steal my things.” Debbie’s hands were flailing as she spoke.

“Sugar lamb, calm down,” Bob said.

“I will not calm down. These two pieces of trash are thieves.”

“I don’t have to listen to this shit,” Sam seethed and stormed past the group into the kitchen. Debbie was right behind him, followed by the rest of us who wanted to see what was going to happen. Marie froze with a matzo ball in her hand, even if she wouldn’t admit it was one.

“Give me my things back or my husband will call the cops and take your nasty low-life asses to jail!” Debbie yelled.

“Who are you calling low-life asses, you gold-digging bitch.”

Before anyone else could react, Destiny grabbed a Danish and threw it right in Debbie’s face. Silence took over the room, but not for long.

“And you,” Destiny said, pointing to Sam. “You’re a fucking cheater and an asshole.” She threw another Danish at Sam. Like I said before, the Danish really gets the short end of the stick.

Sam slowly wiped away the cherry filling from his face. “If you weren’t such a cold bitch in the sack, I wouldn’t be looking to get some from Moxie.” Sam took the jug filled with orange juice and poured it over Destiny’s head.

“Asshole!” Destiny shouted. She wiped the orange juice from her face and turned to face me. I widened my eyes, thinking I was next to get a Danish in the face. I was truly hoping for the cherry as the cheese and I were not on speaking terms.

“You fat piece of lard,” Destiny said. “What would my boyfriend ever find attractive about you? You’re thighs are as big as a humpback whale. I’m surprised you haven’t crushed Miles’s head in between them.”

Miles quickly moved in front of me. He knew that comment would send me over the edge, and I wasn’t entirely sure if he was trying to protect me from a flying Danish or Destiny from my wrath.

I tapped Miles on the shoulder and said, “I’m okay. I’m not going to let it get to me.” Miles moved away, watching me the whole time. Tensions were high in the room, and I spoke quietly.

“I will not say anything I might end up regretting later.” I continued talking while walking over to where Marie was standing. She looked nervous as I fingered the counter and then turned around. “I don’t believe in belittling someone with hurtful words because I’m a bigger person than that.”

“I would be an emphasis on bigger,” Destiny said with a snort.

I continued. “There are better ways for me to express what I am feeling.”

“And what’s that? Eating your emotions?” Destiny retorted with a snotty laugh.

“No,” I said calmly. “With you eating my emotions.” With one swift move, I grabbed a matzo ball out of the pan nearby and pitched it right into Destiny’s face. The pieces of dough exploded on impact. But something that sparkled at impact, and everyone looked down at Destiny’s feet. Lying on the ground among the matzo ball dough was a diamond.

“Holy shit, “Renee whispered.

I quickly turned around and dug my hands in the dumpling on the counter. As I tore them open, one by one, pieces of Debbie’s jewelry came tumbling out.

“My jewelry!” Debbie squealed, running over to the counter. Marie made a sprint toward the door, but Tom and Raj blocked the way out. She was trapped with nowhere to run. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she mumbled something about foreclosure and unpaid credit card bills.

All of us watched a solicitous Marie, but when Sean burst into the kitchen, all eyes turned to him.

“What the hell happen?” he asked. It didn’t take long for him to spot the busted matzo ball and jewelry lying on the floor. He slowly looked from the floor to everyone else and then tried to reverse his entrance by slowly backing out of the room. Ryan and Miles both bolted toward Sean, grabbing him by his shirt.

“Someone call the police,” Renee exclaimed through her hand covering her mouth.

“I got it,” Bob said as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

Renee came to my side and patted my arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m completely amazed.”

“Yeah, this turned out to be crazy.”

“No, not about that.”

“Then what?”

“I am speechless because I want her recipe to make huge matzo balls that hide things. Think of the possibilities! I could be the first Jew to patent a matzo ball!”

Chapter 10

Renee and I stood on the front porch as two police officers handcuffed Marie and Sean and tucked them into a police cruiser. Debbie and Bob gave a third officer a statement of what had happened. Miles and Raj walked out of the house while speaking to a fourth officer.

“It looks like Sean and Marie had a large amount of credit card debt, and they were facing a foreclosure on their house as well,” the officer said.

“It explains why they were trying to steal Debbie’s jewelry,” Raj commented.

I slowly started clapping and all four heads turned to me. “It looks like we have a winner folks.”

“What are you talking about?” Renee asked.

“Of the mystery game. No one was murdered and it turned into a case of stolen jewels. If I’d known, I would have brought my Indiana Jones costume.”

“You have an Indiana Jones costume?” Raj asked while crossing his arms over his chest.

“Hey, don’t judge. What Miles and I do in the bedroom is none of your concern.”

Renee’s body shook with laughter. “What do you do? Dig around under the sheets in search of the Holy Grail?”

“Oh, I found the Holy Grail all right, and let me tell you, it is indeed quite holy.”

“Okay,” Miles broke in the conversation. “If we are all done talking about my golden treasure, we should see how the rest of the people are before making our way back into the city.”

The four of us walked back into the house where we met up with Ryan and Tom, who were arguing again. I wanted to put them in the circus and call their act “The Arguing Gays.” They obviously have a real talent for it lately.

“I said I would drive home.” Ryan said and shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You were born with a lead foot. The last thing you need is a ticket by the Wisconsin police. They would probably write a ticket on a block of cheese.”

“Better a lead foot then a lead dick.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tom growled.

“Does have a craving for popcorn, peanuts, or cotton candy while watching this,” I asked, waving my hands at their display.

As if this circus act wasn’t enough, Destiny and Sam poured out the kitchen with Sam groveling for forgiveness.

I supposed they were the clowns in this three-ring nightmare. All we needed were the freak shows, and I figured Debbie could fill that spot with her freakishly large diamonds swooping around her neck.

Debbie and Bob returned to the house after they’d finished their statement to the police. “I just want to thank y’all for helping me find my jewelry.”

“I suppose we all worked together in solving the mystery by causing a food fight,” Renee added.

“I still was curious if those matzo balls where sinkers or floaters.” I shook my head in disappointment.

“Excuse me.” Miles turned to me with curious eyes.

“That’s what makes or breaks a perfect matzo ball. If they are nice and light, they float up to the top in yummy goodness. If they stink to the bottom, there’s too much matzo and everyone gets constipated for a week.”

“I have something I would like to sink into you,” he whispered close to my ear.

“Seriously? You’re comparing your penis to a world class matzo ball?”

“Well they do have balls.” He laughed.

“True, but thankfully matzo balls aren’t furry, and they don’t leave little hairs in your throat after you eat them.” I returned the laughter, thinking about a similar joke the first time we met.

“Since this weekend was a bust, how about we go back into the city, find a scary movie to rent, and stuff ourselves with popcorn and ice cream,” Renee suggested.

“Do you think they make horror pornos?” I asked.

“Moxie, every porno is pretty scary in its own right,” she retorted.

“No, I mean like women with three boobs or men with elephant-sized penises.”

“We could rent Eyes Wide Shut with Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman.” Ryan joined the conversation by nudging my shoulder with his.

“Ryan, I said horror movie, not a downright ‘take razor blades and gouge your eyes out’ movie.”

We all went up the stairs to retrieve our belongings, but as we came back down, we all stopped in our tracks. Destiny and Sam were making out on the couch. The bile rose in my throat, but I squashed it down. I guess all was forgiven, and I was thoroughly happy to get Sam off my back. Although, I would have loved to give him one final nut punch for being such an ass. I figured if he continued to be with Destiny, that would be punishment enough.

Miles came over to my side. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we get back home and I can strip you down and have my wicked way with you.” I grabbed Miles by the front of his T-shirt and kissed his lips.

Our hazy love spell was broken when a scream rattled the walls. Miles, Renee, Raj, and I ran back up the steps to see what the commotion was about. The deafening screams came from Debbie and Bob’s room. I pushed my way into the room and sucked in a startled breath. There was Debbie with a bloody knife, and Bob’s lifeless body on the ground.

“Holy fuck!” I yelled, backing out of the room and into Miles. “Wh-wh-what happened?” I mumbled. Renee stood next to me with her hands over her mouth.

“Exactly what was supposed to happen,” Debbie said in a malicious tone. “The old asshole was supposed to be killed until you ruined everything with your fucking food fight. The idiot was having an affair, and all my money was at risk. This was my chance to off him and make it look like it was all part of the game. Do you understand what it’s like to have sex with this shriveled dick? It was deplorable and sickening. There wasn’t enough Viagra in the world to help his dick get hard.”

A gentle laugh came from somewhere in the room, and Bob’s dead body shook with mirth.

“Oh my God, he’s alive! Call 911… again!” I screamed.

“Alan,” Debbie groaned. “How are you supposed to be dead if you start giggling. Dead people don’t laugh, you moron.”

My eyes turned into large saucers as I looked from Debbie, who had completely lost her southern twang, to a not dead Bob… or Alan on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Sarah.” Bob, or was it Alan, sat up and laughed. “I lost in when you said the bit about Viagra.”

“Someone better explain this fast before I whip out my karate skills and beat everyone’s ass down,” I said.

Renee leaned into me. “Um, you don’t have any karate kills.”

“Shut it. I watch Walker, Texas Ranger with Chuck Norris.”

Debbie/Sarah walked over to Bob/Alan and helped him off the floor. “My name is Sarah Morgan and this is my husband Alan. We own the house.”

“Oh my God. I’ve stepped into One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” I flapped my arms while chiming out “cuckoo.”

“Things weren’t exactly supposed to go this way, but Alan had to brush up on his acting skills.”

“So you’re… actors?” Renee asked.

“Yes. This whole thing was a setup.” Sarah smiled as if she just won a Tony for best actress.

“What about Sean and Marie? They were taken away by the police?” Raj added.

“Actually, they’re down the block having a cup of coffee. Everyone was in the charade, including Sam and Destiny. They’re drama students at the local college.”

A minute or two passed before everything came pouring out like explosive diarrhea. “You’re fucking telling me we drove through Cowville, USA to stay in this Agatha Christie piece of shit house. And Sam, or whatever the hell his name is, was hitting on me for no reason, but to get your jollies off? To top it off the worse offense: A poor Danish had to die on my behalf! What about the matzo balls? Were they real? Or were they just store brand biscuit dough that had no special meaning to anyone but me?”

“Aww, what happened? Did she figure it out?” Ryan said with disappointment as he came into the room.

“You!” I turned ready to charge Ryan like a bull seeing red. “This was your stupid idea?”

“I thought it would be a great Halloween prank—”

Before he could finish what he was about to say, I charged him and we both went crashing to the ground. I hit him over and over, screeching something about dead Danishes and mythical matzo balls while Miles, Renee, and Raj tried to pull me off what would be a very dead Ryan if I had my way.

Later that night and many scratches on my arms later, Miles and I walked into his house. Dilion and Kelly where on the couch watching television. “Dad, Moxie! Your home early, I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

“We thought we’d come back early and spend time with you.” Miles picked up his son and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I was just going to tuck him into bed,” Kelly said as she stood up and turned off the television.

Dilion turned in Miles’s arms. “Moxie, will you read me a bedtime story?”

“Sure, bud. Go brush your teeth and I’ll be right in.” Miles put Dilion down, and he scurried off to get ready. Miles and I said our good-byes and thank-yous to Kelly for looking after Dilion.

“You okay?” Miles asked, rubbing the scratches on my arms.

I let out a small laugh. “I’m fine. Ryan fights like a girl.” Miles followed my laughter and kissed my arm and then kissed my lips.

“Get Dilion settled and then come to bed. Then I can show you my spooky ghost hiding under the sheets.” He winked as he took our bags to the bedroom.

I walked into Dilion’s room and found him already tucked in to his bed. “Moxie, tell me one of your stories.”

“Are you sure? This one could get scary.”

“Yes!”

I grabbed an extra blanket off Dilion’s bed and took the flashlight, which he kept on his nightstand. I turned off the light and covered my head with the blanket. Then I turned the flashlight on and pointed it to my face. Dilion giggled as he crept under the covers even more. I began my horror story.

“On a dark, spooky night. There was a beautiful woman who was in a graveyard. She was being followed by something very rare. It was something she’d only read of in books, and she didn’t believe it truly existed.”

Dilion peeked out from under his blanket. “What was it? Lost treasure? Someone who was killed?

“No. Something far worse.”

Dilion gasped.

I moved my eyes side to side, pretending to look if someone was listening, and then whispered, “It was the perfect matzo ball.”

THE END

About the Author

As a little girl it was always a dream for Z.B. Heller to become She-Ra Princess of Power. Since this dream was unobtainable, she spent what was probably way too long in college trying to "find herself". Becoming an artist scratched the creative itch until the stories in her head were getting to be too loud for her to get anything else accomplished. She lives in St. Louis with her husband, son and Flemish Giant rabbit, Chloe. In her spare time she likes to read, stalk celebrities on Twitter and create the type of art that people scratch their heads about.

Connect with Z.B. Heller

Website: www.zbhellerbooks.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/ZB-HELLER

Twitter: @zbheller

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7948170.Z_B_Heller

Email: zbhellerbooks@gmail.com

Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/2eRWL

Other books by Z.B. Heller

The Chronicles of Moxie

A Halloween Hook-Up

by Jennie Marts

Scary just got sexy

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my mom, Lee.

Thanks for all your help, guidance, love and support.

And for always being there. Love you Mom!

Chapter One

Jerry Finney blinked at the zombie blocking the sidewalk in front of him. He did not have time for this today.

He was running on empty as it was, having spent the last three days tracking down a thirteen-year-old runaway. He’d delivered the girl to her grateful parents around two that morning and grabbed a few hours of sleep before Mickey, his mutt, had nudged him awake, ready for their morning run.

A dark-haired dominatrix walked up to the zombie and handed it a carryout cup of coffee and a donut. The couple smiled and waved at Finn then moved down the sidewalk.

He hated Halloween.

He slugged back the last of own lukewarm coffee as he walked into the small strip mall that housed his private detective agency, Finney Investigations. As he absently perused the newspaper, the headline of a jewelry store heist caught his eye, and he prepared himself for the rash of calls he’d get today from concerned businesses looking for extra security details.

More business was always welcome. The sleepy, small town of Pleasant Valley didn’t have a huge ration of crime, but he did all right. Caught up in the chase to find the runaway girl, he’d missed an appointment with a new client the night before and needed to call and make amends. Maybe he’d offer to take the guy out to lunch. His empty stomach rumbled at the thought of a greasy cheeseburger and fries.

A flash of color caught his eye, and he sighed at the dark-haired woman standing in front of Finney Investigations. Just looking at her, he knew she brought trouble. Another thing he didn’t need today. Most days he’d be happy to start his morning with a woman at his door, but this one wore a flowing purple robe and a bright-colored scarf tied around her long hair. All she was missing was the pointed hat with a spider dangling from the edge.

Today was Halloween, but unfortunately she wasn’t in costume.

This was how she dressed every day. The color of her robe changed, but her style didn’t. She called herself Madame Zia, and she wasn’t a client; she was his neighbor and a certifiable kook.

Her office sat down the hall from his, her door declaring her a renowned psychic who offered to read palms and tarot cards. She claimed to offer enlightenment, but his experience with psychics taught him that the only thing they “lightened” was the wallet of anyone gullible enough to want their services.

They’d been office neighbors for close to a year now, but he didn’t think they’d ever spoken more than a few words as they’d passed in the hall. So why was she standing at his door, wringing her hands and looking like a 17th-century damsel in distress? Maybe someone had stolen her crystal ball.

“Can I help you with something?” He nodded at her outfit. “Aren’t you running late for Potions class at Hogwarts?”

She raised an eyebrow, revealing the deep green of her eyes. He’d never stood this close to her before, and damned if she wasn’t kind of pretty. “I’ve already taken Potions and mastered Magic 101.” She let out an annoyed sigh. “Not very original, Mr. Finney.”

Touché. At least she had a sense of humor. He nodded. “Call me Finn.”

“We seem to have a problem, Finn.” She pointed to the door of his office, which stood slightly ajar, the wooden molding splintered.

“Son of a bitch.” He moved to stand between her and the door, and tilted his head to peer through the open crack. “Did you call the cops?”

“No, I just got here. My door looks the same. I was getting ready to call the police when I noticed your office had been broken into as well, and then you walked in.”

He dropped the paper and the empty coffee cup and pushed her protectively behind him. “Stay here.” Instinct took over, and he reached for the gun strapped into the harness across his shoulder. Holding it in front of him, he nudged the door open with his foot and cautiously stepped inside.

His one-room office had been ransacked. Papers and files spilled off the desk and onto the floor. The painting on his wall now hung upside down. It looked as if a strong wind had swept the room.

The remains of a fast-food lunch were strewn around the overturned wastebasket, and a pool of soda soaked into the rug. His file cabinet drawers stood open and had obviously been searched.

“What the hell?” Plaster dust littered the floor, and he peered up to see one of his office chairs hanging upside down, one leg firmly embedded in the ceiling. “How did that get up there? Somebody must have been on drugs to do that.” He glanced around the room. “Whoever did this is gone now. It’s too messy to tell for sure, but I don’t see anything missing.”

He crossed to the big oak desk and tried the drawers. “My desk is still locked, and that’s where I keep anything of value.”

Hearing no response, he looked up only to realize he spoke to an empty room. Madame Zia had vanished.

* * *

Zia hurried down the hall to her office. Fear gripped her throat. She recognized the type of destruction in the private eye’s office. The presence of evil oozed from the walls, and she feared the same manifestation would be waiting for her.

She probably should have waited for Finn; he had the gun, after all. But no gun was going to help in this instance.

Besides, he acted like such a jerk. He didn’t even know her, and yet the first time they’d actually spoken, he’d mocked her clothes and made a joke at her expense. Who did he think he was?

The private eye had always been aloof, barely acknowledging her as they’d passed in the hall. She’d thought being next door to a private investigator might be exciting, but the times she’d walked by his office window and seen him inside, he’d always had his head bent over the computer, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose.

It seemed to her that the detective business was fairly boring, and so was the detective.

Although she had to admit a thrill had shot down her spine when he’d pushed her behind him and pulled out his gun. Standing so close to him, his strength had been evident by the way his muscles bulged as he drew his gun. And he smelled amazing.

She’d wanted to close her eyes and inhale his aftershave, the musky scent doing funny things to her insides. A small scar lay under his ear, and she’d been tempted to run her finger down the white line and then along his neck.

The boring, sandy-haired detective was younger than she’d first assumed, probably in his early thirties. Close to the same age, she wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of reading glasses. The ones he wore made him look older and hid a fairly handsome face.

She’d always been a little intrigued by him, but his stodgy demeanor and standoffish attitude had made attempts at getting to know him almost impossible.

Now she knew he hadn’t been worth the effort. Not only did he seem boring, but he acted stuck-up as well. Then what had her fantasizing about running her fingers along the scar on his neck and still smelling his scent?

His reaction to the office break-in had been the most excitement she’d seen in him since they’d met. But this was not the kind of excitement she needed in her life.

Her office contained more than just a workspace. It was her sanctuary. The place where she offered help to the needy and healing to the broken.

Her business meant everything to her. She’d worked hard to create a soothing environment filled with positive energy. It was decorated in jewel tones with a mystical motif, and the comfy furniture and a trickling fountain made her clients feel at ease. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with old spell books, candles, and baskets and jars holding crystals and herbs.

She eased open the door and gasped at the broken glass and destruction of the room. It looked like a tornado had spun through the room. She took in the bright red sprays of blood spattered across the gold-painted walls and let loose a scream of terror.

* * *

Finn rushed down the hall. The woman really was crazy. Still, he didn’t want her to get hurt. Who knew if the guy who did this was still around?

A blood-curdling scream filled the air. He reached for his gun and sprinted for the psychic’s door.

Zia crashed into him, throwing her arms around his waist. Her warm body trembled in his arms. “There’s blood. So much blood. Someone was murdered in my office.”

He gave her a reassuring squeeze then gently pushed her behind him as he cautiously approached her door. “Stay behind me. I’ll check it out.”

He’d seen his share of blood in his years as a cop, but his concern lay more in the worry that the perpetrator was still in there.

A single glance inside showed the chaos of the destroyed room. Glass had been shattered and books and trinkets lay scattered around the floor. But what he didn’t see was blood. Not a trace.

Chapter Two

Confused, Finn gently pulled the trembling woman into the room. “I don’t see anything. Show me where you saw the blood.”

Zia shook her head, a baffled expression on her face. “It’s gone now.”

“What do you mean it’s gone?” Now he really was starting to question this woman’s sanity. The room was a mess, but he didn’t see anything to suggest a murder. “Blood doesn’t just disappear.”

Zia hesitantly stepped further into the room and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, as if inhaling the atmosphere of the room. “Something terrible happened here. I can feel it. It feels like pure evil, and the color red is very strong.”

Oh brother. What a nut job. “Look, lady, I don’t know what kind of hocus-pocus you get up to in here, but I deal in facts. And the fact is, I don’t see any blood. I don’t feel anything evil, either. This was most likely a simple robbery, since both of our offices got hit. Somebody looking for some easy cash.”

“Oh, really? I thought you were a private investigator. You’re obviously not a very good one.”

He bristled at the insult. “What are you talking about? You don’t even know me or how I operate.”

“Whose fault is that?” she mumbled as she bent to pick up a broken plant that had spilled dirt onto her royal purple rug. She stood, the remains of a shattered pot in her hand. “You’re ignoring the clues. Signs that are right in front of you. The upside-down painting, the chair in the ceiling, the books all over the floor. If you opened your mind for one minute, you would see what’s really happening.”

Distracted by the stretch of bare-skinned leg that she exposed when she bent to retrieve the plant, he tried to refocus on what she’d said. Geez, what had gotten into him? Since when had he been attracted to great ankles? Or ever even noticed ankles? But hers were slim and delicate and had a thin silver chain looped around one.

Why was he letting a little glimpse of skin get to him? He cleared his throat. “I don’t think an upside-down painting is exactly what you’d call a clue. What is it you think I’m missing? If you have it all figured out, why don’t you tell me just what’s going on here, Madame Zia?”

“It’s obvious. Something evil happened here last night. My guess, from the amount of blood splattered around the room, would be a murder. And whoever was murdered is trying to send us a sign.”

What blood? How did she go from scattered files and spilled trash to a murder? “First of all, I don’t see any blood. And I don’t see any signs, except maybe one above your head that’s flashing ‘cuckoo.’”

She rolled her eyes and put a hand on her hip. “Really mature, Mr. Finney. The signs are all around us. This was obviously the work of a spirit trying to send us a message.”

Cuckoo? Change that to cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Was she nuts?

She moved to stand behind a long counter, an antique cash register on one end with a grouping of old glass jars next to it. One of the jars had been toppled over, and multicolored velvet bags had spilled across the counter.

She had righted the jar and begun scooping the bags back into it when a spooky sound filled the room. A low groan issued from the cabinet above her head, and her hand stopped in midair, a red velvet bag clutched in her palm.

Another groan, this one an eerie moan followed by a thumping. A shiver ran up Finn’s back, and he automatically held up his weapon. “Get back.”

Before he could stop her, she turned and opened the cabinet door. A streak of black flew out, and she screamed as it skidded across the counter and leapt to the floor.

Zia scooped a black cat into her arms and nuzzled the frightened animal against her. “Poor baby. It’s all right, Sam. Are you hurt?” She held the cat out, as if examining it for injuries.

A black cat? Seriously? “You really might be a witch,” he mumbled.

She whipped her head up, narrowing her eyes. “Did you just call me a bitch?”

“No, no. I said a witch.” He waited for the onslaught of criticism, but was instead rewarded with a grin.

“Oh, well in that case, thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, thank you for noticing. I am a witch. But not the kind you’re thinking. Not the hunched over, wart-covered crone casting evil curses, with a crow, and a bubbling black cauldron.” She shrugged, then grinned. A crooked grin filled with mischief and a naughty twinkle sparkled in her green eyes. “Well, wait, I guess I do have a black cauldron, but it’s a small one. And I don’t have any warts.”

“Is that why you wear that silly robe? Or are you going to sing in the church choir later?”

She looked down at the robe. “This is mostly for my customers. They expect me to dress the part.” She set the cat on the floor. “So, no, I’m not headed to Hogwarts or choir practice. But for the record, I do have a lovely singing voice.”

He watched her bend. The satiny robe displayed a hint of curves, and he imagined the feel of the satin in his hands. What was wrong with him? Maybe she’d cast a spell on him. A horn-dog spell. Why was he suddenly so intrigued by her robe and envisioning what else she had on under it? Or if she had anything on under it? She said she was a witch. Did she drop the robe to dance naked in the moonlight?

He cleared his throat and shook his head to clear the image of Zia naked in the moonlight. Or naked anywhere. “I don’t believe in all that nonsense. My job involves science and evidence. Not talking to ghosts and magic spells. In my job, I actually help people.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “So do I, Finn. That is the purpose of everything in this room. The herbs, the lotions, the crystals. It’s all to help people. I am a white witch, so I spend my energy on healing and helping my clients find peace.” She lifted a corner of the purple robe. “Even this outfit is a way to help my clients. It makes them feel at ease. Like they’re with a professional.”

Oh no. Don’t start thinking about that robe again. “How does your outfit and some fancy rocks help people?”

She shook her head and lowered her voice, as if speaking to a child. “There is a reason behind everything I do. To soothe. To protect. To heal. From reading tarot cards to simply listening is my way of giving comfort and aid. What I do helps my clients find peace or understanding. Do the services you provide offer your clients that?”

“Of course they do. Suspicions can lead to a lot of nasty outcomes, but knowledge is power. Having proof can offer my clients peace too. I don’t just deal with jealous spouses. My firm helps solve crimes, track down killers, and find missing or kidnapped kids. But we deal in evidence and substantiation of proof.”

She stepped closer and looked up at Finn, her voice now combative. “Of course you track down leads, but haven’t you ever heard of intuition or a cop having a gut feeling? Don’t put down what you know nothing about. Plenty of psychics have been used to help solve crimes or aid in police investigations.”

He tried not to look at the way her chest heaved as she argued her case. The zipper of her robe was open just enough to expose the pale crescent of the tops of her breasts as she leaned forward. His mind muddled at the lacy black fabric just visible under the robe, and he couldn’t think of a single argument to oppose what she’d just said. What had she just said?

His phone buzzed in his pocket, saving him from having to form a response.

The voice of his business partner, Jake Landon, sounded in his ear. “Hey, Finn. What’s on tap for today?”

“A little B&E, and I’m afraid we’re the ones who’ve been broken and entered.” Finn absently rubbed his whiskered chin as he spoke, and hoped he could find his spare razor in the mess of his office. “Somebody broke into our office last night and trashed the place.”

“You’re kidding. Have you called the cops?”

“Not yet. I just got here. They hit the office next door to ours as well. The one belonging to Madame Zia. I’m with her now.”

“The hot psychic?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Heat warmed his cheeks, and he snuck a glance at Zia to see if she’d heard the comment. Ignoring him, she’d turned back to the task of cleaning. “She thinks something evil happened here. She claims she can ‘feel’ it. In fact, she’s arguing that it was a spirit or a ghost that trashed our offices.”

“A ghost?”

He heard Jake chuckle, and muffled voices in the background. “Who are you with?”

“I’m over at Sunny’s house. Edna brought by her famous cinnamon rolls, and we’re drinking coffee and having second breakfast.”

Finn pictured Sunny, the woman in Jake’s life, with her round curves and curly blonde hair, and imagined just what Jake’d had for his first breakfast. Edna was Sunny’s eighty-something-year-old neighbor who thought her substantial viewing of television detective shows gave her the ability to solve actual crimes. “Don’t tell Sunny’s kooky neighbor about this. She’s probably got Ghostbusters on speed dial.”

Jake laughed. “Too late. Give us ten minutes. We’re headed over to the office now. All of us.”

“Great.” Finn looked over at Zia as he disconnected and shoved the phone back in his pocket. “I guess one more kook around here won’t hurt anything,” he mumbled. “She’ll probably fit right in.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jake arrived with Sunny and Edna in tow. Finn had called the police to report the break-ins, and was waiting for them to show.

He grasped Jake’s hand. “You didn’t have to come down, man. I could have handled this.”

Jake shrugged. “Are you kidding? I had to check this out. It’s not every day a spirit breaks in to your office.”

Sunny gave Finn a warm hug. Jake was a lucky man. That woman was a real catch. Always smiling, funny, and a great tush.

She offered him a mischievous smile. “We didn’t want to miss out on seeing the ghost. We would have been here sooner, except Edna had to get her Ghosthunters kit.” She gestured to her neighbor.

Edna had already stepped into Finn’s office, holding what looked like a checkout clerk’s scanner in front of her. She wore jeans, floral Wellingtons (Finn hoped that was because she had been gardening and not because she was afraid she might step in ghost droppings), and a black t-shirt with the words “DUDE! RUN!” emblazoned across the front. A canvas messenger bag was slung across her bony shoulders, and wires and cords protruded from either side.

“Seriously, Edna? What in the world is that?” Finn pointed to the gadget in Edna’s hand.

“This is an EMF meter. I got a voice recorder too in case we hear the spirit. They were a combo pack. I got ’em both for fifty dollars on eBay.”

“Well, I’m sure that was money well spent. What’s it supposed to do?”

Edna waved it slowly around the room, as if it was a metal detector and she was looking for lost coins. “It measures the electromagnetic fields in the room. It detects alternate current patterns and alerts us to the presence of spirits.”

Finn shook his head at Jake. “I think I’m gonna need some spirits. Of the liquid variety. Can it detect if there’s a spirit of scotch in the room?”

Edna waved the little meter near the chair hanging from the ceiling, and it went berserk, beeping and flashing lights like she’d just won the jackpot on a ghostly slot machine. Her eyes went wide, and she fumbled in her bag for the voice recorder. “Do you see that?” she called out, her voice taking on a breathy singsong quality. “Hello? Are you here? Can we help you?”

Sunny moved closer to Jake, her eyes as wide as Edna’s. “Is there really a ghost in here?” she whispered.

Finn rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Somebody’s cell phone probably rang and set that crazy doohickey off.”

“If there’s something crazy going on, I knew it would have to involve Edna,” a deep voice spoke from the doorway of the office, and the group turned to see Officer McCarthy of the Pleasant Valley Police Department standing there. “I got a call about a break-in.”

“Oh hi, Mac.” Edna waved sweetly, having met the officer several other times in her attempts at crime solving.

He nodded. “Hello, Edna. How’s your granddaughter?”

Edna laughed out loud. “Very smooth, Mac. Way to slip that right in there.” She turned to Finn. “Mac met my granddaughter, Zoey, this summer when she came here to dodge some reporters. She’s a key witness in a case, and he helped save her life. And he won’t admit it, but he’s also got a thing for her.” She pointed at the policemen. “I know she likes you too, so why don’t you just call her, you big lunkhead?”

The police officer ignored the rib and pulled a notepad from his pocket. He turned to Finn. “Why don’t you tell me what happened here? Did I hear something about a ghost?”

Chapter Three

Zia set the table upright and straightened the velvet cloth that sat atop it. She’d managed to put the majority of the room back together, and had lit a fat white candle for peace and protection. A bowl of sage burned on the table to cleanse the room of negative spiritual energy.

She’d rescheduled her clients for the day and taken off the purple robe. Underneath she wore a stretchy black top with lace trim and a red pencil skirt.

Picking up her EMF reader, she slowly scanned the room for any signs of disturbance or spectral beings.

A knock sounded on her office door and a parade of people entered the room, led by Finney. She was pleased to see the way his eyes popped when he took in her outfit. A warm feeling filled her as she watched him swallow before meeting her eyes.

Men. They were so easy. Most men thought that going out with her would be exciting, the idea of dating a witch giving them an extra thrill. They were usually disappointed when they realized that instead of a being a wily seductress in black garters, she was usually in bed by nine with a good book, wearing flannel pajama pants covered in cat hair.

But Finney didn’t seem to have any interest in her witchcraft abilities at all. In fact, he thought it was all nonsense and even made fun of her. She definitely didn’t need that kind of energy in her life.

So why was she imagining herself in bed reading, but cuddled up next to him? Without the flannel pants. Now that she knew what a fuddy-duddy he was, he’d probably ignore her to read the latest issue of Detectives R Us. Why was she fantasizing about taking off his reading glasses and his shirt, but leaving on the holster and the gun? Maybe he had a tattoo. Whoa. Down, girl.

She was getting carried away. A guy like that might have a tattoo, but it probably said “Mom” or the Japanese symbol for “boring.”

“Zia, this is my business partner, Jake Landon, and his girlfriend, Sunny.” Finn’s introductions drew her out of her musings. He pointed to the elderly woman who was perusing her bookshelves. “And this is Sunny’s neighbor, Edna Allen.”

Edna waved. “We already know each other. I came to Madame Zia for a reading earlier this summer.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.”

Edna waved a dismissive hand at Finn. “Don’t make fun. She was spot-on. She told me that I was going to find something this summer. Something I thought I had lost a long time ago. And something with an element of danger to it.”

Zia smiled warmly at Edna. “It’s nice to see you, Edna. And I’m curious, did you find it?”

Edna laughed. “I sure did. And he’s back at my house now working in the garden.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And he brought danger with him all right, but now the only thing that’s dangerous is that our passion is so hot it might burn my house down.”

“Eww. Edna, stop it. I do not need that image in my head.” Sunny shook her head good-naturedly at her neighbor. “It’s nice to meet you, Zia. Sorry about the trouble. This is Officer McCarthy; he’s responding to the call about the break-in.” She pointed to the tall, good-looking police officer who had followed them in.

He was regarding the room, his eyes narrowed as if looking for clues. “It’s hard for me to get a good read on the damage. It looks like you’ve cleaned most everything up.” He sniffed the air and gave Zia a curious look. “It kind of smells like marijuana in here.”

Zia rolled her eyes. “It’s the sage.”

Mac shrugged. “Well, it is Colorado.”

“It’s cleansing the room, and I didn’t call the police. Finney did. I already know what did the damage to my office, and you won’t find any fingerprints.” She looked around the room and held up her EMF meter. “But I am picking up a lot of fluctuations in the electromagnetic fields. I’ve gotten several readings in the two and three range.”

“Hot dang, you have the Deluxe Pro Detector.” Edna scurried across the room to check out the gadget. “This one has all the fancy functions. Even a flashlight.”

“Wow. Even a flashlight? Sounds pretty scientific to me,” Finn mumbled, and rolled his eyes again.

Edna nodded, her fingers twitching as if she were itching to touch it. “It is. And if you’re getting readings that low, there are definite signs of spiritual activity.”

“I’ve heard anything electronic can trigger those things. Like a computer or even a toaster,” Finn said, the skepticism apparent in his voice.

“Look around, Mr. Finney. Does it look like I have a toaster in here? And those things can give off readings, but anything between the two and seven range is too low for standard electronics and suggests a spiritual presence. It’s scientifically impossible for low-level electromagnetic fields to occur naturally, but we usually find these fields where there’s been spiritual activity reported.”

Edna nodded, waving her scanner along the counter. “It’s commonly accepted that spirits are the cause of the unexplainable EMF readings. Don’t you have the internet, Mr. Finney?” She squinted at the readout. “I’m getting really low levels as well. I have to agree with Madame Zia — there is a definite spiritual presence here.”

Finn turned to Officer McCarthy. “Well, there you have it. I guess we don’t really need you after all. These two have cracked the case with their Inspector Gadget gizmos and they’ve confirmed that Casper the friendly ghost is the culprit. You might have a little trouble getting the handcuffs on him, though.”

Jake and Mac chuckled, but Edna put a hand on her hip and gave him a steely stare. “You can joke all you want, but we don’t know if this Casper is friendly or evil, so I wouldn’t go spouting too much sarcasm. Madame Zia is a renowned psychic, and if she says she feels evil, I trust her.”

“Thank you, Edna.” Zia turned to Mac. “Have there been any missing persons cases recently, or any suspicious calls to 911? I think someone was murdered here last night. Maybe someone called in reports of a gunshot or something.”

“Not that I’m aware of. But I don’t see any evidence to suggest murder.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll just take a quick look around, and then I need to head back in. I’ll ask around and let you know if I hear anything, and be sure to call me if anything else happens.”

“Don’t worry, we will,” Edna said. “I’ve got your number programmed into my phone.”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”

Edna absently waved him away. She stood at the bookshelves, opening jars and bottles and peering in or sniffing their contents. “Do you have any dragon tears or eye of newt? Every time I google spells or magical recipes, they always ask for animal blood, eye of newt, or the tears of a dragon. Just who is making all these dragons cry? And what the heck is a newt? And how many poor blind newts are stumbling around in the darkness because their eyes are an essential ingredient in almost every magical spell?”

* * *

Finn spent the afternoon cleaning his office and putting his files back together. He’d ordered a pizza in for delivery and had considered taking a slice over to Zia as a goodwill gesture, but reconsidered at the last minute. She probably didn’t even eat pizza. From what he’d learned of her today, she was probably a vegan and only drank purified water from a natural spring in the Himalayas. He couldn’t imagine her desecrating her body by guzzling greasy cheese and spicy pepperoni.

Oh great. Now he was thinking of her body again. He’d been shocked when he’d walked into her office earlier and saw her without the robe. The snug top and short skirt filled in all the blanks that his imagination had been guessing about. And they were great blanks. Slender waist, curvy hips, toned legs, and breasts the perfect size to fit in the palms of his hands.

His hands twitched as he imagined filling them with the heavy weight of her breasts and sliding his fingers across the pale crests that peeked from the top of her blouse. He envisioned pulling her to him and crushing those perfect red lips with his while his hands explored every curve and swell of her body.

Hmmm. He was getting a swell of his own just thinking about it. What was going on? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had afternoon wood just by daydreaming about a dame. Why was he letting this crazy chick with her ghost gadgets and spiritual nonsense get into his head? Maybe she had put a spell on him.

He checked his watch and was surprised to see it was already past five. He should just go home, take a shower (a cold one), then put his feet up, find a game on the tube, and forget about this woman with the long hair and the weird notions.

Yeah, that was what he should do. But maybe first he would just check in on her real quick. Make sure she hadn’t had any other trouble. In fact, he’d had an odd client stop by that afternoon and he wanted to mention it to her. She’d probably already gone home for the day anyway.

It couldn’t hurt just to check.

* * *

Zia had her back to the door, but she knew instantly who had just walked through it. Not through any psychic abilities but because she could smell his aftershave. She inhaled the scent, a deep, musky smell that seemed to wrap around her and reach into her soul.

She must be tired. Plenty of men wore great-smelling aftershave. And they weren’t close-minded jerks who were too full of themselves and their own ideas to explore new realms of possibilities. But she’d never had another man’s scent connect so deeply to her, and she wondered if their animal counterparts were somehow similar — that would account for the craving she suddenly had to mate with this man.

Mate with him? Ugh! Where did that come from? She needed to be calm and act cool right now. She sent up a silent request to the Earth Mother for patience and wisdom as she turned to Finn.

He looked tired too. He stood in the doorway, not quite in the room, as if waiting to be invited in. A lock of his sandy brown hair fell across his forehead, and she had the urge to reach up and brush it from his face. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Finney?”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Sorry. Finn.” She crossed the room and gestured for him to come in then closed the door. She’d taken her shoes off, so he stood a good several inches above her. She looked up at him. The colors of his aura swirled around his head, and she itched to take his hand and check out the lines on his palms.

Okay, she really just wanted to hold his hand, but reading his palm was a good excuse. “Was there something you needed?” Like a night of hot sex with a barefoot psychic? Oh gosh, what was wrong with her? She needed to get a grip and quit thinking about mating with this guy. Maybe her aura was off.

“I’m getting ready to head out for the night and just thought I’d check on you. Make sure you were all right. Not spooked by the break-in.”

Aww. He was worried about her. That was nice, in a Neanderthal kind of way. Like she couldn’t take care of herself. “On the contrary, I’m not spooked at all. In fact, I’m quite intrigued by the whole thing.”

He shook his head. “Who says ‘on the contrary’?”

This time she raised an eyebrow at him. “Was there something else or did you just stop in to insult my vocabulary?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I just can’t figure you out. In my line of work, I have to get a feel for someone quickly, and I’m usually pretty dead-on with first impressions. But I can’t seem to get a read on you. You’re an enigma.” He grinned. “See, I can also use a fancy word to when I need to.”

Why did this man infuriate and amuse her at the same time? “I am a woman, Finn. You were not meant to figure us out. Besides, even if we came with instruction manuals, men never read the instructions anyway.”

He laughed. A soft chuckle that went all the way to his eyes. He did have great eyes. Brown with flecks of gold. If someone asked her to describe Jerry Finney in one word, it would have to be “average.” He was of average height and build. His face was average and he tended to blend in with the people in the room.

But it was when she got in close that she realized he wasn’t average at all. His eyes were intelligent and sparked with amusement. He hid great muscles under boring Oxford shirts and had a gun holster strapped on under his tweed jacket. Tweed jackets were the poster children for boring and stuffy. Maybe blending in was just part of his job, a way for him to observe and not be noticed. Maybe he wasn’t as dull as she’d thought.

“Well, I was just getting ready to head home and catch a game on TV, and wanted to check on you.”

Nope. She’d been right. Totally dull. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

He stood awkwardly by the door as if he didn’t quite want to leave, but didn’t have a reason to stay. “I did want to tell you that I had an odd client come in today. A gal named Phyllis stopped in and wanted me to look for her missing husband. She filed a missing-persons report but since he’s only been gone since yesterday, she doesn’t think the police took it very seriously. But she’s sure he’s gone. She claims they’ve been married forty years and he’s never missed dinner. Until last night.”

“She stopped in here too. Phyllis is one of my regular clients; she comes in every Friday. She’s a sweet lady but she was really upset today. She told me she thought her husband had gotten himself into some kind of trouble. She wouldn’t tell me everything, but I know it had something to do with some jewels, and I kept feeling diamonds around her. I was going to come over and tell you about it, but I know you think this is a bunch of nonsense.”

“You still should have told me. I don’t believe in coincidences, so if she came to see both of us, maybe this is connected to what happened last night. You were asking that cop earlier about any recent missing-persons cases.” He rubbed his jaw, and she could tell he was thinking through each possibility. She could almost see the puzzle pieces of thought clicking into place. “Diamonds, you said? I was just reading an article about a jewelry heist that happened a couple of days ago. Maybe this is connected.”

“I saw that too.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Like I saw it in the paper, you dope. Not I ‘saw’ it in the future.”

“Sorry. I don’t know how all this works. I’m really not trying to be an ass. I just have a hard time believing in any of this mumbo-jumbo.”

She gave him a wry look. “No, really, calling my profession ‘mumbo-jumbo’ is not being an ass at all.”

He grinned. “You’re right. I apologize. My mind is just too analytical. I look at facts and evidence. And I’ve seen too much fraud and deceit. It’s hard for me to accept any of this.” He gestured around the room.

Reaching for his hand, she looked up at him. Touching him sent a little thrill all the way up her spine, but she ignored it in an effort to convey the sincerity of her thoughts. “Haven’t you ever lost someone? Someone close to you?”

She watched his eyes soften as he swallowed, and thought she might have a glimmer of a chance to make him understand. “If there was a way to connect with them, even in a small way, wouldn’t you want to try? I believe that there is. Not always, but sometimes. I believe that there’s a whole other spirit realm that exists, and in certain circumstances our realms can connect and we can glimpse the other side. But the first step is believing that it’s there and reaching out to connect to it.”

Still holding his hand, she felt the pulse in his wrist speed up. Was it because of how close she stood, or were her words really getting to him? He leaned slightly forward, and her breath caught as she wondered if he might kiss her. Afraid to move, even to breathe, she looked up at him from under dark eyelashes, willing him to lean closer still.

A glass bowl fell off the counter, smashing to the ground, causing her to jump and let out a little shriek of alarm. She turned to see the cat streaking off the counter, her tail most likely the culprit of the smashed bowl. She laughed, but the moment was lost.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Zia, but too many times there’s a logical explanation for things that people claim are illogical.” He stooped to pick up the pieces of glass. “Like your cat’s tail knocking this off.”

“That’s why I’m staying here tonight. I feel like something more is going on and our culprit might return. I’m setting up the video camera and plan to wait here all night.”

“Like a stakeout? Now you’re talking my language.”

“Would you care to join me?”

“Okay. But have you ever done a stakeout? Usually you hang around for hours, bored out of your mind, and the only time anything happens is when you grab a thirty-second break to take a piss.”

She grinned. “Then it will be good to have a stakeout partner. We can keep each other from getting bored and can serve as lookout in case one of us needs to…er…piss, I guess.”

He chuckled, and the sound of his laughter gave her a little tingly feeling. Why did she suddenly feel like a schoolgirl who’d just agreed to sneak out to spend the night with her crush?

“Since you’re the expert, what would you suggest we bring to this stakeout party? I’ve got the video camera, and I was going to run home to grab some snacks and change into something more comfortable.”

“I can’t believe you would use ‘stakeout’ and ‘party’ in the same sentence. There is nothing festive about them. But yeah, I would wear something comfortable, and I guess you can bring some food if you want. My stakeout fare usually consists of a thermos of coffee and a bag of sunflower seeds.”

She checked her watch. “Okay, I’ll run home now. Let’s meet back here at eight. We can set up the surveillance equipment then.” She rubbed her hands together in delight. “Let’s catch ourselves a ghost.”

Chapter Four

Finn knocked on Zia’s office door. He carried a green thermos of coffee and had a lunch-size cooler and a backpack full of surveillance equipment slung across his shoulder. He wouldn’t trust anything she captured on some crazy gear she bought off the internet. In fact, he wasn’t going to believe that anything supernatural was going on until he saw it with his own two eyes.

Eyes that bugged out now as Zia opened the door. She’d changed clothes and wore a snug black t-shirt and skintight black jeans tucked into black knee-high boots.

Her outfit hugged every curve of her body, and he found himself speechless, his mouth dry as his mind raced with thoughts of holding that body against him. Against him, under him. Hell, over him would be good too.

He cleared his throat. “Nice outfit. I thought you were going for something more comfortable, like those yoga pant deals. You look like you’re getting ready to rob a bank.” Smooth move, Ex-lax. Way to win her over. Women love it when you make fun of their outfit choices.

She grinned, apparently unfazed by his mocking. “Too much? It’s my first stakeout and I just wanted to be prepared. I always go overboard. Sorry.” She wrinkled her nose and gave a nervous little giggle.

“It’s okay. You look…fine…er…I mean great. You look great.” Could he be any more of a dork? He cleared his throat. Back to business. “Where do you want me to set up?”

“Oh, I thought if we put the camera by the register then we could wait behind the counter so we’d be hidden if someone came in through the front door.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Do ghosts usually come in through the front door?”

“No, but I’m trying to keep my mind open to all possibilities. Like I hope you’re doing. Whatever is happening, I want to be prepared for anything.”

As annoying as he found her kooky fortune-telling nonsense, he found that the more he was around her, the more he liked her. She always seemed to look at things in a positive light, and he hadn’t heard her complain yet. Even when her office had been trashed and her things had been destroyed, she seemed unfazed. Most of the women he’d dated spent half the night complaining about everything from their weight to the high price of cosmetics. Like he gave two hoots about the cost of mascara.

But Zia was different than anyone he’d ever met before, and he found himself drawn to her. Not just her curves, but her smile and her easygoing manner. She was fun to be around, but he didn’t think he could get past her weird ideas and crazy notions. She’d flat out told him she was a witch. What was he supposed to do with that?

He held up the thermos as he walked across the room and dropped the cooler and his backpack. “I grabbed some of my equipment and some food. And I brought coffee.”

“Oh, me too.” She pointed at the drink carrier on the counter holding two carryout cups from a fancy coffee joint. “I brought us some pumpkin spice lattes. And I had them put in extra shots of espresso.”

“Pumpkin spice what?”

She laughed and handed him a cup. “Pumpkin spice lattes. Don’t you ever get out? People line up for these when they come back every fall.”

“No people that I know.”

“Just try it.”

He gingerly took a sip. Just to prove he could be open-minded too. It was warm and cinnamony, with a little kick. He shrugged. “Not bad. Kinda good, even. It tastes like Thanksgiving in a cup.”

She grinned. “Exactly. See what you can discover when you try new things?”

Hmmm. Why was he imagining her as one of the new things he’d like to discover? Like one of the New World explorers, he could envision scaling her peaks and surveying her valleys. Just like Magellan, he could start an expedition across her unexplored territory.

She eyed him curiously and with a tiny gleam in her eye, as if she could actually read his mind. He was in big trouble if she could. He was afraid his man’s mind would be disappointing and fairly predictable, considering his thoughts usually tended to the topics of sex, food, and work, or some combination of the three, like “what should he eat for lunch at work and when did he think he would be having sex again?”

He set up his equipment, and she grabbed some throw pillows and blankets and made them a little nest on the floor behind the counter. He gingerly sat on a blue pillow and leaned his back against the wall. “This is the most comfortable stakeout I’ve ever been on. I’ve never brought a pillow before. Wouldn’t want to fall asleep.”

“I figured since there were two of us, we could take turns sleeping while the other kept a lookout.” She locked the door and turned out the lights. A soft glow filled the room from the display lights under the counter, and she plopped onto the floor next to his outstretched legs.

Yeah, right. Like he was going to fall asleep with her sitting this close to him, the smell of her perfume filling his every sense. “Do you really think we’re going to see something?”

She nodded vigorously. “Oh yes. I know we are. I can feel the upheaval and terror in this room. I know something evil happened here, and I just know whatever’s happening is not finished.”

What a load of crap. Did she seriously buy into all this nonsense she was spouting? “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I just know we’re going to see something tonight.”

“Look, I don’t claim to have any spiritual Spidey sense like you do, but I do believe in intuition and trusting my gut. And my gut is telling me that stuff happened because an actual person, that’s still alive, broke in and tossed our offices.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” She settled in next to him against the wall. “And speaking of guts, I’m getting hungry. You ready for a snack?”

“Sure.” He reached for the cooler and pulled out a container of sliced veggies and an expensive bottle of water.

She eyed the bottle. “I thought you said you only ate sunflower seeds and drank coffee.”

“I do. But I thought you might like this stuff.”

“Oh.”

Her mouth formed a perfect O, and his thoughts went to dark ideas of taking those lips as his.

She grinned and broke the spell. “You bought this stuff for me? That is soooo sweet.” She picked up the fancy bottle of water and read the label. “This water is from a natural spring somewhere in Europe. Judging from the price tag, you could’ve skipped the water and just brought us a bottle of wine.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.” Next time? Who said anything about a next time? Next time their offices were ransacked and they had to do a midnight stakeout? He frowned and pointed at her bag. “What did you bring?”

She dumped her bag on the blanket in front of them. He gaped at the collection of cheese puffs, potato chips, candy bars, and chocolate cupcakes. “I’m afraid my snack choices are a little less healthy than yours.”

She did that thing again where she wrinkled her nose and grinned, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

His office had been next to hers for months and he’d never taken the time to even have a conversation with her. He’d made up his mind and thought he knew everything about her before he’d had a chance to get to know her. And his snap judgments were turning out to be dead wrong. She’d brought cheese puffs, for crap’s sake. “You really eat all this stuff?”

She laughed and reached for a candy bar, totally at ease with eating the junk food. “Oh yeah, I love all this stuff. I’ll punish myself on the treadmill later or take a hike, but it’s worth it.” She took a bite of chocolate then closed her eyes and groaned in ecstasy. “So worth it.”

Geez. What was going on with him? Maybe instead of a shot of espresso, she’d put horny potion in that pumpkin spice thing, because her eating that candy bar was totally turning him on. Watching her eyes close and that groan. Holy mother.

The way she tipped back her head gave him a clear view of her pale skin, and he ached to bury his face against her neck. His own pulse picked up a beat as he imagined the feel of hers pulsing under his lips as he ravaged her throat with passionate kisses.

He felt like a teenage boy. His hands were even beginning to sweat. He did not react this way to women. To anyone. She had to have spiked his drink with some hocus-pocus. Or maybe those weren’t ordinary incense sticks she was burning earlier. His mind reached for any explanation rather than the obvious one. That he was falling for her.

And that was not going to happen. He cleared his throat and reached for his thermos of coffee. “I think I’ll just stick to coffee for now.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I brought pop too.” She hauled out a six-pack of highly caffeinated soda. Not even diet. Who was this woman? “It’s not expensive mountain spring water, but it’s got caffeine and carbonation.”

She laughed, but he knew it was with him and not at him, and something about the sound of her laughter touched him. She seemed so genuine. He wanted to believe in her. But he’d been burned before, and with fatal consequences. It was hard for him to believe she could be this nice. Hard to believe anyone could be this positive.

In his line of work, he’d seen the worst in humanity. He’d seen terrible things that people had done to each other out of greed or jealousy or even in the name of love. His life might seem boring to her, but he liked it that way. And it helped in his work. Standing on the outside gave him the chance to see things objectively, rationally, without all the emotions getting involved.

He knew people could lie and cheat and steal and pretend to be something they weren’t. He’d dated plenty of women, but most were superficial and only out for themselves. Maybe those were the ones he picked on purpose, because he knew he could keep them at arm’s length and not get emotionally attached. Life was easier that way. Don’t get attached. Don’t get involved. Don’t get hurt.

So what was he doing up in the middle of the night, sitting on a girly throw pillow, grinning like an idiot at a woman who claimed to be a psychic? A psychic, for frick’s sake. And why the hell had he made a special trip to a fancy grocery store to buy her a twelve-dollar bottle of freaking water?

He shifted on the pillow and forced a frown.

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Uh oh. What just happened? You were easy and funny a second ago, and you just shut down. What’s going on?”

“Oh yeah. Did you see that in your crystal ball?” That was a low blow, and he felt like a jackass as he watched a flicker of hurt cross her eyes. Better that than the goo-goo eyes she was making at him a minute ago that were causing a crazy commotion in his gut.

“No. It doesn’t take a psychic to see what you’re feeling. Besides, I’m a woman. We’re skilled at reading emotions. And your emotions are all over your face. Your expression just went from amused to angry in two seconds flat. So what’s up? What just made you so pissy?”

“I do not get pissy.”

“Okay, guarded, then. Or just plain pissed. Are those manly enough adjectives for you?”

“Look, I just don’t buy in to all this psychic fortune-telling stuff. I don’t trust what I can’t see and prove. I’ve seen too much fraud and too many scams with this stuff.”

“There’s fraud and scams in plenty of things. Check-writing fraud and fake lotteries are huge scams, but you believe those exist.”

“But lottery scams don’t get people killed.” He sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair. “Look, before I went into private investigations, I was a cop. I left the police force after a child was kidnapped and we couldn’t solve the case. In a kidnapping case, timing is everything. You have this short window to follow the tracks and try to find the kid. They brought in this so-called psychic to help on the case, and after a hellish night of false leads and a wild-goose chase she led us on, we finally found the kid.”

“So the psychic helped?”

“No. She kept giving us these wild leads and we threw all our resources at tracking them down. We wasted so much time on her stupid guesses and false tips that by the time we really found the kid, it was too late. He was dead.”

Zia gasped. “Oh no.”

“Oh yeah. If we would have just followed standard procedure, tracked down actual clues and solid leads, we might have saved that boy’s life.” His chest tightened as the long-buried feelings of frustration and anger threatened to bubble to the surface. He closed his eyes against the memory of the child’s lifeless body still clad in the blue pajamas he’d worn to bed the night he’d been abducted.

He flinched as Zia gently touched his arm then relaxed as he felt the warmth of her hand seep into his skin. Not sure if it was the soft lighting or the nearness of the woman and the open expression of kindness on her face, but he felt like he could talk to her. Open up and tell her the horrible sadness of the situation.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry too. I left the force after that. Decided I wanted to be in charge of my own investigations. I wanted to call the shots and not be at the mercy of someone else’s decisions. And I sure as hell wouldn’t ever again let myself buy in to some crackpot claiming to be a psychic.” He grimaced and put his hand on top of hers. “No offense.”

“None taken. You’re not the first person to take a shot at my profession. And you won’t be the last. Finn, there are frauds in this field, and plenty of them. But there are frauds in lots of professions. There’s always going to be people that take advantage of those in need for their own selfish gain. And there are all different levels of expertise in this field as well. Just like in sports, there are people who know how to throw a football around and then there are professional ball players who get paid a lot of money. But they both consider themselves football players.”

“Saying you can catch a football is a little bit different than claiming you can read people’s minds.”

“I don’t claim to be a mind reader, but I do believe that I can read people. That I am attuned to their feelings. I also use tools that help me. Tarot cards and crystals for healing. And I do believe in ghosts and spirits, and I know that at times, I have the ability to connect to them.”

He scoffed. “You’ve talked to ghosts?”

“Yes.”

“Like who? Ben Franklin? Marilyn Monroe? Elvis? Who are these ghosts you’ve talked to?”

Her eyes took on a sorrowful gaze, and her next words were so soft that Finn had to lean closer to hear them. “My husband, for one.”

He blinked. “I didn’t know you were married.”

“I’m not. Now. But I was. We met in college and fell madly in love. We got married as soon as we graduated. We’d been married about three years and had been up in the mountains to visit his parents for Christmas break. We got a late start home, and by the time we came down the pass, it was dark and a storm had set in. The snow was blinding and the roads were icy and treacherous. We came around a bend and a deer was standing in the middle of the road. My husband swerved to miss it, slid on the ice, and our car went off the side of the road and plummeted partway down the cliff.”

“You could have been killed.”

“I almost was.” Her eyes took on a faraway gaze, as if she were watching the scene in the past. “The windshield shattered as the car crashed through trees, and a branch from a tree stabbed through my shoulder, impaling me to the seat. I couldn’t move and I was losing a lot of blood. My husband was bleeding from a head wound, and I can remember how bright red the blood was against his white shirt. I had this crazy thought that it would be a good shade to paint the trim in our kitchen. We had this whole black-and-white theme going, with red accents. Isn’t that a funny thing to be thinking about? I was dying and yet contemplating what shade of red to paint our kitchen.”

He touched her arm lightly, wanting to offer some kind of support for such a terrible experience. The look of pure pain in her eyes shot through him, as if he were the one who had been impaled. “People do all sorts of things in crisis situations. It’s the brain’s way of helping them to cope.”

She looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears, and the corners of her mouth tipped up a little in a mournful smile. “What helped me cope was the strength of my husband and his unfailing support. He applied pressure to my wound and kept me talking. I can remember clearly the way he encouraged me to hang on and stay with him. He kept talking about these funny memories of our time together, and I can even remember the stupid jokes he told. He was covered in blood, so much blood, but he wouldn’t let me give up. Wouldn’t let me surrender to the pain.

“I don’t know exactly how long we were trapped. Witnesses later said it took the ambulance twenty minutes to get to us, and at least another ten minutes to get me out of the car. I lost consciousness as soon as I heard the sirens and knew help was on the way. The last thing I remember was him holding my hand and telling me to stay. To not give up.”

“He must have loved you very much.”

She nodded, a slight bob of her head. Her next words were choked with emotion. “I woke up in the hospital the next day. I asked the nurses where my husband was and if he was okay. They told me that he had died on impact. That he’d broken his neck in the fall and died instantly.”

His heart stopped at her statement, and his breath caught in his throat. She turned to look at him, really look in his eyes, and he thought his heart could break at the pain evident in them. He didn’t know if he fully believed the story, but he knew she believed it. It was clear that she believed every word. And she wanted him to believe her.

She swiped at the lone tear rolling down her cheek. “I’ve only told that story to a few people. Honestly, I don’t know why I even just told you. I guess I just wanted you to understand. It’s not hocus-pocus nonsense to me. Connecting with the other side is very real to me. And having gone through the pain of losing someone so close, having survived such a tragedy helps me to be able to connect to people, to see their pain and to work with them to try to heal.”

He didn’t know how to react, and couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands. He wanted to touch her. To hold her. To protect her from her pain. To tell her he was sorry, but he couldn’t open his mouth. He didn’t know what to say.

She stared at him. “Well, say something. Don’t just stare at me. Tell me what you’re thinking. What you’re feeling.”

“First of all, I don’t talk about my feelings, and second of all, I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling. I want to wrap you in my arms and protect you and never let you get hurt again. And at the same time, I want to rip your clothes off and kiss you senseless and make you forget you’ve ever had a sad moment in your life.”

She laughed. A laugh choked with tears. “Now that’s a feeling I understand. You drive me insane with your close-mindedness, and I feel like the best choice for me is to walk away from you. But my hands are itching to touch you, and all I want to do is dig into that shell of yours and uncover the man who’s afraid to believe in things he can’t prove.”

“I’m not afraid. I just have a hard time believing it.”

“I know. And I can’t figure out how to feel about that. I like you, but you infuriate me. You make my insides go a little gooey at the same time you get my back up in frustration. As much as I’ve been thinking about kissing you and fantasizing about your hands on me, I’m not sure what I can do about it. How can I be with someone that doesn’t believe in the most important life-changing event of my life?”

Did she just say she’d been fantasizing about his hands on her? Everything else in the room fell away. Everything except this woman, with her cascades of long, dark hair that he was itching to drive his hands through. Everything but her. Her pain-filled eyes and her full lips.

Her scent swirled around him, enveloping him in a cloak of musky tones full of sex and femininity. He heard his throat click as he swallowed. His mouth dry, his words soft and full of want. “I don’t know. How can you?”

She hesitated, only a moment, searching his eyes. He felt like she could see into his very soul as she reached up to touch his cheek. A shiver ran through him as she whispered, “I guess like this.” She leaned forward, and his breath caught at the nearness of her.

He reached for her, and the silky softness of her hair caressed his hand as he slid it around her neck and pulled her closer to him. Her mouth was so close to his. All he had to do was lean a little closer and her lips would be his. He hesitated, savoring the sweet moment of anticipation.

So close, he gently touched her lips. One soft, sweet kiss. A kiss that elicited a low sigh of pleasure that went straight to his gut. His stomach was turning circles, and he ached to dive in and take her, but the moment was too good to rush. Indulging in the decadent promise of what was to come. Just a small taste. A little nibble before the richness of the bite.

He knew this was probably a bad idea. Knew he was just getting caught up in the moment. The stakeout, a gorgeous woman, and cupcakes. What man wouldn’t be turned on?

But he knew it was more. More than a momentary lapse of judgment. This woman had somehow seeped into his soul. With her positive spirit and her easy laugh. And her generous curves. Lord help him, her curves. And he was inches away from touching those curves now. Did he dare?

He was normally so cautious, thinking through every decision, making the wise choice. She lightly licked his bottom lip, and that was it. All rationale disappeared.

He reached for her and pulled her body into his lap, and finally his hands were on her. He feasted on her lips, taking her mouth in ravenous hunger as he filled his hands with her. Touching every inch of her. Caressing and stroking.

She tasted like chocolate and coffee, and he could not stop kissing her. The feel of her hands in his hair and clutching his back almost sent him over the edge with desire. Having her in his lap allowed him to wrap her in his arms and still touch and feel and explore her body.

Dipping his head to her neck, he laid a hot trail of kisses down her throat. Inhaling her scent, he slowed, savoring the softness of her skin as his kisses moved down her neck. She sighed again and arched her back as he brushed his lips against the tops of her breasts.

“You feel so good,” he growled, his voice husky with want.

He could have wept with the ache of wanting her beneath him. He shifted their bodies, holding her against him as he eased her onto the floor, resting her head on one of the pillows. Her long hair spread out across the floor like a silken pool of black liquid, dark and lush.

She looked up at him, her eyes full of desire and vulnerability. Like she was trusting him not to hurt her. Not to break her heart. He pulled back. What if he couldn’t be the man she needed? The man she wanted?

She reached up and ran her fingers along the leather strap of his gun holster. “That was pretty sexy the way you pulled your gun this morning and pushed me behind you to protect me.” Her words were playful, flirty. He could handle playful, but he was terrible at flirting. It made him feel like a dork and that he was always doing it wrong. But she did say she thought he looked sexy.

He shrugged out of the holster and carefully placed the gun on the floor, out of their way. “Unfortunately, my gun’s pretty rusty. It hasn’t been used in a while.”

Her eyes widened, and he could tell she was trying to keep a straight face. The corners of her mouth tipped up. “Was that your attempt at flirting? Because I’m not sure that was your best line.”

Feeling the heat of embarrassment warm his neck, he paused, watching her face, trying to decipher if she was teasing or mocking. Her face broke into a grin, and he relaxed, easing his body down on top of her. “Pretty terrible, huh? I almost went with something about my gun not being the only thing that was loaded, but I knew that would be wrong too.”

She let loose a peal of laughter followed by a snort of giggles, and he smiled down at her. Her laughter was like magic to him, the melodic tones seeping into his soul. He picked up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “Look, Zia, I’m just a simple guy. Not suave or debonair. Just ordinary and probably too jaded. But I like you.”

Her laughter stopped. She blinked up at him, her brown eyes at first round and surprised, then softening with affection. “I like you too.”

“I may not believe in all this magic, but I believe in chemistry and the laws of attraction. And I know that people can have a connection, even when they’ve only known each other a short time. And crisis can make that connection stronger.”

“Do you feel like that? Like you only feel connected to me because of this crisis?”

“No. I feel connected to you because of the way you smile at me. This crisis has nothing to do with the way your laugh makes my stomach feel funny or the way I can’t seem to keep my hands off of you. Or the way my spine tingles when you touch me. That’s chemistry. This crazy feeling that makes me ache to touch you. To kiss you.”

He skimmed her lips with the edge of his thumb, and she gasped. A small catch of her breath as she bit her bottom lip in rapture and he couldn’t take his eyes off her lips. He had to kiss her, to take her.

Passion filled him as he leaned down and kissed her mouth. Kissed her with the ravenous desire of a man stranded in a desert and thirsty for water. His hands roamed her body, seeking to learn every curve. He couldn’t get enough.

He pulled back and stripped off his t-shirt. He liked the way her eyes darkened as she took in his muscled chest. He might be boring, but he still worked out. She pushed up from the floor, and he tugged her shirt over her head, leaving her in only jeans and a black lacy bra.

She lay back on the floor, letting him look at her, giving him his fill of her lush body. Grinning up at him, she squeezed her legs around him and drew his hips tighter to her. “I can tell by the size of your gun that you must like what you see.”

Words failed him. He knew she was teasing, but he could only nod. She really did look like a witch, with her long, dark hair spread out around her and the black lace against her pale skin. In the dim light of the room, her eyes seem to mesmerize him, capture him in her spell. She must have put a spell on him. How else could he be feeling so much, like she affected every one of his senses? How she looked and felt, the sound of her laugh, the way she smelled, the way she tasted — Lord help him, she tasted so damn good.

He leaned down, needing to feel her, to taste her again.

“Oh, Finn,” she whispered, and a soft moan escaped her as he drew her lips into a passionate kiss, and for just one fleeting moment, he believed in magic.

A jagged sunburst scar lay in the dip of her shoulder, and he laid a soft kiss on the scarred tissue. Sliding down her body, he ran his lips down her skin and kissed the soft spot just below her belly button. Her gasp of pleasure was all the encouragement he needed as he flicked open the top button of her jeans. She gripped handfuls of his hair as he slowly unzipped her jeans and ran his tongue along the lacy edge of her panties.

Another moan filled the room, this one low and eerie, and her hand tightened on his hair as she froze. “That wasn’t me,” she whispered. “Please tell me that was you.”

He sat up, one hand automatically reaching for his gun as he pulled her into a protective embrace. “That sure as hell wasn’t me.”

The sound again, this time coming from the other side of the wall; another low moan followed by a soft thump against the wall.

Finn tossed Zia her top and yanked his shirt on. He scanned the room, his senses on high alert, listening for a clue to the source of the sound.

“It sounds like it might be coming from your office,” Zia said, her voice muffled as she pulled her shirt over her head.

Damn shame to cover up that beautiful skin. Focus, Finn. There was a ghost to catch. Wait, make that a goon to catch. Someone was probably tossing his office right now. They’d picked the wrong room to stage their stakeout.

“I’m gonna check it out. Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Not on your life, bud. I’m coming with you.”

“Fine.” He sighed. “You better grab your stuff, then. We’re going ghost hunting.”

Chapter Five

Zia followed Finn through the door and into the hallway, mesmerized by the instant switch from passionate lover to steely detective. He held his gun in front of him, his stance alert and ready as he glanced down the hallway, watchful of danger.

She knew she should be looking around as well, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Plus, he had such a great butt.

“Are you checking out my ass?” he whispered.

A giggle bubbled in her throat and threatened to escape. “Yes. Guilty as charged.”

“Carry on, then.” He never missed a beat, making the flirty joke without cracking a smile. He really was funny. How did she ever think this man was boring?

He moved a step closer to his door, passing the utility closet that sat between their two offices. Another low moan sounded, and they stopped in their tracks. A strange scraping sound came from behind the closet door, and a chill ran up Zia’s spine.

“I think it’s coming from in there,” she whispered, and pointed her EMF meter at the door. The lights on the meter went crazy, flashing and blinking. “There’s definitely something happening in that closet.”

Finn pushed her behind him, stopping to give her a coy smile, as he must have remembered her earlier comment about how she thought that was sexy.

He turned the knob and yanked the door open. A startled cry came from the closet, and it took her a moment to process the scene. She took in two people on the floor of the closet, a lot of bare skin, various stages of undress, and a slutty nurse sitting on top of what appeared to be a pirate.

“What the hell, dude?” the pirate asked as the slutty nurse giggled and flashed Finn a nice view of her exposed chest. The smell of alcohol and perfume filled the air.

“This is private property. You folks need to move it along.” Finn waved the gun at the couple before clipping it back into his holster.

“Is that gun real?” Dial-a-Nurse asked, letting loose another round of drunken giggles. The gun was more real than the double-Ds she was taking her sweet time putting away.

“Yes, it’s real, and so is the trespassing violation you’re about to get,” Finn said. Zia appreciated the way he averted his eyes, even though the woman was obviously putting on a show for him, the way she was bending and adjusting as she tried to stuff everything back into the too-tight Halloween costume.

“Relax, dude,” the bare-chested pirate said. “It’s Halloween. We’ve been at the party across the street and the door of this building was open. We were just looking for a little privacy.” He gave the woman an exaggerated wink and slapped her on the rear end. “I wasn’t feeling so hot, so this lovely nurse offered to give me a checkup.”

The lovely nurse smiled up at Finn and Zia. “Yeah, we were just having a little fun. Do you two want to join us? We’ve got plenty of pirate rum.” She burst into another round of giggles, and her companion grinned and held up a bottle.

“I think we’re good. You two better get on back to the party now.” Finn held out a hand and hoisted the pirate to his feet. The drunken nurse took a little more hoisting, and she fell against Finn much more than necessary.

Finally the couple made their way across the hall and out the front door.

Zia stepped into the crowded utility room and looked around. The light from the hallway fell into the closet, dimly illuminating the small space. A shiver ran up her back, but all she saw was a shelf of cleaning supplies down one side of the closet, and several mops, brooms, and spare materials leaning against the back wall.

Setting her EMF reader on the shelf, she was surprised to see the lights flickering and flashing, indicating the presence of a spirit.

All thoughts of a ghostly presence left her head, and she sucked in her breath as Finn stepped into the closet next to her. He was so close she could feel his warm breath on her neck as he leaned in and softly spoke next to her ear. “Well, that’s one pirate that’s not getting his booty tonight.”

Nervous giggles bubbled out of her as she laughed at his silly joke. Why did he make her feel so jumpy? She was normally so calm around men, never really letting them get to her. After what happened with her husband, she knew she wouldn’t ever let herself get too close to a man again. The risk of breaking her already fragile heart was too great. That made it easy to keep them at arm’s length.

Her friends had set her up on dates, and she enjoyed getting dressed up and going to dinner or taking in a show. She even enjoyed some harmless flirting, but no one had made her pulse race or her mouth go dry. No one until this supposedly dull private eye who was looking down at her now and staring at her lips. Staring in a way that made her stomach do funny flips and her breath catch in her throat.

She looked up at him and bit her bottom lip.

He groaned and closed his eyes, then leaned his forehead against hers. “It kills me the way you bite your bottom lip like that. It makes your face go all sexy and has me imagining all sorts of things I would like to do to you to get you to make that face some more.”

She swallowed, and her nipples tightened as he leaned closer to her, pressing her back against the wall of the closet. “Yeah? Like what kind of things?”

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, his breath hot as he ran his lips lightly along her skin. The light growth of whiskers along his chin scraped her neck and sent another shiver down her spine as she imagined those whiskers along the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh. His voice was quiet, teasing, as he spoke next to her ear. “You’re the psychic. Aren’t you supposed to already know?”

“Oh, you little brat.” She narrowed her eyes at him, good-naturedly laughing, and pushed gently against his chest. “You’re the private detective. Haven’t you deduced what I’m thinking? Or haven’t I given you enough clues?” She wiggled her hips against his, eliciting another groan of pleasure from him, and he pressed her tighter against the wall.

Where had this brazenly flirtatious vixen come from? She never talked to men like this. But she’d also never been pushed against a closet wall by a hunky detective on Halloween night. Maybe it was the holiday. Or the cycle of the moon. Or maybe it really was magic.

His response was a cross between a growl and a groan as he took her hand from his chest and lifted it above her head. Intertwining her fingers with his, he clasped her hand as he leaned down to kiss her. Easy and slow, taking his time, as if he were savoring the taste of her lips. He lightly raked his teeth along her bottom lip, and she moaned against his mouth.

He let go of her hand and ran his fingers lightly down her arm, along the side of her body, just grazing her breast as he went, and her insides clenched, aching with the need of this man’s touch. His hand traveled down her waist, over her hip, and he lifted her leg up and around him as he clasped her butt.

She pressed her body against him, pulling him closer with her leg and cursing the layers of clothes between them. She longed to have her skin bare against his, and contemplated the idea of getting naked on the floor of the closet.

What was wrong with her? She did not do closets, and she certainly didn’t get naked with men she barely knew. Men who flat out called her a kook and claimed she did hocus-pocus.

But Finn had also said that he liked her smile and that she made his stomach feel funny and that he ached to touch her. Holy Earth Mother. What woman could resist a man who said that he ached to touch her?

And even if her brain wouldn’t admit it, her body was most definitely telling her that she liked this man. Because her body was doing some aching of its own. Aching for his hands to pull her tighter against him, aching for the feel of his calloused palms against her stomach as he slid his fingers under the waistband of her jeans.

She was lost in his kiss, lost in his touch as his hands roamed her body. She arched against him, desperate to get closer, to feel every inch of him against her. She pulled back, her brain trying to make sense of this crazy passion she was feeling.

Her breath was ragged as she clutched him to her. “Finn, what are we doing? This is crazy.”

He tipped her chin up and looked down at her. “Honestly, I have no idea. I know it seems crazy, but it also seems exactly right. Like this stupid closet is exactly where I’m supposed to be. I always think with my head and do the rational thing, and everything about this is irrational and wild, and there’s this crazy side of me that’s wondering if you actually put a spell on me. But the other side of me doesn’t care. My heart tells me you are something special and that being with you is just where I’m supposed to be.”

She couldn’t swallow over the lump that had just formed in her throat. In fact, she couldn’t speak at all. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Tension swelled in her chest, and she felt as if her body might actually shatter. She gripped his shoulders as if he was a lifeboat and she was trying not to drown. Wetting her lips, she swallowed and whispered, “I’m scared.”

Finn reached up and slid his hand around her neck. He ran his thumb lightly across her cheek and smiled down at her. “Lady, you scare the hell out of me. My normal MO for Halloween night is watching a football game with a beer and a frozen pizza, and keeping the porch light out because I forgot to buy any stupid candy for the trick-or-treaters. My life is stable, ordinary, even—”

“Boring,” she finished for him with a wry grin.

“Yeah, boring. I do not do this kind of thing. I get nervous kissing a woman goodnight after a first date. But something is different with you. I feel like a horny teenager who can’t keep his hands to himself. I just want to touch you and taste you and feel you against me. Lord help me, it’s taking everything I have not to rip your clothes off and get you naked on this closet floor.”

He shook his head. “And that’s another crazy thing. I never talk like this. I think you must have put a spell on my tongue, because I keep saying out loud all the crazy things that are running through my head.”

He might be teasing her about putting a spell on his tongue, but she knew there had to be real magic in the air. His words were releasing the tight, hard ball in her chest, and she felt herself filling with a lightness she hadn’t known in years.

She knew this was a moment. One of those moments that you just needed to grab and hold on to. Forget that she was in a closet, with its weird shimmers of spiritual presence and concrete floor. Forget that she was supposed to stay strong and keep herself guarded from any kind of emotional attachment.

Forget all of that and just let go. Let go and trust Finn. She could protect her heart, stay closed off and remain alone, or she could give in and take a chance. Give in to the desires of her heart and the bone-deep need she had for this man.

Oh hell, she already had her leg wrapped around his waist — what was she waiting for? She reached up, driving her hands into his hair, and pulled his head down to hers, seizing his lips in an onslaught of fiery kisses. She poured every ounce of passion she was feeling into those kisses, holding nothing back, giving herself to him.

He reached down and lifted her, driving her back against the wall and cupping her bottom as she wrapped both legs tightly around his waist. His hands groped and squeezed, inflaming parts of her that had lain dormant, but now craved his touch. He held her up with one hand while his other skimmed her waist, sliding under her shirt and along her skin.

She arched her back, wanting to feel every part of him against her, and cursed the layers of clothing between them. He effortlessly unsnapped her bra. She gasped as he slid his hand under the lacy fabric and filled it with her breast. Her nipples pebbled into tight buds, aching with need, as he fondled and caressed.

She pulled up his shirt, desperate to touch him and reveling in the hard muscles of his chest. Knowing he had a loaded gun strapped to his shoulder only drove her wilder. He’d probably put the safety on, but not knowing upped the element of danger.

His voice in her ear, low and husky, had her insides clenching with desire. “I want you, Zia. I want you right now. You need to tell me to stop or I’m going to take you right now on the floor of this closet.”

“Don’t stop. Do not stop.” She gulped. “But maybe you should take your gun off.”

He laughed then stepped back, setting her down so he could unstrap the gun holster. “That’s probably a good idea.”

Turning to set it on the shelf, he knocked against the array of brooms and mops and they all fell against them, including a large roll of plastic. Clattering to the floor, the cleaning supplies scattered, and the roll of plastic hit the floor with a dull thud.

It landed next to Zia’s boot, and a scream bubbled to her throat as she looked down and realized the red-smeared plastic encased a dead body.

Chapter Six

What the hell had just happened? Twenty minutes ago he’d had his arms full of a curvaceous gorgeous woman and now all he had his hands full of was a dead corpse and yellow crime scene tape.

Homicide was rare in the small town of Pleasant Valley, and half of the police force had turned up to view the body, which equaled a total of about six people. And by the looks of their Halloween costumes, most of them had been off duty that night. At least, he hoped they were in costume. Otherwise, Darth Vader, Dracula, and a zombie had just showed up to the crime scene.

Mac was the lead detective and the first on the scene. He was wearing an orange t-shirt that read “This Is My Halloween Costume.” He’d cordoned off the area and just handed the yellow crime scene tape to Finn.

Mac bent down and cut enough of the plastic away to view the face of the murdered victim. Male, late sixties, greying and paunchy. Looked like the type of man who’d been married for thirty years and never missed a meatloaf dinner with his wife.

Finn had texted Jake a few minutes earlier, and was surprised when he and Sunny walked in and approached the body. He was also surprised that they were wearing matching Batman and Batgirl outfits.

“You got here fast. I just sent up the Bat-Signal.”

“We were at the Halloween party across the street,” Jake said, surveying the scene. “What happened?”

“Dude, I don’t know if I can take you seriously when you’re wearing tights.”

Jake grinned. “They came with the costume.”

“And you paid money for this?”

“We already had the costumes.”

Finn held up his hands in surrender. “I do not want to know what kind of kinky superhero stuff you two get into. At least not until I’ve had a beer or two.”

Sunny laughed. “It’s not like that. We got these costumes when we went undercover at Comic-Con last summer. They were a gift from one of your clients. But Jake definitely rocks the Batman outfit. Tights and all.”

Jake lowered his voice, imitating Batman. “I’ll take you to my Batcave later and show you the backseat of the Batmobile.”

“Seriously,” Finn said. “Dude, we’re working a case here.”

“Sorry,” Jake said, still using the deep Batman voice. He grinned then sobered as Finn gave him a look. “What have we got?”

“Dead guy. Early sixties. Had a gal come into my office earlier today claiming her husband was missing because he didn’t come home for dinner last night. She also talked to Zia, and we think this guy might be connected to that jewelry heist,” Finn said to both Jake and Mac.

Before either man could comment, a commotion by the door had them looking up to see Phyllis, the woman who had stopped by his office earlier, pressing against the outstretched arms of Darth Vader and demanding to see the corpse. Finn had a sneaking suspicion that Zia had called her after they found the body. He looked her way, arching an eyebrow, and was rewarded with a Who, me? expression and a shrug of her shoulders.

Damn. He’d been this close to having those shoulders bared and pinned to the floor under him. He still couldn’t believe he had been about to have crazy sex in a closet with a psychic. Could this night get any stranger?

He was standing next to a dead body across from his partner, who was dressed in a Batman costume, and a zombie was taking down a statement from an incredibly gorgeous woman who wanted to rip his clothes off and claimed to be able to talk to dead people. Yeah, that sounded about as strange as it could get.

Another loud ruckus at the door of the building and he looked up to see Dracula trying to hold back a tiny woman with an outrageously stuffed chest wearing a pink cowboy hat, a huge blonde wig, and orthopedic shoes.

Nope, he was wrong. This night could get stranger.

Mac waved off the officer, and the woman rushed up to him. “Edna, who the heck are you supposed to be?”

“Why, Dolly Parton, of course,” she declared in a thick Southern accent, and shimmied her chest at him.

Her shimmy made a squeaking sound, and it didn’t take much of a detective to deduce two balloons were the source of her newfound chest.

Mac held up a hand. “Don’t ever do that again or I will arrest you. What are you doing here, anyway? Do those things come with a built-in police scanner? I swear, nothing happens in this town without you hearing about it first.”

“I knew that Finn and Zia’d had some trouble over here earlier today, and I just felt that something was wrong. I am a bit of psychic myself. Well, more of an intuitive. I just feel things.”

Mac’s face remained passive as he stared at her, not saying a word.

She fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other, causing another squeak of her balloon boobs. “Oh, all right. I was at the Halloween party across the street and saw the police cars.”

Holy crap. Was the whole town at this Halloween party across the street? An image of the lusty pirate and his busty nurse popped into Finn’s mind, and he wondered if the pirate had scored his bounty yet or if he was still looking for the treasure.

Edna pointed at Mac’s shirt and gave him a disapproving look. “Mac, I’m a little disappointed in this costume of yours. Couldn’t you have put a little effort into it? I mean, really, it’s not that hard. You could have been a cowboy or a lumberjack. I bet you could dig up a flannel shirt.” Finn figured this was a distraction technique, and he had to give the old lady props.

A cry of anguish interrupted their discussion as Phyllis looked down at the plastic-wrapped corpse. Her hands fluttered around her face as she repeated his name. “Morty. Oh no. Morty.”

Edna wrapped an arm around the woman. “I’m so sorry, honey. Was this your husband?”

Phyllis nodded as tears streaked down her face. “We’ve been married forty years, and Morty never misses a meal. I knew something was wrong when he didn’t come home for supper last night.”

“Do you know of anyone that would want to hurt your husband?”

“He was a good man. He used to run with some shady fellows, but he got away from that life when the kids were little. One of the old guys, Stan, just got out of prison and had been hanging around lately. I told Morty not to get mixed up with those old guys again, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Men never listen.” Edna patted her shoulder. “What kind of trouble were they getting into, honey?”

“I’m not sure. Stan would come over and they would go down in the basement. I tried to listen at the door, and I think it had something to do with a jewelry store. Morty had been really jumpy lately, but when I asked him about what was going on, he said he was fine, just taking care of some business.”

“What kind of business do you think it was?”

Mac cleared his throat. “Edna, you do realize that I actually work for the police? And there are two private investigators standing here as well. Would it be all right with you if one of us asked a question?” He looked at Finn and Jake for support.

Finn shrugged. “I thought she was doing all right on her own. I was about to add her to the payroll.”

Mac rolled his eyes and took Phyllis by the elbow, leading her away from the corpse of her husband. “Ma’am, why don’t you come over here and have a seat and I’ll take your statement.”

“Poor Phyllis. I had a bad feeling about her husband when she was here earlier today.” Zia had crossed the room and now stood by Finn’s shoulder.

“Did you have a bad feeling like maybe his corpse was in the closet next to us?” Finn asked. “That would have been a helpful feeling.”

“I did have a bad feeling when we were in the closet, but I couldn’t focus because I was being distracted.”

“What were you guys doing in the closet?” Jake asked.

Edna leaned in, her nosy radar on high. “And what was distracting you?”

Warmth spread up Finn’s neck, and he actually felt flustered. “Nothing. We caught a couple in the closet making out. A guy dressed like a pirate and a gal in a naughty nurse costume. They were drunk and had come from the same party that evidently half the town is at tonight.”

“Yeah, I saw those guys earlier. Well, I saw the naughty nurse. She might have been with a pirate. I didn’t notice much beyond her medical enhancements.” Jake laughed and earned a slug in the ribs from Sunny.

The medical examiner walked in the front door and headed for the body. He was dressed like the Grim Reaper, and pushed a stretcher in front of him. He nodded at Finn. “Looks like this guy got the trick instead of the treat.”

“Nice costume, Bob. Very fitting.” Finn waved a hand at the front door. “I suppose you were at the party across the street.”

Bob, or Grim, nodded. “Oh yeah. The place is hopping. I think the whole town is over there.”

“I think you’re right.”

It took the Grim Reaper about fifteen minutes to load the body and wheel it out the door. The police finished up and left a short time later.

Mac left Phyllis with Edna and crossed the room to shake Finn’s hand. “I’ve done all I can tonight. We’ll lock down the place and I’ll get some guys over here again tomorrow to see if they can dig anything else up. I’m going to head back to the station. See if I can connect Morty up to the robbery at the jewelry store and try to track down this Stan friend of his. Phyllis gave me a good description, and if he just got out of lockup, it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out who he is.”

The officer waved at Sunny and Zia then shook hands with Jake. “Thanks for coming over, Batman. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re protecting our fair city.” He nodded at Finn. “I’ll be by tomorrow.”

“Okay, listen up,” Zia said as the building door shut behind Mac. She pointed at Finn. “We tried it your way and did the whole stakeout thing. Now let’s try it mine. I know Morty’s spirit is in this building. That’s why my EMF reader was going crazy. I think he’s the one responsible for trashing our offices, and his spirit is staying here because it’s trying to tell us something.”

“How do you figure his ghost is the one who trashed our offices? If he was in cahoots with this Stan guy, then maybe he was the one who wrecked them. It seems a mighty big stretch to go from a dead body to a vandalizing ghost. Besides, we don’t even know if Morty was involved in the robbery of the jewelry store.”

“Yes, we do.” Edna appeared next to Zia, her arm wrapped around Phyllis’s waist. “Phyllis just told me the whole story. Tell them what you told me.”

Phyllis stared at the floor, wringing her hands.

“It’s okay, honey,” Edna assured her. “You can trust them. They’re good people.”

“Morty was a good man. He just made some bad decisions,” Phyllis stammered.

“What kind of decisions?” Finn asked. “Like deciding to rob a jewelry store?”

She nodded, her lips trembling. “It was all that bastard Stan’s idea. Morty and I were doing just fine. Our kids were grown and gone and we were settling into a nice life. Morty had finally earned his pension and was getting ready to retire. We were thinking of going on a cruise in the spring. Then Stan got out of prison and started hanging around again, filling Morty’s head with all these ideas.”

“Ideas like robbing a jewelry store?” Finn coaxed, earning an exaggerated sigh from Zia.

“Stan had this whole plan. He said he knew the night guard at a jewelry store who could get them in and out and knew the security codes. He had a guy who could fence the stolen jewelry, and he convinced Morty it would be an easy job. In and out, no problem.”

“But there was a problem?” Zia asked.

“With Stan, there’s always a problem. They pulled off the heist and everything seemed fine until the night guard turned up dead the next day. Morty finally told me what was going on, because he was worried Stan had taken out the guard and was coming after him next. Morty was holding on to the stolen goods, and he told me they’d taken a large stash of diamonds.”

“I knew it,” Zia said. “I knew I saw diamonds.”

Finn raised an eyebrow at her but wisely kept silent.

“I tried to convince Morty to turn them in, but he didn’t want to go to the police. I told him that I’d seen Finney’s private eye business across from Zia’s when I’d been here for a reading, and suggested he come see you and maybe you could help him return the jewels anonymously and offer him some protection from Stan.”

“A guy called and made an appointment with me last night, but I was late and I missed him,” Finn said. “That could have been Morty. Maybe Stan followed him here and tried to collect the diamonds. If Morty didn’t have them or wouldn’t tell him where they were, he may have killed him and trashed our offices looking for the stolen jewels. That’s just a theory that I’m coming up with by using logic and deduction.” He looked at Zia. “I don’t have any magic feelings about what happened or any psychic visions of a bloody room.”

A hurt look crossed Zia’s face. Okay, that was kind of an asshole comment. Why was he being so hard on her? An hour ago, he couldn’t get enough of her, and now he was falling back into those feelings of doubt.

He reached down and took her hand in his, entwining their fingers and giving hers a reassuring squeeze. He leaned his head down toward her ear and softened his tone. “Sorry, that was out of line. Old dog and all that.”

He was sure the others were watching and curious as to why he was holding hands with the psychic next door, but he really didn’t care. The feeling of warmth that filled him when he clasped her hand and the smile she rewarded him with now were worth whatever ribbing he would get from Jake later.

“I think there’s only one way to find out the answer for sure,” Zia said.

He nodded. “Right. We need to track down this Stan guy and get him to talk.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. We need to get the answers from the source. See what Morty has to tell us about his murder.”

“That would be great, except he’s dead.” The sarcastic tone snuck back in, followed by the realization that she was seriously discussing talking to the dead guy.

Uh oh. He didn’t like where this was headed.

“Yes, but that’s what I do. I can sometimes communicate with dead people.”

Finn squeezed her hand again, determined to hold the connection between them, and tried his best not to roll his eyes. How did she plan on talking to this dead guy? Send him an email? Was there a spiritual information highway? Maybe she could call him. Maybe instead of cell service, she had soul service and she could just dial up 1-800-Ghost-Chat.

“I think we should hold a séance and see if we can’t connect to Morty’s spirit. His body just left the building and we’re half an hour away from the stroke of midnight on Halloween night. The timing couldn’t be better.”

“I think that’s a great idea. Can I be part of it?” Edna asked, practically rubbing her hands together in glee.

Zia nodded. “I need you all to be part of it. There’s magic in the number six, so I will need all of you. And Phyllis, you’re the most connected to the spirit through the strongest bond, which is love. Would you be up to trying to connect with Morty’s spirit?”

Phyllis nodded. “Of course. I would do anything to talk to Morty one more time. To tell him that I love him and I’m sorry that I yelled at him about putting his socks in the hamper the last day I saw him alive.”

Edna patted her arm. “Don’t worry about that, honey. I’m sure he wouldn’t even remember you mentioning the clothes hamper. Men are like dogs: they forget easily. They just remember that you feed them, give them a warm place to sleep, and rub their bellies once in a while.”

Hmmm. She had a point. Finn gave the Batcouple a questioning look.

Jake shrugged. “I’m always game for trying a new experience.” He looked down at Sunny. “How about you, Batgirl? Do you believe in all this ghosty stuff?”

“I’m not exactly sure. I’ve never seen proof, but I’m open to the idea. I’ve lost enough people that I like to believe they could be around us, watching over their loved ones. I’m game for a séance.”

“Great,” Zia said. “We need to hurry, though, because it’s creeping closer to midnight.”

Did she have to say creeping? This whole thing was creeping Finn out. He tried to control the shiver that threatened to race up his back as the group followed Zia to her office.

She stopped in front of the door and turned back to give the group directions. “We can use my office. Finn and Jake can set up the table and chairs while I gather some things together. Phyllis, do you have anything of Morty’s with you? Anything that belonged to him or that he might have touched?”

Phyllis opened her handbag and dug through the contents. She held up a wadded white handkerchief. “How about this? He handed me his hanky after I sneezed in church last weekend, and I threw it in my purse to wash for him later.”

Zia smiled at her and led them into her office. “That will be perfect.”

Great. This morning he was headed into work, minding his own business. He had the newspaper to read and a cup of coffee to drink. Plain old black coffee. His life was simple.

Now he was sipping fancy pumpkin-flavored coffee, talking about ghosts, and following the gorgeous, round ass of a woman who made his heart pound and who told him she thought he was kind of sexy right before she kissed him senseless.

If all that wasn’t unbelievable enough, he was getting ready to participate in a séance with Batman and Dolly Parton, and they were going to channel the dead guy’s spirit through a snot-filled handkerchief.

While trying to stay open-minded, he felt like he’d been approaching this unknown door that was slightly ajar and he was just going to peek in, check out what was inside. Instead, the door had been flung wide open and he was being ushered inside and literally sitting down at the table in Spooksville.

We are only afraid of what we don’t understand. He’d read that somewhere. Was that what was happening? Was he afraid? Afraid of a ghost? Hmm. Maybe. He sure as hell was afraid of this thing happening with Zia.

There was only one thing to do: go give it a try. Both with Zia and the séance. The only way he would know for sure if ghosts were real was if they tried to communicate with one, and the only way he would know if this thing with Zia was real was if he tried. If he handed her his heart and took the chance that she wouldn’t break it.

He followed Zia into the office, stopping to hold the door open for Edna and Phyllis to enter. “Where do you want us to start?”

She pointed to the closet. “There’s a round table and folding chairs in that closet. You and Jake set that up. Sunny, grab that big, chunky purple candle off the shelf and put it in the center of the table.”

“What can I do?” Edna asked. “You want me to get out the spell book and start collecting ingredients? Do you have any eye of newt? They always have that in secret spells.”

“No. I’m not casting any spells. We’re trying to communicate with Morty’s spirit, not bring him back from the dead.”

“All right. All right,” Edna mumbled as she wandered over to the shelves and began searching through the boxes and jars of herbs Zia used for healing and therapy.

Within minutes, they had the table set up and were circled around it. Zia had spread out a rich blue velvet tablecloth, and Sunny set Morty’s handkerchief and the chunky candle in the middle. She lit the wick with a long-tipped lighter and set it on the table, while Zia turned out the office lights and directed everyone to sit down.

“I need everyone to be quiet, and please turn off your cell phones. We don’t want to be interrupted in a crucial moment of communication.”

“What if the ghost tries to call us and we have our phones off?” Finn’s snide remark was met with silence. He turned off his phone and slid it into his pocket then sat down.

“We all need to stay in the circle the whole time. If someone gets up and leaves, it can break the spiritual connection. Does anyone need to use the restroom before we start?”

“No,” Edna said. “But I might need to if a ghost really does show up.”

Finn sat with Zia on his right and Sunny on his left. Jake sat next to Sunny, and then Edna, and Phyllis completed the circle sitting on the other side of Zia.

Zia smiled at the group. “Take the hand of the person next to you. We want to begin with a prayer to protect us from angry or evil spirits, and ask that only well-intentioned spirits join our circle tonight.”

“Yeah, we don’t want any random angry spirits showing up,” Finn said. “This is a high-class séance and only well-behaved ghosts are invited.”

Zia dropped his hand and gave him a stern look. “Look, Finn, this is only going to work if we have the positive energy of every person in this circle. If only one person is a skeptic, they can act like a sinker and drain the whole group of its energy. We’re running out of time, and you need to decide if you’re in or you’re out. Six is the optimal number, but we can do this without you.”

Was he in or was he out? Now was his chance to make a choice. He blew out a breath. “Okay, I’m in. Sorry. I’ll shut up and try my best to convey only positive energy.”

She grinned at him, and his breath caught as he was struck by the beauty of her smile. Yeah, he was in, all right. Ghost or no ghost, he wanted this woman in his life. And if that meant he had to shut up and think welcoming thoughts to Casper, then that seemed like a pretty simple price to pay.

Zia picked up his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She closed her eyes and lowered her voice. “Morty, we gather here tonight in hope that we will receive a sign of your presence. Our circle is open and we welcome you to join us.”

A few long seconds passed, then a loud thump sounded in the back of the room. Sunny jumped and let out a nervous giggle then cleared her throat and resumed watch.

The room was dark except for the small circle of candlelight that reflected each of their faces. Zia spoke again, calm and encouraging. “Morty, if you’re here with us, please give us a sign.” The candlelight flickered and the temperature of the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “Phyllis, you knew Morty and loved him. Please take this time to think warm thoughts about him, fill your heart with all the love you have for him, and fill your mind with good memories of time spent with him.

“Morty, if you’re in the room with us, please signal twice for a yes answer,” Zia instructed.

A loud rap sounded on the center of the table, and seconds later another rap signaled the presence of the spirit.

Holy crap. Was this really happening? Maybe one of the others was tapping the table with their leg. Finn looked around the table, but all the faces looked as stunned as he felt.

Zia continued to ask the spirit questions. “We want to help you. To understand what happened. Were you killed in this room?”

The loud rap sounded again, this time twice in quick succession.

“Do you know who shot you?”

Suddenly the room went crazy. Cabinet doors opened and slammed shut, books flew off the shelves, and a loud wind filled the room, blowing out the candle and leaving them in pitch blackness. The sound of a door opening and closing could be heard in the dark. The distinct smell of garlic and salami filled the room.

Finn dropped Zia’s hand and fumbled for the lighter. Before he could find it on the table, the candle relit itself, the wick sparking into a tiny flame.

What the hell?

The sound of a woman weeping sent chills down Finn’s spine. He looked around and realized it was Phyllis. She hadn’t let go of Edna or Zia’s hands, but her chin dropped to her chest as she wept quietly. “Morty loved meeting the guys down at Sal’s deli for lunch. It’s almost as if I can smell an Italian hoagie. It was his favorite sandwich.”

“Morty, are you still with us?” Zia asked, her composure calm and confident.

Two quick knocks on the table.

“Was it Stan? Was he the one who shot you?”

Another two knocks, and Edna gasped.

It seemed like a given that Stan would have been the one to shoot him. Happened all the time — partners in crime double-crossed each other.

A new sound filled the air, one that sent a different but just as chilling shiver down Finn’s spine. The sound of a gun being cocked.

The sound came from Finn’s right, and he turned to see a hand holding a gun at Zia’s temple. The rest of the hand’s body was swallowed up in the darkness of the room. Finn’s detective skills went on alert, observing every second, judging the assailant’s height by the direction of the gun. The scent of garlic and salami wafted nearer, and Finn guessed Morty wasn’t the only one who loved the Italian hoagie.

“It’s no surprise who shot him,” an unfamiliar male voice spoke from the darkness. “Why don’t you ask him the more important question — like where he hid the diamonds?”

“Stan! You rotten son-of-a-bitch!” Phyllis swore. She bucked against the table, but Edna held her hand tightly.

“Look,” Stan said, “I don’t want no trouble. I just came for the diamonds. I know Morty had ’em when he came in here last night, but I searched him after I shot him, and they weren’t on him. So they must be hid in one of these offices. Those diamonds belong to me.” He called out into the room, “Where’d you hide the jewels, you bastard?”

The room went into bedlam again, but ratcheted up ten more notches. Books and jars flew from the shelves, the wind howled, and the ceiling light flickered on and off. But those few seconds of light were all Finn needed to see Stan positioned behind Zia’s chair, the gun held high in his outstretched hand.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Finn flung himself at Stan, knocking the gun from his hand and tackling him to the ground. Within seconds, the lights flipped on, this time by a human hand, as Sunny stood by the switch. Jake, a.k.a. Batman, grabbed for the gun and held it trained on Stan.

“All right,” Stan wheezed. “Don’t shoot.”

The door of Zia’s office flew open and Officer McCarthy burst in, gun in hand. Another officer followed close behind, his gun also drawn.

“It’s okay, Mac. We got him,” Finn said. “But nice timing.”

Mac holstered his gun and gestured to the other officer, who bent at Finn’s side and slapped handcuffs on Stan’s wrists. “We located Stan and put a tail on him, but he lost us. We figured he was headed this way. I tried to call you to let you know, but your cell phone must be off. I had no idea you all would still be here.”

Finn turned to Zia, who shrugged and offered him a sheepish look.

“We heard him confess to shooting Morty,” Finn told Mac. “But I wish we knew what happened to the diamonds. That would tie him to the robbery and seal the conviction.”

The lights flickered again, a cold chill settled into the room, and a big glass jar slid off the counter. It shattered as it hit the ground and spilled colored velvet bags across the floor.

Sunny let out a shriek, but Zia bent to the floor, examining the bags. “The bags in this jar are full of crystals or herbs used for healing or love spells. I handmade all of them.” She held up a black velvet bag. “All except this one.” She pulled open the drawstring and tipped the bag up, spilling a cascade of glittering diamonds into her hand.

The cold chill left the air, and the group stared at the diamonds in silence.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Stan said. “That son of a bitch hid ’em right out in plain sight. I must have walked by that jar twenty times when I was tossing this place.”

Mac took Stan by the arm and led him to the door. “Hope they didn’t give your cell away to a new tenant, because you’re headed back to lock-up.” He passed him off to the other officer to drive down to the station while he stayed to take their statements. He shook his head in disbelief as they all told the same unbelievable tale.

Once finished, he offered Phyllis a ride home. Jake collected Sunny and Edna and told Finn he’d be back tomorrow to help him sort everything out.

The door clicked shut behind them, and all that was left were Finn and Zia. The previously close-minded detective and the sexy psychic.

He raised an eyebrow at Zia. “See, I was right. I told you a person had trashed our offices.”

She put a hand on her hip and sighed. “Is that really the argument you want to go with? After everything that happened here tonight? You’re still going to claim there are no ghosts?”

He laughed. “I didn’t say that. I just said I was right about the offices. After this crazy night, I need to be right about something.”

She slowly walked toward him, a smoldering look in her eye. “It seems to me you were exactly right earlier tonight when you had your lips pressed against mine.”

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. “I do enjoy being right.” Tilting her face up, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Happy Halloween.”

“Happy crazy Halloween. What a night.” She grinned. “Still think I put a spell on you?”

He shrugged. “Don’t care. If you did, I hope you don’t take it off. I like you and I like us together.”

“Can you handle our differences? Keep an open mind about my work and what I do?”

“Hey, I already tried a pumpkin spice latte and participated in a séance — what else do you want from me?”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid a kiss against his neck. In a husky voice, she replied, “Oh, you’ve only begun to see what I want from you.”

Oh boy.

“Is that a prediction of what’s in store for me?”

She gave him a suggestive look. “I don’t need tarot cards to read what’s in store for you.”

He liked the way she thought. In fact, he’d like to hear a few more of those thoughts. Except not in a closet with a dead body as an audience. It was time he took Miss Zia home and shared a few of his own predictions.

He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips before offering her a mischievous grin. “Well, I don’t have a crystal ball and I’m no psychic, but I definitely see you in my future. All of you.

THE END

About the Author

Jennie Marts loves to make readers laugh as she weaves stories filled with love, friendship and intrigue. Jennie writes for Entangled Publishing and she’s the Kindle Bestselling author of the Page Turners series, which includes the romantic comedies: Another Saturday Night and I Ain’t Got No Body, Easy Like Sunday Mourning, and Just Another Maniac Monday. Readers first met the characters in A Halloween Hookup in Book 1 of this series.

Jennie is living her own happily ever after in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, two sons, and two dogs whose antics often find a way into her books.

Jennie is addicted to Diet Coke, adores Cheetos, and believes you can’t have too many books, shoes or friends.

Jennie loves to hear from readers.

Follow her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/JennieMartsBooks

Twitter at @JennieMarts, or Goodreads.

Visit her at www.jenniemarts.com and subscribe to her newsletter for the latest on new releases and to find out the current happenings with the Pleasant Valley Page Turners.

Peckers

by Liv Morris

A cop with a pair of handcuffs and a dimpled smile can be frighteningly sexy

Dedicated to all the women who have ventured into Hooters because they love their man or the wings!

Copyright © 2014 Liv Morris

Digital Edition: October 2014

Editing: Marla Esposito @ Proofing Style

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Chapter 1

“Damn, damn, damn,” I screamed while pounding the steering wheel of my old beater. I coasted the car to the side of the road after the engine went silent. “Not now. I’m only a couple miles away!”

Adding to my already frayed nerves, my confined cat, Tommie, howled in his carrier sitting next to me on the passenger seat. I think he’s ready to be freed from this car. God knows I am too.

I can now add a broken down car to the crazy mishaps I’ve been lucky enough to experience during the last month. The first one led me to the unemployment line. The magazine I worked for in New York City decided to go belly up and notify their employees by securing the glass front door with locks and chains.

No sign or note was left for all of us stunned workers as we rattled the doors. Not even a thank you for showing up today, but we’ve decided not to.

I bought a gallon of Ben and Jerry’s on the walk back home to my apartment, and mourned my job loss by watching Bravo for a week straight. It helped to see rich and spoiled housewives who were more miserable than jobless me. I’ve always wondered one thing about those crazy reality shows… Don’t they know every bitchy thing they say about their friends is being recorded?

The week following my overnight unemployment, my Aunt Marge died and left her entire estate to me. It was amazing and very generous but came with one big condition… I had to move back to my hometown of Marietta, Ohio, and live for one year in her house. Damn, I loved New York. And to make things worse, if I refused the estate would go to my derelict cousin, Lenny. His most recent mug shot with stringy blond hair and missing front teeth was posted next to the term “Meth Lab Owner” on Wikipedia. No lie!

Aunt Marge’s scheme worked, I had no job and there was no way in hell I could let my aunt’s hard earned money land in Lenny’s hands or on his meth boilerplate.

My aunt never married and was known around town as the “Spinster.” She taught creative writing at the local college and wrote romance novels under a secret pen name. She made her real fortune selling books written as Demi Duke, the bodice-ripping historical romance writer. It was only after her death that the hidden name leaked to her colleagues, and then the rest of the small town. I had no idea my aunt lived a double life until the estate lawyer’s contacted me.

After two hundred turns of the key in the car’s ignition, I gave up and flipped on the hazard lights. The sun had set a couple hours ago, but I didn’t feel any danger since the town of Marietta was sleepy, safe and as boring as a beige pantsuit. What a contrast from New York City. My cat seemed to agree as he begged to be freed.

“Come here, Tommie.” I flipped open the carrier’s wire door and inched my hands inside. I wanted to make sure Tommie had calmed down and didn’t show his claws. He bolted out of his confines and made a beeline for the back seat, by-passing my lame attempt to catch him.

After a howling meow, Tommie leaped on top of my head via my seat’s headrest. The entire tomfoolery took less than ten heartbeats. One might say fur was flying.

“For Pete’s sake, Tommie.” I tried to wrestle the cat off of my head without further scaring the animal. My once tightly pulled ponytail resembled a tangled mop of blond locks. I moved a few strands away from my eyes with a huff of breath.

“Meow.” Tommie repeated sounding more like a dying cow than a sweet little kitten.

I began rubbing between his ears. After a minute his whining turned to purring and I gingerly removed him from my head.

“Sorry boy,” I cooed while placing him back in his carrier, and hoped we both adjusted to our move.

Tap, tap, tap.

I turned to the left as someone tapped against the driver’s side window. One quick glance brought a shiny police badge into view.

“Great,” I complained under my breath before rolling down the window.

Maybe the officer can help me figure out what to do about my broken down car. I haven’t lived in the Marietta since I left for college and had no clue who to call for a tow. As a New Yorker that didn’t need to drive, my new set of wheels was a last minute purchase before moving. A friend of a friend gave me what I thought was a great deal. Now I’m not too sure.

As I lowered the tinted window, I had a better view of the man standing outside, though I couldn’t see his face because he was rather tall. But what I did see of him perfectly stretched the legs of his navy pants. My gaze traveled up to find narrow hips and what looked like a flat stomach beneath a shirt with official looking buttons. I licked my lips as I saw the beginnings of a square jawline.

“Ma’am,” the officer spoke, breaking through the silence and my imagination of what he was packing. He bent down toward me, but I had trouble seeing him fully through the wisps of hair covering my face. “Can I see your license and registration please?”

“My car has broken down. I hope that’s not against the law.” I replied sarcastically while turning to reach for my purse and getting a quick view of myself in the rear view mirror.

“No ma’am. Just a routine request for identification.” I swear the baritone sound of his voice caressed something that had been without male friction for months.

My hair was a mess and I resembled a deranged woman more than a pretty young twenty-five year old. Also, Tommie had decided to start protesting his imprisonment again. I giggled realizing I fit the definition of a crazy cat lady and wasn’t even thirty yet.

Fuck my life.

Rummaging through my purse I pulled out my wallet and handed over my license to the officer. “Hold on let me find my registration.”

Before I moved across the seat to get to the glove compartment, the officer stopped me. “Patricia Hopkins? Patty Cake, is that you?” he asked through a laugh. “It’s Thomas Brooks. Mel’s brother.”

Holy shit, I knew who it was the second I heard him say Patty Cakes. Just hearing him say it made me feel fourteen again, because he wasn’t just my best friend’s brother, but my life long crush and the hotter than hot guy I’d pined for.

And of course I would be looking like a hot mess. I sighed realizing that my luck hadn’t changed. Not to mention he had dredged up the cringe worthy nickname.

Welcome home.

Chapter 2

“Hi, Thomas,” I groaned in embarrassment while pulling out my hair tie and running my fingers through the tangled ends.

“Yes, it’s me Patricia, but I go by Trish now.” I muttered the second part glancing one last time into the rearview mirror and hoping I wouldn’t frighten him.

I yanked the door open and stepped onto the pavement. As I stood up in front of Thomas, I reached the height of his shiny badge and looked up into his steely black eyes.

Boom.

Even in the moonlit night I saw his smirky smile showing just a hint of the boyhood dimple I had loved. But there was nothing boy about him now. Nope. He radiated hot alpha male, decked out in his perfect fitting police uniform.

I licked my lips, and a dirty thought went through my sex-starved mind as I wondered where he kept his handcuffs, or if he might like to use his stun gun on me. I was close to holding out my wrists in surrender.

“I would’ve never guessed it was you.” Thomas scanned up and downed my body. The effect his eyes had on me only added to my already heightened state of alert. “You’ve changed.” The smirk was now a full blow knee-weakening smile, and I was glad to be leaning against the car door.

He seemed to like what he saw and then I remembered my tragic hair or rat’s nest. Darn kitten.

“Yes, it’s the hair. I’m trying out a new do. I’m calling it, Confined Cat Curls.” I lowered my head and giggled.

“Well, your hair is a little wild. But…wow. You look great. Nothing like the Patty Cake I once knew.”

I looked down at the pavement and smiled after his compliment. I didn’t mind Patty Cake too much. It was the other nickname I hated. The ugly one I’d worn in shame during my school days. Fatty Patty.

Well, I sure didn’t fit that description anymore, if Thomas’ continued glances at my boobs were any indication.

When I headed to Boston for college, I changed my entire lifestyle. Instead of gaining the freshman fifteen, I lost fifty pounds and tightened up my curves. My entire life transformed from being a wallflower to getting unsolicited attention from boys who never gave me a second glance before.

“Thanks for noticing.” I leaned against the car with my hands behind my back. The new angle let me take in the entire view of Thomas, and damn it was a view. It was my turn to peruse, and I think he liked the new position of my boobs too. All win.

“You’ve changed too.” I paused and decided if my hair didn’t freak him out, I might as well go for the gold. “Nicely.”

Thomas stood a little taller. “Gotta stay in shape with all the criminals I have to chase around here.”

I laughed knowing the worst criminals in town where the jaywalkers. “It has to be a rough job. Like now. Helping damsels with car trouble.”

“Not just any damsel.” Thomas lowered his voice and moved closer to me and I sunk down lower against the curve of the car door. “I specialize in helping lost girls find their way home.”

A shiver ran down my spine even though the night was unseasonably warm. “Is that so?”

“So I’ve been told.” Thomas inched toward me. He was so near I could smell his cologne. A nice mix of a spice and woodsy scent. My senses started to distract me, but Tommie wouldn’t be ignored and decided to let his presence be known.

“Meow,” Tommie cried out in neglected misery.

“That would be my cat,” I explained while tilting my head toward the car’s interior. “He’s had a rough ride locked in his little carrier for over eight hours.”

“I bet. What’s his name?” Thomas inquired as he peered into the car to see a black kitten staring at him.

“Tommie,” I spoke in a hush knowing the name was also Thomas’ old nickname. I held my head down to avoid his eyes.

“Tommie?” He scoffed. “Should I be flattered?”

“You wish.” It was my turn to mock him. “His official name is Tomcat.” I lied to save my ass. It seemed easier than saying I saw the cat and thought of your black as night hair, so I named him Tommie.

“Sure,” Thomas replied as he raised a brow at me and stared me down for a few long seconds, maybe wondering if he could spot my fib.

“So you said your car’s broken down.”

“No, I like pulling over to the side of the road and having a cat claw my hair into a rat’s nest.”

“I see you brought back a little of New York City with you.” Now Thomas had both brows raised at me. But I didn’t miss the fact that he knew I’d been in New York City. My heart might have leapt a little at the thought.

“Sorry, I’m a little fried.”

“It’s okay. I get it.” Thomas reached out and rubbed my arm, which made me forget what we were talking about.

“Huh?” I asked, still numb.

“The car, driving all day. And why you’re back in town.” He likely knew everything since secrets were hard to contain in a small town like Marietta. I’m still amazed at my aunt for hiding her Demi Duke side for all those years.

“It’s not where I thought I’d be a couple months ago,” I confessed. “But I’m here.”

“Let’s call you a tow.” Thomas stood tall and pulled out his radio. He pressed a few buttons and put it up to his ear. “Hey, I’m with a stranded driver and need you to dispatch a wrecker.”

I watched Thomas as he listened to the response and nodded his head, seeming so in charge of my problem. I continued to take in this hot alpha man, and enjoyed the view of what looked like grapefruits packed away under his shirtsleeves. The man must work out three hours a day or combine it with other extracurricular activities, perhaps those of a sexual nature. Wonder if he’s looking for a new workout partner? I mentally raised both hands and stifled a laugh.

“Yes, I’m still at the same stop where I last radioed in.” Thomas glanced over my car. “It’s a late model Ford Focus. Black with its lights flashing. I’ll stay here with the vehicle until the truck arrives. Barring another dispatch.”

Thomas ended the call and put his phone away. “Okay, the tow truck should be here in a few minutes. Any ideas how we can pass the time?”

He twitches his brows and winks.

Oh boy.

I can’t seem to find a quick, clean answer to that question.

Chapter 3

“Well, I’d rather not get back in the car and wait. I’ve been in it all day.” I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed Thomas. I might have pushed my boobs together a bit to enhance my cleavage. I wanted to make a point… or two.

“How about we sit on the hood of your car and catch up.” He reached around me and opened the car door. I scooted out of the way as Thomas retrieved Tommie’s carrier.

“Can’t have him all by his lonesome. Us Tommie’s need to stick together.”

Thomas seemed to be ribbing me about naming the cat after him, though I’d never admit it out loud. Instead I kept my mouth closed and followed him around to the front of my car.

“Sit here.” Thomas patted the hood of the car and I eased myself up onto the metal. Years ago I would’ve dented the damn thing, but today there wasn’t even a give as I sat on it.

Careful not to scratch the car, Thomas placed Tommie next to me and the cat appeared to be sleeping for now. “The engine is still warm.” I said after feeling the engine’s heat against my butt.

“The night is warm too. It’s felt like Indian summer for the last week.” Thomas turned to lean his backside against the front of the car. His long legs were hardly an inch away from mine. His invasion of my personal space felt deliciously inappropriate considering we hadn’t seen each other in eight years. “Anyway, I’m sorry about your aunt. I always liked her. Kind of kept to herself though.”

“Thanks.” I peered up at the bright moon shining down. “She kept a lot of things to herself apparently. None of us knew about her writing. I remember visiting her house and seeing her books sitting on a table. She snatched them away from me before I could touch them, saying they were too steamy.”

“That’s what some of the women are saying around town. They’re seeing your aunt in a whole new light.”

“Aren’t we all?” I joked back. “But it’s cool how she was able to live two lives. Some people never even live one.”

“Very true.” Thomas moved away the car and stood to face me. He stared into my eyes with the moonlight illuminating behind him. I suddenly had trouble breathing. Maybe some rescue CPR would be in order here. He’d have to touch my lips and boobs.

“So tell me. You go by Trish now, right?” Thomas eyed me with a cocked brow and waited for my answer.

“Yes, I wanted a new beginning when I left Marietta, so I buried Patty somewhere along the highway as I drove to Boston for college.”

“It appears that you were very successful with the burying part. Because your nothing like the young girl I remember.” Thomas grinned at me and placed his hand down on the hood. His body loomed above mine, and I wanted to spread my legs like a hussy. It wasn’t like we just met. I loved trying to rationalize my dirty mind. “So tell me what have you been up to for the last eight years?”

“College, moved to New York City for my first job, lost said job, and now I’m being bribed by my late and scheming aunt to move back here.”

“Eight years in one sentence? Sounds like you might be trying to hide a few things.” Thomas glanced down at the finger I would have a wedding ring on if I was married or engaged. A smile curved across his lips as he found it bare, and I was glad I’d pawned the ring that used to be worn on that finger to buy this damn car. “No significant other?”

“Nope,” I clipped my answer, hoping he would drop the subject of men, boyfriends, or manwhores, which was my term for the male population in New York City under the age of forty. “Single and not looking.”

“Well a beautiful woman like you shouldn’t have to look or be single.” Thomas raised himself to full height. “Unless she aspires to be a nun.”

“Definitely not nun material. Mainly because I’m a Christmas and Easter Methodist, but I’m content with my life.” I wanted to say except the part where I lost my job and had to move away from the city I loved. In other words, I was lying through my teeth right now, and had no clue why. Silly pride perhaps.

“Glad to hear about the nun part, but I’d like…” Flashing lights pulled up right beside us before Thomas could finish. Dammit. I wondered what he’d like. Hoping in secret that he might like me.

“Let me talk to the driver while you put Tommie back inside the car.” Thomas acknowledged the tow’s arrival and held out his hand to help me off the car’s hood.

I lifted Tommie’s carrier off the car and watched Thomas walk away. What had gotten into me? I’ve followed every order he gave me. Sit here. Confess this. Do that. Yes, everyone last one. And strangely I liked it. Very, very much.

Chapter 4

“I can’t believe the car was out of gas.” I shook my head in disbelief as the tow truck driver gave me the news. I wanted to blame it on the fact I’ve rarely driven a car in three years or that the gas gauge might be busted. But there was no excuse for my stupidity, as usual. Or was it ass as usual?

“You’d be surprised how often this happen.” The tow truck driver tried to cheer me up. “I bet it’s once a day. That’s why we always carry a full can of gas with us.”

“Well, at least the car doesn’t need repairs. Not so sure about my ability to drive one though.” I quipped under my breath as the driver put the cap back on the now empty can. “How much do I owe you?”

“Taken care of right, Bernie?” Thomas stuffed a few bills into Bernie’s shirt pocket. His hands were so quick I wasn’t able to see how much money he’d put inside.

Dammit, I hated owing anyone a dime, and once again Thomas was in charge. I wondered if he thought of me like a kid sister since I was Mel’s best friend. One thing for sure, I appreciated his help and the view.

“Thanks. But I owe you.” Thomas just smiled and shook his head. It didn’t appear I’d win the argument with him either. “I’ll make a donation to the policeman’s fund in your name.”

“How about I follow you back to your aunts? That’s where you’re staying I presume.” Thomas opened the car door for me and I slipped inside.

“Yes, but I’ll be okay on my own.” Part of me wanted him to follow me home and tuck me into bed for the night while he slipped in next to me under the covers. Naked. “I survived living in New York City for three years and you know what they say…”

“If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.” Thomas crooned and a sweet tingle ran over my skin.

“Where did you learn to sing like that?” I’d never heard him sing all the times I’d hung out at their home when I was a kid. I would’ve remembered because he sung in a way no one could forget.

“There’s more than muscle behind this badge, Patty Cake.” Thomas closed the door to my car now that I was seated behind the wheel and staring up at him in awe and lust. Mainly lust.

“Hey. It’s Trish to you buster.” I teased him with a smile through the car’s open window.

“Fine, Trish,” Thomas spat out my name. I would’ve preferred that he sang it.

“Fine.” I returned with a mocking tone.

“You’re something else, PC.” Thomas reached in and tasseled the hair on the top of my head, adding to the already messed up do.

“What the…” But it was too late. Thomas had already headed back to his patrol car.

After putting the car in drive, I steered out onto the road. A pair of headlights shone in my rear view mirror as Thomas followed close behind.

When my car hit the paved driveway of Aunt Marge’s house, I noticed how dark it was without a light shining from a window. The place didn’t look like the same inviting home I remembered now being cast in darkness. I was glad to see Thomas’s patrol car stopping right behind mine.

I had mixed emotions about going inside the house since I’d really not said farewell to Aunt Marge. She left specific instructions in her will. Since she knew her time was short, she dictated exactly how she wanted her funeral services. Basically none. A short but sweet memorial service was planned at the college she taught at for some time in mid-November. Other than that, she asked for no fanfare. And no goodbyes

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There was Thomas again at my window while I sat daydreaming and thinking about my aunt. Walking into the lonely house couldn’t be avoided, so I took a deep breath, reached for Tommie’s carrier handle, and opened the door.

“You okay?” Thomas asked in concern.

“Yeah. Just thinking. Seems weird to come back here and Aunt Marge’s gone.” Thomas took the carrier from my hands as we started to make our way toward the front door.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Thomas questioned while we walked up the Victorian’s wooden steps.

“She came to visit me last Christmas in New York. I had no idea she was sick at all. She didn’t tell a soul.” I could almost feel my aunt’s arms from the last hug we shared. If I’d only known then…

“Give me your keys.” Thomas ordered in a quiet but firm way. Without thinking I dug the keys out of my pocket and handed them over. I obeyed Thomas very well. I hope it earned me some brownie points.

The door creaked open and the smell of roses hit my nose. Tears soon followed.

“Let me get the rest of your stuff out of the car while you get settled.”

I wiped my eyes and pushed back my hair before I turned to face Thomas. “Who knew you were such a nice guy?”

“I have my rare moments.” Thomas walked toward me, closing the gap between us and brought his fingers up to my cheek. “I’m sorry.”

His gentle touch swiped away any stray tears. “Thanks,” I whispered and looked up at him through watery eyes.

He reached around my body with his strong arms and gave me a comforting hug. But as he pulled away, I thought I heard him say. “I’d rather be naughty.”

Chapter 5

“How did everything go at the attorney’s office today?” Mel asked as she sat across the table from me.

We’d decided to meet for lunch at a restaurant close to the river. I’d only been back a couple days, and we hadn’t had a chance to really catch up.

“My aunt has to be laughing in her grave.” I put the menu down and looked at Mel. “The hoops I have to jump through to inherit her estate are nuts, but I really don’t have a choice.”

“This reminds me of one of the those movies where the person has to find a spouse by the weekend or they’re written out of the rich uncle’s will.” Mel laughed, hoping to lighten my mood, but this wasn’t some Hollywood comedy. Instead it was my fucked up life.

“Yeah. I keep waiting for the Punk’d film crew to show up at any minute.” I scanned the patron’s surrounding us. “But I don’t see hide nor hair of Ashton Kutcher and he’s not easy to miss.”

“So what are all the requirements?” Mel took a sip of her diet cola. “They have to be something crazy to get you to move back here from New York City.”

“Well you know my cousin Lenny.” I paused while Mel nodded her head.

“He’s scary.” Mel shuddered and I followed with a knowing laugh.

“You have no idea. He was at the meeting today and I swear he looked like a Zombie ready for Halloween. It’s been forever since I’ve seen him. Maybe ten years and he looks like he’s about fifty with no teeth.”

“Why was he at the attorney’s?” Mel asked.

“Long story short. I have to stay here an entire year at my aunt’s house. Basically set up residency. Remove every shred of evidence that I was once a happy New Yorker. If I don’t, Lenny will inherit the estate, lock, stock, and meth pipe.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Mel scoffed and scrunched her face in a most unpleasant manner. “Is that even legal? Can she really make you do this?”

“Apparently it’s all legitimate though sadistic in a twisted way. The attorney mentioned something about Aunt Marge’s assets being held in an escrow account with specific stipulations that I have to meet.”

“Wow, I never knew your aunt had it in her.”

“I know. I think it’s more the Demi Duke side of her. Her alter ego.” I chuckled as our salads were placed in front of us. “My mother thinks she wanted me out of New York City. She lived there right out of college like me. Before she decided on pursuing her doctorate. She thought the city sucked souls from the young. Quote, unquote.”

“When she visited you there last December, did you have any clue what was coming?”

“Clueless. She did question me about my life in New York City. How the dating life was. Maybe I should’ve told her some lies instead of telling her I’d yet to meet a decent guy after three years. I complained about them all being asshole players.”

I had searched my mind since I heard the terms of my aunt’s will. Nothing from that three-day visit months ago would’ve tipped me off to what I was facing now.

The estate she left me was massive, totaling eight million dollars including the Victorian house. Aunt Marge found success as the writer Demi Duke in the Seventy’s and Eighty’s. A smart broker had her make two killer investments with her money. Nike in 1975 and Apple in 1981. The money grew each year, and she left a hefty estate to me, but it was a gift with strings that pulled me back to Marietta. Ones that dragged me back here kicking and screaming.

“Hey there’s Bailey McMasters. She’s walking our way.” Mel whispered leaning forward and moving her eyes somewhere behind me.

The thought of seeing “Beautiful Bailey” made me freeze. Bailey was the “It” girl that all boys wanted to date in high school and all the girls wanted to hate, but she was truly a super nice person. A basic nightmare. My days as Fatty Patty made me slide down into the seat.

“Hi, Mel.” Bailey greeted Mel before I could see her over my shoulder.

“Hi, Bailey.” Mel glanced at me and kicked me under the table, making me turn around and face Bailey. There was nowhere to hide now. “You remember Patricia Hopkins?”

I stared openmouthed at Bailey. Time hadn’t been kind to her. Her hair was shaggy and the bags under her eyes made her look well past thirty. The person standing in front of me looked haggard at best.

“Sure, I remember you Bailey,” I answered and relaxed my shoulders.

“Wow, Patty. You look great. I wouldn’t have recognized you in a million years.”

“Thanks,” I replied, and bit my lip so I wouldn’t make some mean girl comment about not recognizing her in a million years either.

“No seriously. You look like a model. All polished.” Bailey continued to gush over the changes in me since I moved away.

“Why don’t you join us?” Mel asked while pushing out the empty chair at the table. “We can catch up.”

“Do you mind? My mother has the twins for the afternoon and I so need some girl time.” Bailey had settled in the seat before she finished her sentence. “I heard you were back in town, Patty.”

I cringed when I heard that old name again. It was time to put Patty six feet under.

“I decided to reinvent myself when I left here and I go by Trish now. If you don’t mind.”

“That’s right,” Bailey exclaimed. I was puzzled how Bailey knew I changed my name. “Your brother told me about it, Mel.”

“My brother?” Mel volleyed her eyes back and forth between Bailey and me. “I think I’m missing something here.”

I hung my head before I answered. “I might have run into your brother last week.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mel asked, appearing shocked that I didn’t mention it.

“I forgot. I’m sorry. It’s been one thing after another, since I walked into my aunt’s house.”

“Well believe me, you made quite an impression on Thomas.” Bailey waggled her brows and added a wink. “He couldn’t stop talking about you.”

“You guys are close?” I had to know more, so I pried.

“My husband and Thomas are on the force together. He’s over at our house a lot, helping us finish our basement.” Bailey beamed while telling the background to knowing Thomas. “He’s intense, but a super sweet guy.”

“He’s intense alright.” Mel quipped and all eyes were on her now. “He’s bossy sometimes is all I’m saying.

I remembered how Thomas had ordered me around and I instinctively obeyed without even a thought. He didn’t seem too demanding just in charge. An alpha-type guy who was looking out for me. Yeah, he could boss me around anytime, preferably in the bedroom.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Bailey picked her phone up off the table and answered an incoming call. Her eyes went wide as she listened to the caller. She nodded her head over and over again.

“Okay, I’ll be right there. Memorial right?” Bailey slumped in her seat and lowered the phone. “Looks like one of the twins needs stitches. I swear it’s always something with them. Last week one of them had peas stuck up their nose.”

“God, I hope they’re okay.” Mel’s voice was full of worry.

“My mother said it’s not even bleeding now. But Jack is asking for me, so I better run along.” Bailey packed her phone away and stood up from her chair. “Great to see you, Trish.”

“Great seeing you too. Wish you could’ve stayed longer. Sounds like you need a break.” I smiled warmly at Bailey, sad that she had to leave.

“You have no idea,” Bailey huffed and turned to leave, but stopped to face Mel. “Oh Mel, I think I’ve talked Thomas into doing that Peckers thing of yours. Now that my hubby has signed up, he seems persuaded.”

I raised a bitch brow at Mel as Bailey walked away.

“Peckers? What the hell is that?”

Chapter 6

“How long do you have for lunch?” Mel asked with a tease. “It may take a little while to explain.”

“I have literally all day.”

I wasn’t kidding either. One bonus about my aunt’s stipulations, I didn’t have to work during the year I’m in limbo. She did encourage me to write though. Wonder if Demi Duchess is available as a pen name?

“So back to this Peckers thing. I’m assuming that Peckers is code for a guy’s junk, right?”

“Yes,” Mel said with a blush. “I need to share the backstory first.”

“I’m all ears for this one.” I stuffed the last bite of my chicken salad into my mouth.

“You know I work as a nurse with breast cancer patients, right?” Mel asked, and I nodded back at her.

“Well, every October around Halloween the nurses in our unit put together a fundraiser for breast cancer awareness. We had no clue what do this year? Our creative juices weren’t flowing, and we wanted something fun and different.”

“I remember you doing these in the past.” I stopped our server as she walked by our table. “Can we have two coffees, please?”

“And a couple of those mega size chocolate chip cookies?” Skinny Minnie Mel added. I cringed knowing that I had to be careful with what I ate. I sure as hell didn’t want to drudge up the long buried Fatty Patty.

“Coming right up.” The server wrote on her pad. “I’ll make sure those cookies are nice and warm too.”

“Great,” I whined. “I need to start up at a gym.”

“You should go where my brother does. It seems to have kept him in good shape.” I side eyed Mel, because her face had “matchmaker” written all over it.

“Okay, I’ll lay off the Thomas stuff, but I think he’s got the hots for you. Bailey sure seemed to think so.”

“You know I’ve always crushed on your brother and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m excited to hear he was talking about me. But enough about him for right now, you need to tell me your Peckers’ story.”

“You know he’s single right?” A sly smile slid across Mel’s face.

“I don’t know anything about him now.” Well that’s a lie. I know he looks fucking hot in his police uniform and I’d willingly volunteer for a full body search. Plus he can also sing like Frank Sinatra. “Well he can sure sing.”

“You heard him sing?” Mel said while deadpanning me.

“He might have crooned a line or two the other night.” I trailed off.

“I need details on what the ‘other night’ means. Nothing spared.”

“After you tell me about your Peckers.” We looked at each other and giggled. Our conversation was as scattered as my hair was the night I met Thomas, basically all over the place.

“Okay.” Mel took a deep breath. “The nurses and I went out for drinks after a shift to plan. We started talking about all the local places that cater to men looking at woman’s boobs. A new place just opened up called Twin Peaks.”

“You know what men say about those places. They go there for the wings.” I scoffed knowing that was a lie to cover their pervy asses.

“And you know what’s attached to wings?”

“Breasts.” We chimed in a little too loudly. The tables around us went silent as we buried our heads and snickered.

“Back to the story,” Mel took a sip of our just arrived coffee. “I said that we needed to have a place where we could go to ogle men. Have them take our Cosmopolitan and Cobb Salad orders while we checked out their packages.”

“I like this idea.” I grabbed off a morsel of the cookie in front of me and let the melted chocolate spread over my tongue. “These are crack.”

“Why do you think I ordered them?” Mel quipped.

“So you were at the ogling men part.” I twirled my hand signaling her to go on as I began morseling my way through the cookie. I felt less guilty tearing it off in little pieces than inhaling it.

“I thought we should think of a cutesy name for the male version of booby sports bars, and voilà Peckers was born or hatched.” She sat back and straightened her shoulders.

“I think it’s brilliant. So you have the name, now what?”

“We are taking over Mickey’s Bar tomorrow night. It will be called Peckers for the evening. A local company even donated money for us to buy a neon sign for outside. Also, it’s Friday and Halloween Eve. We’re hoping to find dates for Halloween amongst the half-clothed wait staff,” Mel said with a wink.

“Half-clothed?” I asked, realizing Thomas was going to be at the event. I found myself getting rather squirmy in my seat.

“Yes, we’ve asked men from all professions to come help us with the fundraiser. They will be serving drinks and food with the assistance of some of the regular employees. All the men will be shirtless. It’s the one requirement.” I liked where Mel was taking this.

“The doctors will have stethoscopes around their necks. Lawyers and businessmen will have ties. Firemen will have a small hose.” Mel stopped and wiggled her brow. “Those who do manual labor will wear their tool belts. I think I’m forgetting one.”

“You sure as hell are. What about the policemen?” I had no shame at this point. I wanted to know about Thomas’ Peckers getup.

“Of course. Your boy Thomas will be sporting a gun holster over his bare chest.”

I gulped at the thought of seeing what was under that shiny badge. “Okay, when does this start tomorrow? And how can I help?”

“I have most of the bases covered right now, but I could use help after the event with clean up. I want you to come and have fun. You just got into town and I know there will be a lot of familiar faces. Including my brothers.”

“I’m in.” Mel plopped down a flyer in front of me, and I began to read it over.

“All the details are there. It’s a thirty-dollar donation per person, which includes one signature event drink. Peckers Passion. Some wild vodka and pineapple concoction.”

“You know what they say about pineapples as it relates to Peckers.” I quizzed while looking over the costume requirements for us gals.

“So I’ve heard.”

“We’re supposed to dress up as our favorite reality show person? You’ve got to be kidding me.” I reread the paper to make sure I had it right.

“Nope, pick anyone. If you stick with one of the Housewives all you need to do is tease your hair, put on a sleazy dress, and wear a resting Botox face,” Mel remarked.

“What are you going as?” I asked Mel.

“Kim Kardashian. I’m padding my ass and whining.” Mel shook her head and rolled her eyes while I laughed at how spot on she was.

“I’ll go as Gretchen Rossi. The blonde on Orange County. I saw her one time in New York at a bar with the guy she’s engaged to. She was sweet and he was creepy. It’s either that or Honey Boo Boo.” I took the flyer, folded it, and stuffed it inside my purse. I had one day to find the perfect outfit, schedule a root touch up along with one of those flowing curl blowouts.

“Now, before we leave. I want to hear about you and my bro.” Mel reached for the last bite of her cookie and settled into her chair.

I began at the tap on my window.

Chapter 7

After spilling every last detail to Mel and answering a hundred probing questions, she decided I was going to marry her brother. She even asked if I preferred ivory or white for a dress. I told her not to pick out the linens or china yet. Wait until we at least rounded first base.

I prayed that would happen and soon. I thought back to the simple touch of Thomas’ fingers on my cheek the other night as he gently wiped away my tears. God, he was so sweet and strong at the same time. I wanted to know each side of him… both in and out of bed.

I drove back to my aunt’s house and pulled onto the driveway. The fall leaves were covering the yard and I couldn’t see a blade of grass showing. The time had arrived for some manual labor. I found a rake and bags in her gardening shed behind the old Victorian and set out to clean the place up.

I considered hiring someone to help with the upkeep around the one hundred plus year old house, but my funds were limited. The attorneys gave me a monthly allowance of five thousand dollars. Half of the amount went into a savings account for taxes, the rest was mine to spend for living day to day. If there were major repairs around the place, I could get help with them.

The weather for October was unseasonably hot so I wore a pair of workout shorts and a tank. I started raking and making piles in the front yard. I wanted the yard looking good for the trick-or-treaters descending in two days. The last thing I needed were the neighbors complaining that I let my aunt’s house run into the ground.

After an hour of raking, bending, and bagging, a car honked close by and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I put the rake down and saw a group of young guys getting out of a car. They were waving as they walked toward me. They looked to be high school age and perhaps the offensive line of the football team.

“Hey,” a tall blond called to me.

I scanned the area unsure if I was safe. Luckily I saw the neighbor two doors down on his front porch watching the unfolding scenario.

“Hi,” I responded with a bit of hesitancy.

“We were just driving by and saw you raking. Thought we might help you out. Pretty lady like you shouldn’t be doing a man’s job.” The blond puffed out his expansive chest. It was a very nice chest.

“Oh, I don’t mind.”

“Well we do.” All three of the hotties stood in front me in a line. One of them picked up my discarded rake.

“Really, you all don’t have to do this.” I tried to protest.

“We want to. Guess we should introduce ourselves. I’m Ben,” said the blond.

“I’m Marcus,” said another.

“I’m Sly,” said the last one. From the looks of him, all side swept bangs and dazzling smile, it appeared he was named appropriately.

“I’m Trish. Trish Hopkins.” I held my hand to my throat realizing I was one sweaty mess at the touch.

“We’ve not seen you around here before,” said Ben. “Believe me we would’ve remembered.”

I blushed at the inference and tried to hide a smile. Do I thank him for that compliment? I had no clue and didn’t want to ratchet up the flirting with high school boys.

“Well, I am new to town. Not really new. More like newly returned. I was raised here.” I took a breath and watched them smiling and checking me out. I suddenly felt underdressed.

“Glad you’re back.” Sly said in a sweet slur. Good God he was smooth.

“Do you have any more racks, I mean rakes?” Ben asked and I giggled. It appeared he was the official spokesman of the group.

“I saw a couple more in the shed out back. Rakes that is.” Now Ben blushed.

“Got it. Marcus and Sly you all get started out here.” Ben took off toward the back and grinned mischievously as he passed by me. I sure as hell don’t remember boys looking like this in high school. Well, there was Thomas. He’s the exception to everything here in Marietta.

Chapter 8

The boys had raked and bagged every single leaf in my yard. I tried to offer them some money, but they refused. All they would take were water bottles and a promise from me that I would come to their football game on Saturday. Ben said his first touchdown pass would be for me.

I hated to admit it but I enjoyed the attention. Maybe it made up for all the times Fatty Patty was ignored when I lived here. The game wasn’t until two in the afternoon. So if the Peckers thing left me hung-over, I had time to recover Saturday morning.

I was digging through my closet in search of the perfect “Gretchen” dress. It needed to be bright and bold. Something flashy but still classy. I decided on one of my favorite dresses and best of all it was new to all the eyes here.

The dress was a bright turquoise with red accents along the neckline and it hit me mid-thigh. Maybe it was a bit too summery, but the color was perfect. It showcased my blonde hair and blue eyes. I’d made an appointment tomorrow at an upscale salon in town too. Now I just needed to pick the right shoes. I wanted to aim for the “fuck me” kind as I pulled out a couple pairs.

As I was deciding between a pair of peep toe pumps versus spiky stilettos, I heard shouting outside. I hobbled on different shoes to the window and saw the taillights of a car pulling away from the curb.

The car’s tires squealed and I saw the reason why as the streetlights illuminated my aunt’s yard. There were small white objects all over my front yard. Thousands of them and dammit those boys had just finished getting the yard cleaned up.

I threw off my heels in a huff and ran down the stairs to see what the hell was scattered all over the lawn. I stood at the top of the porch stairs and stared at forks… Hundreds upon hundreds of forks.

I sat down on the steps and started to cry. I don’t know what tipped the emo scale, but I think the whole moving thing caught up with me. Plus, I was starting to feel like I was connecting to my hometown again. This trickery took that wind out of my sails.

I heard a car pull up, then a door opened and shut. I looked up to see a sight for my teary eyes. Thomas. All decked out in his navy blue police uniform as he strode up the concrete path to the house.

I quickly wiped away my tears. The last time I saw him I was crying. I worried he might label me a hormone head case if I didn’t watch out.

“Good evening, Trish,” Thomas said like a knife through hot butter. I melted into the step even with the chilly night’s air.

“Hi Thomas,” I stood up to meet him and realized I was clothed in an almost see-through camisole and barely covering my ass boy shorts. I thought I was in for the night, so I had on my pajamas.

Thomas’ eyes landed on my nipples, as they seemed intent on saying hello to him. Part of me wanted to cross my arms over them, the other side said stick out your chest. It’s not too easy to hide D-cup boobs, so my inner hussy won and I made my way down the stairs to meet him on the lawn. I’m pretty sure things bounced as I did too.

“We got a call that you were forked,” he said while sticking his hands in his pockets and shifting on his feet. Or was he shifting himself down there? I’ll go for Pecker land.

“Forked?” I looked closer at the white pieces of plastic sticking out of the ground. Sure enough, plastic forks were shoved into the dirt every few inches. I couldn’t even imagine how many of them there were.

“Yep. It looks like you’ve been thoroughly forked.” he chuckled and added a smirk that hit me between by legs.

“Ha, ha,” I said back to him. “You wish.” Thomas raised his brows as to confirm that he did indeed wish. Good God. I was a goner for this guy.

“You're the fourth fork I've had tonight.” He moved a little closer to me and I caught a whiff of his cologne. Yes. Completely gone.

“Don’t you get around? I thought that was wasn’t allowed on duty?” I teased him back and moved even closer still.

“Just drinking,” he answered. “Though I’ve never been told not to have sex while on duty, but I guess that’s implied.”

“You think?”

“I do.” He removed his hands from his pockets and rubbed them over my bare arms. I might’ve heard my camisole tearing as my nipples broke through when I felt his soft touch. “As much as I love seeing you out here in next to nothing. You need to change into something warmer. I’ll start cleaning this shit up.”

I nodded as he removed his hands from me. “I’ll be right back.” I turned and hurried inside. My mission. Find the sexiest hoodie known to man.

An hour later, most of the forks resided in trash bags. Thomas refused to let me pick up anything. So I used the hour to stare at his arms as they reached for each fork and pulled. Then there was that perfect ass of his on display as he bent over. I’m now a big fan of forking.

“You sure know how to clean up after a good forking.” I joked while he tossed the last bag into the trash bin.

“I’ve had a lot of practice this week,” he said as we stood in the dark by the side of the house.

“Just this week huh?” I couldn’t stop with the kidding. Forking was now my favorite form of vandalism.

“Funny,” he laughed. “It’s been a big problem this week and a sign that someone likes you.”

“What?” I asked. “They like me?”

“Most of the forking victims have been the pretty senior girls in town. A group of boys is going around forking them for a Halloween prank. Basically they really are saying, we want to fuck you. I mean fork you.”

I leaned against the trash bin for support. Those words out of his mouth made me weak. “So someone wants to fork me?”

“I think there are more than a few someones, Trish.” He winked at me and I was speechless and soaking wet.

“Officer Brooks.” A voice came through his radio.

“Yes.” He turned his head and spoke into the contraption on his chest.

“There’s been another forking incident reported at thirteen-fifty five South Fort. We need you to respond. Officer Tillman is still on his last call. Damn forkers.”

Thomas and I both laughed at the dispatcher’s comments. He cleared his throat before responding. “On my way.”

“Looks like I have to go save another lawn.”

“Duty calls.” We started walking toward his squad car with neither one of us in a hurry.

“Heard you were going to Mel’s Peckers fundraiser tomorrow. Mel text me this afternoon.”

“Yes. I can’t pass up a night full of peckers.” I said with a giggle.

He placed his finger under my chin and lifted so he could stare into my eyes. “Wear something tight and skip the bra. I met a couple of friends tonight that I’d like to see more of tomorrow.”

Stunned, I watched him get into his car and pull away. My mouth still gaping open as his taillights faded in the distance.

Chapter 9

The neon Peckers sign blazed as I pulled into what was usually Mickey’s Bar. I took one last look into the car’s visor mirror to check the lipstick I’d applied ten times. Yep, it was still red.

I inspected my chest to see if my nipples were saluting. Bingo. I think my appearance will be Thomas approved.

My hands sweat as I walked across the parking lot in my stilettos. I opted for the pair that screamed, “do me” the loudest and these won. After seeing Thomas last night, I realized I had no shame where he was concerned. I wanted him and I knew he wanted me.

Smoothing my dress and blown out hair, I opened the door, walked inside and found the placed packed. Nothing said Girls Night Out like a room full of peckers supporting a hooters’ fundraiser.

I spotted Mel standing by a pub table. She was talking to what appeared to be a doctor. A hot, hot doctor I might add. He was undressed in just his scrub pants with a stethoscope wrapped around his neck. Something told me he’d like to have Mel’s legs wrapped around them instead.

“Hi Mel,” I broke into their conversation.

“Trish,” she shouted above the TV in the bar. The damn thing was blaring loud.

“Mel,” I hugged her back and helped her stand. “Looks like you starting the party early.”

“Dr. Talbot insisted I take shots off of his abs.” Dr. Talbot gave me a knowing smirk. The kind that says I’m getting lucky tonight.

“I bet he did.” I laughed. “Hi, I take it your Dr. Talbot.” I held my hand out to him, he took it in his, and kissed it. The hot doctor appeared to have quite the bedside manner.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied to me. “Mel told me you were here. Welcome back.”

Dr. Talbot turned to Mel and held her hand in his. “I need to get back to being a Pecker. Remember I’m driving tonight.” He kissed her on the cheek and I swear she swooned.

I watched her watch him walk away. Yep, she was a goner like me.

“So Dr. Talbot,” I thought she could finish my sentence and fill in the blanks for me.

“Yes. He’s so dreamy.” I didn’t know who she was. Mel didn’t do swoony or dreamy. “He’s the one.”

“The one? As in china and linens?” I asked and wondered why I was just hearing about him now.

“Already picked them out and I’m wearing ivory,” Mel giggled. “Mrs. Jared Talbot. Sounds perfect.”

“Who are you and when did you meet this man?” I placed my hands on my hips and waited for her reply.

“This is our first date sort of. I stopped by work today and he told me he was driving me to the event. He also told me we are going out tomorrow night as we drove here. I have a date for Halloween!”

“Oh my God. I think you’re either drunk as hell or in lust. Likely both.” I started laughing. Amused at how bossy her hot doctor was. Must be a common trait found in the men here.

“I’ve had a crush on him for two years. Two long years!” I saw her looking over my shoulder and smiling at someone. The angle of her eyes meant they were likely tall and looming right behind me.

I felt a hand on the small of my back and knew in an instant who it was. A shiver ran through me before I turned. I glanced down at my chest and saw all systems were a go with his simple touch.

I turned around and his hand followed across my body as I did. “Hi, Thomas.”

“Hi,” he said in a low, sexy voice as his eyes found that I’d obeyed him in the bra department. “You look great. Nice dress.”

He took a strand of my hair between his fingers and twirled it around one. “Beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I could barely speak as I stood there in front of him. His shirt was missing and my brain seemed to have disappeared too.

He was perfect. The kind of man who makes Michelangelo’s David look like an out of shape sloth. A toned chest, led down to a distinct six-pack with hard ridges that needed exploring or licking. I bit my tongue to control myself.

Gathering all the will power in the world I could muster, I brought my eyes back up to his. I swear his eyes were laughing at me. I reached up to give him a teasing tap on his arm, but my traitor hand wouldn’t leave his body and my fingers tightened around his bulging bicep.

“Hey remember me?” I heard a voice calling from somewhere and realized it was Mel. I’d completely forgotten she was standing there with us. A lust trance perhaps?

“Hi Mel,” Thomas said. A smile busted across his face. “I wanted to tell you that the silent auction is swinging into gear.”

“Well, well, well.” She glanced back and forth between Thomas and I. “There is definitely something major going on here between you two.”

“I agree,” said Thomas. I’d turned around to face Mel and felt Thomas backing into me. He wasn’t touching me but I knew he was super close. I was tempted to back into him fully… And I did. Why not?

“I agree too.” I said in a shaky voice.

“Trish, remember what we were talking about yesterday?” I knitted my brows confused. “Better start picking out the china and linens.”

A woman about forty came up to Mel and told her she was needed to help with something up by the front door. Mel followed behind the woman and I realized then that she did go as Kim Kardashian. She had to have been packing a couple pillows up the back of her dress.

“I can’t believe her,” I couldn’t stop laughing. “I thought she was kidding about going as Kim.”

“I think her doctor friend approved though. Who are you supposed to be?” Thomas asked.

“Me?” He nodded. “I’m Gretchen Rossi from the Real Housewives of Orange County.”

“You’re nothing like those gals because you’re definitely real in the areas that count.” I loved his blunt, bordering on dirty, talk.

“Been watching Housewives shows in your spare time?” I teased and he pointed to the TV screens above the bar. Real Housewives shows were playing on all of them.

“I came in earlier to help set the place up and suffered through about fifteen minutes. Like I said the real housewives aren’t that real.” He lowered his lips to my ear. “I prefer what you have baby.”

Damn. I wanted to find the coat closet and show him how real I was. His words and the way he spoke them were like Kryptonite to me, making me weak. This man had turned me from a streetwise city woman into a hussy on the street corner.

“You have to stop talking to me like that in public, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll drag you off somewhere in private. A girl can only take so much.” I teased with a wink. I didn’t want him to know I wasn’t kidding.

“Hold that thought. I need to help out the other Peckers. I am the master Pecker after all.”

“I bet you are.” I spit out a laugh and let my eyes travel downward to Pecker land.

He bent down and kissed me on the forehead. “Get a drink and have fun.”

“I want to try the Peckers Passion drink Mel told me about.” I waggled my brows.

“That can be arranged.”

He walked away to join the other Peckers and I looked over at Mel who smiled at me and shook her head. She knew I was a goner too.

Chapter 10

I’ve had three strong Peckers Passion drinks since I sat down. One after the other and I was very buzzed. The kind of buzz that was dangerous around a hot guy like Thomas.

He hasn’t spoken a word out loud to me since our encounter by the pub table. Instead he has talked to me with his eyes, finding me no matter where I was in the room. I wasn’t used to this kind of attention and I had a hard time processing it. I felt like a tightly wound-up spring that would come undone with the slightest touch, his touch to be specific.

I was sitting with a few girls that I knew from high school, and they couldn’t stop gushing over the changes in me and how “big city” I now looked. I had to laugh, because my turquoise dress, teased-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life hair, and heavy make-up were the furthest thing imaginable from my normal New York City attire. I’d strayed far from basic black, but my teased hair was the topper. No one wore hair like this in the city.

“Can I have your attention please?” Mel stood up before the crowd with a cordless microphone in her hand. “I’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight to support the hooters this Halloween. Can we have a big round of applause for all the helpful Peckers with us tonight?”

Everyone clapped while I laughed at the whole scenario. I worried I’d fallen into a bad romantic comedy movie. Peckers. Hooters. It was all Looney Tunes.

“So far this evening we have raised twenty thousand dollars. One of our own Peckers, Dr. Jared Talbot, has pledged to match every dollar we raise tonight. Please come up front Dr. Pecker, I mean, Dr. Talbot.” The room broke into applause and laughter.

Dr. Talbot scooted up next to Mel. “Thank you Dr. Talbot for your generous donation. How can we ever repay you?”

Mel’s face blushed as Dr. Talbot whispered something into her ear. As he pulled away a corner of her lip curled into a smile. I would wager Aunt Marge’s house on what I thought he said. I’m pretty sure it involved her hooters and his pecker.

“It was my pleasure to help raise more money for Breast Cancer Awareness. I’ve seen it claim way too many women’s lives. I only wish I could do more.”

Mel took back the microphone and had a look in her eyes like she wanted to jump Dr. Pecker. I had to admit he seemed like a great guy by donating to the cause.

Mel cleared her throat before continuing. “We have one more treat for you all tonight. My brother, Officer Thomas Brooks, has agreed to sing. He’s been an in-the-shower singer most of his life, but I’m encouraging him to do something with the great voice he’s been given. Give it up for Thomas.”

Thankfully, I chose a seat that faced the front of the bar. I clapped with everything I had as Thomas approached Mel. The women at the other tables were a little too enthusiastic to see Thomas sing. But in reality I didn’t have a claim on him…yet.

“Thank you, ladies. I want to hand it to my sister for putting this evening together. I’ve watched her prepare for months. Great job sis.” The entire place sounded in applause once again. “I’ve decided to sing ‘Every Breath You Take’ by the Police. Hit it Mac.”

Thomas began to sing, and he never once took his eyes off me. The room and the people around us faded away. I became caught up in the words and their meaning. He had been acting just like the song since I walked inside the bar, watching every step or move I made. Was he telling me I belonged to him?

I had chills as he walked to me with the microphone in his hand. He started the last part of the song standing right in front of me.

Embarrassed I sunk down into my chair, but it only made him come closer. When he started singing the chorus, he reached for my hand. As the last word of the song left his lips, he pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“For fuck’s sake, give the woman a real kiss.” Someone yelled from behind us.

“All right with you?” Thomas asked. I nodded and gave him the okay with my eyes.

He placed the microphone on the table and took my other hand. He lifted me from my seat and pulled me into his arms. I wrapped mine around his neck as he wrapped his around my waist, bringing me into him. I smelled the scent of his skin as my cheek made contact with his chest. All musky male and divine.

I raised my head and met his eyes. He looked down at my lips before he descended. When our lips touched, I melted into him. He pulled me tight against his body and we kissed like no one else was in the room.

My fingers weaved through his hair and traced the strong lines of his neck. I could feel the flexing of his muscles under my fingertips.

“All right, all ready.” I heard from the right.

“Get a room you two.” A voice said to the left of us. But I wasn’t going to pull away from his kiss. I wanted it to never end.

Thomas broke the kiss slowly and gave me one last, quick scorcher. “I didn’t want to stop.”

“Me either,” I whispered with my arms now embracing him at the waist.

“Really you all. I think every woman in this place needs to change her panties after watching that kiss.” Mel said under her breath as she grabbed the microphone off the table.

“Thanks again for coming out tonight ladies. Check the silent auction items before you leave to see if you’re a winner. Until next year.” Mel said into the microphone.

“I promised Mel I would help her with cleaning up.” I was sad to have to break out of our little bubble. The feeling inside it was beautiful.

“Funny thing. She asked me to help with clean up too.” Thomas shook his head. “That sister of mine is a schemer.”

“True, but she means well and this time I think she might be right.” He smiled after I exposed my true feelings, and I sighed in relief. I wasn’t used to placing everything out on the line with men. But with Thomas I felt safe.

“Let’s get this place cleaned up. Whatta ya say?” Thomas asked.

“Lead the way.” I motioned with my hand.

We started in the kitchen area, mingling with the hired wait staff. I think we were more a hindrance than a help, because they told us to go stand by the freezer.

“I think we just got kicked out of KP duty.” Thomas said with a chuckle.

“We are sad,” I laughed.

Thomas reached his arms around me and I saw a glint of silver in his pocket.

“Are those handcuffs?” I pointed to the metal.

“Yes, a cop can never be too prepared.” He reached in, took out the cuffs, and let them dangle from a finger. “I think I might have to make an arrest tonight. I heard there was some lewd kissing going.”

“Yes, very lewd. Filthy as a matter of fact. My mother would’ve been shocked.” I giggled and held out my wrists in surrender. “Are you going to take me back to your jail?”

“I’m off duty and would rather take you back to my bed.” The silver metal was cool against my skin and I knew I was in trouble when I heard the cuffs click together. “But I’ll settle for a date first. Tomorrow night I’m taking you out for dinner. Then maybe later, we can put these cuffs to good use.”

“Sounds perfect. I’m in need of a thorough forking after your kisses.”

Epilogue

Here’s Tommie…

A year has gone by since I arrived in town. The trip here was a freaking nightmare. I was trapped inside a plastic box for eight hours, and no amount of screaming made my owner have mercy on me.

But things have become more normal since we moved. We live in an old place with tons of mice. They keep me rather busy. Caught a big bad one this morning.

A tall man started coming around after we settled in. I think he lives here now. He has this strange notion we are buddies, and always tries to pet and hold me. He brings me awesome treats, so I put up with it.

The tall man keeps my owner busy playing games all day and night in the big bed. I have to jump on their heads in the morning to wake them up so I can get some food.

Jumping on heads is my favorite trick. I always get their attention when I pull that move.

I’ve been sprawled out in the middle of the hallway waiting for them to finish shaking the bed. It seems to be taking them longer than usual today.

I give up and stroll into the room across the hall from them. This room has the best smell in the house. They’ve been moving new things in here about every day.

Yesterday it was a bed with tall bars. It reminded me of my box but it’s way bigger. There’s a chair in the corner with a curved bottom that makes it move back and forth.

Sometimes my owner sits down in the chair while the tall guy sings to her and rubs her feet. I do like his singing. It might be his one good quality other than the treat giving.

I hear a creak in the floor by the shaking bed. I think they’re up. I waltz into the room and see my owner easing out of the bed with the tall guy’s help. I’ve noticed she doesn’t move like she used to. She’s grown this big thing around her middle. I’ve seen the tall man talking to it. Very odd.

Well, I am going to see if they will fill up my food bowl, then I’m taking a nap. That’s how I roll.

About the Author

Thanks for reading Peckers. I hope you enjoyed it. I never thought I would write anything from a cat’s point of view!

If you would like to check out more of my books,visit my website for store links. I have a completed series, Touch of Tantra, and with the exception of the novella, the series is in the man’s point of view.

I’m brewing up more books in my cauldron, so please sign up for my mailing list to keep up-to-date on my tricks and treats. I promise to never spam your inbox.

Enjoy the rest of the anthology,

Liv

Connect with LIV MORRIS

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Other Books by LIV MORRIS

THE COMPLETED TOUCH OF TANTRA SERIES

Adam’s Apple (Book 1)

Temptation (Book 1.5)

Adam’s Fall (Book 2)

Love in the City (The Complete Collection Boxed Set)

Bewitched

by Daisy Prescott

A crush. A love spell. What could go wrong?

Copyright © Daisy Prescott 2014, All rights reserved.

eBook edition

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Daisy Prescott

Front Cover Photos: Edyta Pawlowska; Elnur Amikishiyev

Edited by There for You Editing/Melissa Ringsted

Proofed by Proofing Style, Inc./Marla Esposito

First Digital Edition October 2014

One

“Hester Pryne was a slut.”

“She was not. You’re a Neanderthal asshat!” My chair scraped across the worn wood floor as I stood and shouted. I was shouting in my New England Fiction seminar lead by a man in a tweed jacket with elbow patches. What was wrong with me?

“Miss Bradbury, please sit down,” Professor Philips scolded me from the head of the long, mahogany table.

I crossed my arms and my chest heaved as I stared down the tree troll known as Luke Hamilton, aka self-proclaimed ‘Big Man on Campus’ and golden-boy. “Professor Philips, how can you just let him spout off all that bull— nonsense about Hester Pryne being a slut? She didn’t have sex with herself.”

“That’d be hot,” Hamilton snorted from a few seats away. His golden-boy blond hair drooped over his forehead as he doodled boobs with A’s on them in the margins of his book.

Disgusting. I couldn’t figure out why he was even in this class. Reading didn’t seem to be his thing. The only things that appeared to interest him were boobs, keg parties, and himself.

“It takes two people! Two. Hamilton and his hand don’t count as two people. Argh! He’s missing the point. Hawthorne wasn’t slut shaming Hester.” I flailed my arms around in some sort of awkward orangutan mating dance.

A cough at the opposite end of the long table drew my attention, and the spell of my frustration dissolved. The sound came from Andrew Wildes, resident brooding, quiet, serious, handsome, slightly dangerous man of mystery. Or maybe he was just quiet. There was something about him I found fascinating, like the dark hero in one of the Brontë sisters’ novels. Blushing, I sat down in my chair, straightened a stack of note cards and my post-it note filled copy The Scarlett Letter.

“Do you have something to add to the discussion, Mr. Wildes?” Dr. Philips asked.

Andrew stared at his fingers, which tapped on the table in a patch of dust dancing in the mid-September sun. The rest of him remained in the shadows, making his thick dark hair and pale skin stand out in contrast even more. He never spoke in class unless Dr. Philips called on him, and his answers were often so odd, the majority of students ignored him. This would be interesting.

“Madison is right. Hawthorne wasn’t shaming Hester. The Puritans were. Hawthorne was more interested in sin and knowledge, exclusion and fear of the unknown.”

My jaw dropped open. Andrew defended me. He made my entire argument in two sentences. I didn’t think he knew I existed even though it was only a class of twelve students.

“Well said, Andrew,” Philips praised him. “You and Miss Bradbury are on the right track with your thinking.”

Hamilton scoffed and leaned back in his chair, letting the front legs rise a few inches above the floor. Under his breath he muttered, “Slut.”

Andrew’s head jerked in our direction. Behind his glasses, his brown eyes flashed to mine before they settled on Luke’s smug expression.

I wanted to wipe the stupid frat-boy grin off Hamilton’s face. My fingers twitched as I concentrated on resisting the urge to hurl my book at him. For once I would’ve loved to see him fall flat on his smugness. Clouds covered the sun, darkening the room’s only source of light. I scrunched up my nose and narrowed my eyes as I imagined him crashing to the floor. Luke’s chair tipped further back, past the point of balance. His arms flailed, struggling to stop the inevitable, but with a loud clatter, Luke and his chair smashed to the floor.

“Ha!” I looked around to see who heard my outburst. Most of my classmates were failing to stifle their own laughter as we stared at the empty spot at the table where Luke had been sitting. My eyes once again met Andrew’s. He dipped his head and pushed his glasses up his nose with his long, slender fingers, but his lips twitched and a dimple flashed in his cheek.

“Fuck, I think I hurt my head,” Luke moaned from the floor.

“Mr. Hamilton, remove yourself from the floor, please, so we can continue class.” Dr. Philips’ salty grey beard appeared to frown with his annoyance.

Luke grumbled and exhaled a few creative expletives as he regained his seat at the table. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling with glee.

Class continued with other students piping in with their thoughts on Puritans and sex. I zoned out, remembering Luke’s fall and wondering if I’d wished it to happen hard enough to make it so.

After all, we were in Salem. Accused Witches were killed here, but today the streets were filled with shops selling magical potions, cauldrons, and books on Wicca to modern witches and tourists. Not that I believed in witches. Or magic.

“Next week we’ll be discussing The Crucible, Arthur Miller’s take on the witch trials that made Salem famous, or infamous as it were.” Philips stood and gathered his things.

“Great, more prudes and bitches,” Luke mumbled.

I shot him a look. “Seriously?”

He met my eyes and a slow, sinister smile spread across his beer bloated face.

“What are you smiling about?” I sneered.

“Prudes and bitches. This class could be about you.”

“Shut up, Hamilton.” I moved around him toward the door.

“If the names fit.”

I flipped him the bird over my shoulder without turning around.

“Aww, don’t be Mad. Oh wait, I guess you don’t have a choice,” he called after me, laughing at his stupid joke about my name.

“Argh!” I stomped down the hall. Outside of the glass doors large raindrops splattered the brick walkway. “Could this day get any better?” I asked myself out loud.

A pale hand with long, familiar fingers held one of those tiny collapsible umbrellas in my line of sight. “Here.”

I looked up to meet the dark eyes of Andrew. His lanky frame towered over mine. From his black Chucks to his almost black hair, he could have been a hipster, but he was too nerdy, too cool, too something, to be that trendy. Maybe it was the glasses; the thick black rims were not exactly stylish. His messy hair hinted at a lack of combing rather than bedroom shenanigans. He looked smart, if intelligence had a facial expression. Too-smart-for-his-own-good smart.

Andrew cleared his throat.

“Oh, thank you. I have my hoodie.” I reached behind to pull my grey hood over my hair. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” He held my gaze as he stuffed the umbrella into his backpack. “No problem.”

Something about him made me tingle. He unsettled me, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I hesitated before I gave him a small smile, and dashed out the door.

The rain sputtered into a mist a few yards down the path, and I pulled down my hood. Maybe my day had started to turn around. Smiling, I searched for Andrew in the doorway or on the steps behind me, but he’d disappeared.

Two

Sam sat at our usual table inside the campus cafe.

“I bought your favorite… a pumpkin spice latte,” she greeted me. Today, her long blonde hair was in two braids, which were wrapped around the crown of her head. She looked like a milkmaid with the figure of a German beer garden girl.

I inhaled the steam. “Thanks. I need this.” The rainy day called for the warmth of fall in a cup. I shook out my damp hoodie and ran my fingers through my newly bobbed hair.

“Rough day with the Puritans?” she asked.

“Rough day with Hamilton.”

“He’s a flaming toadstool.” Sam never swore. She never used typical curse words, but the intent was the same.

“He really is.”

“What did newt brain do now?”

I explained his comments in class and we laughed over the karma of his fall.

“Maybe it wasn’t karma. You wished for him to shut up and it came true.”

I gave her a sidelong glance. “Sam.”

“Maddy.”

“I’m not a witch. No magical powers.” I wiggled my fingers in front of her face.

“You don’t know that. You’ve never tried.”

“My ancestors might have been from Salem, but we all know those witches weren’t witches.”

“Maybe not the innocents who were killed, but that doesn’t mean magic doesn’t exist here.”

I rolled my eyes. “I think you’ve spent too much time downtown at the tourist shops.”

Sam mirrored my eye roll. “Such the skeptic. Where’s your sense of imagination and wonder?”

“I must have lost them when I stopped watching Disney princess movies.”

“My mom never let me watch those.”

“Ah, that explains it all then. More Snow White and less Wicca.”

“Speaking of Wicca, will you come with me to The Spelling B after classes? I need to buy a new set of Tarot cards.”

“What’s wrong with the set you have?”

“I think Lucy’s bad energy ruined their mojo.”

“Lucy Lucy?” I stared at my roommate.

“I know, I know. Yes, that Lucy, but she paid me twenty bucks for a reading.”

Lucy was Hamilton’s girlfriend. She swam in the same shallow pool he did, and believe me, they deserved each other. I frowned at the thought of the two of them procreating and creating more obnoxious humans.

“Her reading was terrible, just so you know.”

“That’s some comfort.”

“Maddy, would you still want to date Hamilton?” She teased.

I shuddered. “We never dated. I wouldn’t call what happened freshman year dating. What was I thinking?”

“You weren’t. You were a horny freshman.” Sam’s laughter sounded like delicate wind chimes, until she snorted. “I still can’t believe you kneed his crotch in the middle of the dorm lounge.”

“He grabbed my boob in front of everyone.” I crossed my arms to protect my chest from the memory.

“I still don’t know what you saw in him.”

“Neither do I. Yuck.” I shuddered. “Let’s chalk it up to hormones. Can we talk about something besides Too Much Tongue Hamilton?”

“Maybe you need some sort of cleansing. We can get you smudged! Or maybe find you a love spell.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Smudged?” My skepticism reared its head.

“With sage. We can buy some downtown.”

“Uh huh.” I furrowed my brows. “Won’t I smell like a roasted chicken? I’m sure that will attract all of the boys to my yard.”

“At this point, what do you have to lose?”

Nothing. It was the beginning of junior year and there wasn’t an eligible bachelor in sight. I sighed. Pickings were slim these days. Decent guys had girlfriends or were gay. Even the not-so-decent-guys like Hamilton were paired off. Brown eyes behind black frames flashed in my mind, and I instantly wondered if Andrew had a girlfriend. She was probably a theoretical math major, or some esoteric French poetry focus, which required imported cigarettes and red lipstick.

“You’re right, nothing to lose but my dignity.”

“So you’ll come with me? It’s stopped raining. No excuses.”

“The rain wouldn’t stop me. I don’t melt in the rain. Doesn’t that prove I’m not a witch?”

“Only in Oz.” She grabbed her bag and stuffed her books and notes from the table inside, including a random spoon. “Don’t judge. All of my spoons keep disappearing from our room.”

“Maybe they’re finding their way back to their proper homes.”

“Or someone’s been stealing them.”

“Wouldn’t that be ironic?” I nudged her with my elbow as we exited the cafe. Sure enough, the clouds were still heavy, but the mist had stopped.

* * *

A strand of bells around the door handle jingled as we entered The Spelling B, Sam’s favorite shop for all things witchy. The scent of incense and dried herbs permeated the tiny, dim space. Tilting shelves bowing with the weight of jars, candles, and books crowded the walls and formed narrow aisles. I tucked my overstuffed laptop bag closer to my body, afraid of the handwritten ‘you break it, you buy it’ sign on the door.

Sam headed to the back, mumbling about sage and tarot cards.

“Can I help you?”

I turned toward the voice and met a pair of clear — almost colorless — blue eyes. They were situated in the face of a middle aged woman with an elaborate dark bun held together with red-laquered chopsticks.

“Oh, um, no. I’m not a witch.” I stumbled over my words. “Not a witch, I mean Wicca. Not that there is anything wrong with being a witch. Unless it’s the 17th century. And here.” I babbled on and on until a soft hand curled around my wrist.

“Are you sure?” Her smile was kind, almost familiar, but somehow piercing, as if she could see straight through me and realized what a mess I was.

“Sorry. No. I just had a class about early New England. It got pretty heated about Hester Pryne, and we’re studying the witch trials next week,” I babbled again.

“Ah, you go to Hawthorne College?” she asked, leading me over to a counter where an assortment of mortars, pestles, and jars cluttered the flat surface.

“I do.” I peered at the label on one jar. Evening primrose. Seemed innocent enough.

“Are you taking Professor Philips class? That one was popular when I went there.”

“You went to Hawthorne, too?” My voice sounded more incredulous than I meant.

“He was old then, and that was ancient history, I know. He somehow never ages. Still wearing the elbow patches?”

I laughed and shook off the unease I had felt when I’d first entered the store. “He does!”

She began opening jars and adding various herbs into a strainer over a blue pottery mug with a pentagram on it. When she poured hot water over the mix, the smell of mint and something earthy hit my nose.

“Here, drink this.”

“What?” I lurched away from the counter. My bag hit a bowl of small stones, which plunked loudly on the uneven wood floor as they fell. I bent to pick them up.

A gentle shove pushed me out of the way. “Stop. Let me read them for you.” She leaned over to study the stones. “Interesting, very interesting.” Her elegant finger tapped her chin. “Oh, look at that. I haven’t seen that in years.”

I gazed down at the pebbles on the floor — some had markings on them that looked like the runes Sam kept in a velvet bag in her desk. I stood there, unsure of what to do with my hands as she continued her examination, softly exclaiming to herself. Finally, she stood up and stared at me.

For a long time.

At least an hour.

Or what felt like an hour.

My face grew hot and my forehead itched. I glanced around, unable to continue to meet her steadfast gaze, and coughed.

She snapped out of her one woman staring contest. “Your tea is getting cold!”

“Tea?”

“Yes, I made you a cup of mint tea. What did you think it was?”

“Um, well.” I looked around and shrugged my shoulders.

Her laughter echoed the chimes on the door, light and ethereal. “You thought it was a potion?”

I nodded, feeling stupid. I took a sip and let the heat soothe my nerves.

“Oh, my dear. No. I’d never give you a potion unless you asked for one.” She studied me again. “Do you want one? Perhaps for better grades? Although, I doubt you need that. Love?”

I met her eyes briefly and blushed.

“Ah, love it is.”

“No, not really. There isn’t anyone at the moment.”

Her eyes flicked back to the floor before she knelt to pick up the stones. “Are you sure?”

I thought of my complete lack of a love life at the moment. I wasn’t desperate enough to date someone like Hamilton again, but things were grim. Grimmer than grim. Saturday night alone, or standing awkwardly at a campus party, nursing a red cup of cheap beer grim. Hell, I’d let Paul Uccello kiss me two weeks ago. His last name was Italian slang for penis. I could never marry a man and end up with penis as my last name.

“See the rune nearest your foot?” She picked it up and placed it on my palm.

“It looks like a B.” I held it in my hand and studied the lines with my finger.

“It’s the symbol for new beginnings. And love.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you have a secret admirer.”

I shook my head. “He must be imaginary as well as secret.”

Studying my face, she frowned. “So full of doubt.”

Sam came bounding up to the counter with a box of tarot cards and a bunch of sage bundles. “Hey, did you do a reading? That’s so cool!”

“Not really. I knocked over the bowl of stones with my bag.”

“There are no accidents,” both of them said at the same time.

I rolled my eyes.

“She’s not a believer, is she?” the shop lady/witch asked.

Sam exhaled an exaggerated sigh. “No, and her ancestors are from Salem. Like 17th century Salem.”

“Sam, I’ve told you, that means nothing. Ten generations and not a witch in the bunch,” I huffed.

“What’s your last name?” glacier eyes asked me.

“It’s Bradbury.”

“Is it? Well, that explains the reading.”

I glanced at the rune still in my hand.

Sam’s eyes settled on my palm. “See? I told you things were changing for you! And with Mabon right around the corner!” She practically bounced on her heels with excitement.

“Mabon?” I asked.

“The fall equinox to you,” Sam explained. “Equal day and night. Balance of light and dark. It’s a week from Saturday.”

Our hostess listened and nodded her head. “Time to embrace the darkness.”

Her words sent a chill down my spine, and I shivered although the room remained the same temperature.

“We’ll definitely need to smudge you soon. The sooner the better. And definitely before Samhain.” At my confused expression, Sam explained, “Halloween to you. Oh, we should do it this weekend,” she continued, nodding away in agreement with herself.

I rubbed my arms in an attempt to get warm. A familiar sensation tingled on my skin, and I turned my head to meet colorless eyes.

“When you’re ready, come back and see me again. I’m Sarah by the way.” She extended her hand.

“Madison.” When I shook her hand, I had the distinct feeling of being read or analyzed.

As we walked down the crooked streets back toward our dorm, Sam chattered on about how wicked cool it was Sarah did a reading for me and how she was a powerful witch, head of the local coven, and famous for her spells and intuition.

I stuffed my hands in my hoodie pockets while I pretended to listen. My fingers wrapped around a smooth object.

“Oh crap,” I pulled the pebble from my pocket, “I stole her rune.”

Sam laughed and shook her head. “Flying monkeys! That’s five years bad luck for stealing from a witch.”

My eyes bugged out.

“I’m kidding.” Her shoulder bumped mine. “Come on, we’ll take it back and explain you weren’t intending to shoplift, beg for mercy, and all that.”

Declining her offer, I sent Sam back to campus and returned to the shop alone. A slight breeze ominously rattled a few dried leaves along the street when I passed the bronze statue of Roger Conant. Founder of Salem or not, the statue made him look like a witch with his buckled-hat and billowing cape.

The bells chimed when I opened the door of Sarah’s shop.

“Back so soon?” Sarah asked without lifting her head.

I held out the rune in explanation.

At my silence, she raised her eyes to my hand. “I didn’t peg you for a thief.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep it.” I stared down at my scuffed ballet flats.

“Maybe it meant something to you? Struck a chord?” She returned the rune to its bowl.

“I wish. Thank you for your optimism, but I think it’s lost on me.” I shrugged in an attempt to pass off my nonexistent love life as nothing major.

“You never know. Love always happens when you least expect it, and with the last guy you’d imagine.” Her icy eyes seemed to thaw. She walked around the counter and grabbed something off the end of one of the aisles. “Since you aren’t a believer, this can’t hurt.”

I studied the packet she handed me. The label read “Love Spell” in a fancy cursive on a pink label. Inside were a candle, a vial of liquid, a tiny heart charm, ribbon, and what looked like pink peppercorns. I wondered if the vial contained the tears of dateless, single women.

“Really?” I ask, incredulous. “Pepper?”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt. Right?” She winked at me.

“Okay.” I tucked the package into my bag, already planning to throw it away later. “Thank you.”

“Let me know if it works, Madison Bradbury.”

The use of my full name struck me as odd. The whole past hour was strange. I nodded, but didn’t meet her eyes. A hush fell over the store, amplifying the sound of the creaking floorboards as I walked to the door.

“A brown-haired Bradbury girl walking into my shop. Who could imagine,” Sarah mumbled when I crossed the threshold. At least I think she said that. The words were lost beneath the sound of bells.

Three

“Can’t you use your magical powers for something useful? Or fun? Like frozen margaritas?” I gave our broken blender a dirty look.

Sam rolled her eyes. “No, this isn’t Practical Magic.” She scowled as she rifled through her desk for matches. A bundle of sage lay on my bed, awaiting fire.

“Can’t you set it on fire with your mind?”

“Sadly, no.” She shoved a drawer closed and opened another one.

“Won’t we set off the smoke alarm?” I sniffed the herb. “Or get busted for smoking weed in our room? Maybe we should open the window.”

“Good idea.” She pushed up the bottom of our window.

“Great. Now the whole quad will think we’re potheads.”

“Stop your complaining. That’s the whole reason we’re doing this to remove the dark cloud of negativity surrounding you.” She held up a book of matches. “Ready?”

“No. I’m not looking forward to smelling like a Thanksgiving turkey for the rest of the night.”

“You can shower before we go to the party.”

It was Saturday night and that meant bad beer in a Solo cup.

“Another party? Haven’t we tortured ourselves enough this semester?” I scooted further back on my rumpled bed to rest my back against the wall.

“Yes, another one. School has barely started. You need to snap out of your funk. Find a cute guy. Make out in the corner. Let him touch your boobs. Maybe grab his ass.”

“Reminds me of all of sophomore year. Yet, strange guy ass sounds delightful.” I scrunched up my nose. “Can we go right this minute?”

“Enough with the sarcasm. Shut up and hold still.” Sam lit the sage, and then blew on the flame to let it smolder.

I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face. “Now what?”

“Stand up.”

I shot her a look, but stood while she waved the sage around me. The smoke stung my eyes, so I closed them.

“Think good thoughts. Or maybe conjure up your perfect guy. That’ll help.”

I remembered the love spell package in my bag. Sarah had said true love comes when you least expect it, so did that mean I shouldn’t focus on it to make it happen? All of this magic stuff was confusing.

Inhaling a deep breath and coughing again, I tried to list all of the things I wanted in a guy.

Smart.

Funny.

Chivalrous. What? Mr. Darcy was hot.

Great, now I’m thinking about Colin Firth and he’s like my dad’s age. So wrong. Okay, Madison, focus.

Sam muttered something under her breath and spun me around to do my backside.

Where was I? Right …

Cute, but not a narcissist. A guy who doesn’t think he’s God’s gift to females, but gorgeous in his own way.

Am I superficial? Do I care?

Kind. Kind to animals, too. Always a good sign.

I inhaled, and coughed again.

Fit, but not a jock or super gym rat guy. Maybe a lacrosse or soccer player. Or a rower. Did we even have a crew team here?

More of a lone wolf than part of a pack — aka frat — but not a loner with no friends because he was too weird and anti-social to have friends.

Mysterious.

Gasping, I opened my eyes. “I have a crush on Andrew Wildes.” I’d just described him perfectly. Well, not the athletic part. Maybe he hated cats. Or kittens. He had to have some flaws. Like a girlfriend.

“You do?”

Crap. I’d said it out loud.

“The weird guy from your sem class?”

“He’s not weird, just not super normal.”

Sam rolled her eyes and walked over to our sink to extinguish the sage. “You’re cleansed.”

“I don’t feel any different.” I smelled my ponytail. “I do smell different, though.”

“It might take a while to—”

Four quick, loud knocks interrupted her. Our eyes met.

“Who is it?” I mouthed at her.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah?” she asked, stepping closer to the door, but not opening it.

“Can you open the door?” a familiar male voice asked.

I jumped on my bed and grabbed my pillow, waving it around the room, hoping to clear any remaining smoke.

Sam opened the door and Andrew Wildes stood there on our threshold in all of his dark, brooding glory. I was on my bed waving a pillow around my head like a crazy person. Embarrassed, I quickly hopped to the floor and threw the pillow behind me.

“Sorry to bother you, but I was passing by and smelled smoke.” His eyes flashed to mine. “Hi, Madison.”

“Hi, Andrew.” I gave him an embarrassed wave.

Sam grinned at me and then put on her best innocent expression to face him. “You did? How strange. Maybe we were making microwave popcorn and burned it.”

“Maybe?” Andrew’s eyes swept our room and landed on mine again. “No microwave.”

“Oh. Right. Funny that.” She shrugged.

He took a step into the room and crossed his arms. “It smells like a roasted chicken in here.”

I laughed, but stopped myself mid-ha.

“Are you a narc?” she asked.

“No, but I am an RA.”

“In this dorm?” I asked. I’d never seen him in the building.

“I’m in Emerson.”

“So your powers don’t work here?” she asked.

His eyes flashed to hers for a second before returning to me. “My powers work everywhere. Unlike illegal microwaves, cigarettes and other smoking, I’m not sure there are any rules banning sage smudging,” he said, stepping to the sink and picking up the singed bundle of sage.

“If you knew it was sage, why did you ask?” Sam asked.

“Just checking to be sure you knew.” He twirled the bundle between his longer fingers before placing it back on the small counter. “Who was the smudger and who was the smudgee?”

Apparently my brain had lost the ability to form words while Andrew stared at me and I stood there mute.

“I smudged Madison,” Sam confessed, shoving me in front of her.

His deep brown eyes swept over me, settling on a spot on my cheek. I realized he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his long lashes brushed his cheek when he blinked. I’d never noticed before how long they were. Ridiculously long. And unfair. Andrew was the kind of guy you wouldn’t look twice at… until you did and realized how handsome he was beyond the glasses.

“Looks like you got a little close.” When he touched my cheek, I felt the heat of his fingertip ignite a trail of fire beneath my skin. He held his finger in front of my face where I saw a dark smear of charcoal.

I brushed my skin, hoping to remove anything else. Embarrassment heated my face. My recently admitted crush stood in my room and I looked like I was sporting face paint and smelled like Thanksgiving dinner. Obviously, the smudging hadn’t worked to clear my mojo.

His hand rose as if he would touch my cheek again. I held my breath and braced for impact. Instead, he subtly shook his head and stuffed his hand in the pocket of his black hoodie.

“Sorry to barge in. Lots of students are curious about witchcraft. Allison, on the first floor, almost set her comforter on fire with an enchanted candle.” He scoffed. “Probably best to avoid open flames in the dorms.”

His eyes never left mine as he spoke. I felt like I was being studied and categorized, but wasn’t sure if the judgment was positive or more “stupid college girls and witchcraft”. He was impossible to read.

While Andrew and I stared at each other, Sam cleared her throat. “What are you doing tonight, Andrew?”

“Not really sure. I was headed upstairs when I smelled the smoke. To see a friend.”

Girl friend or guy friend, I wondered.

“You know Tate? The RA on the third floor?” he asked.

Sam and I nodded. Everyone knew Tate Winthrop. Even if he weren’t a gazillionth generation Winthrop, everyone would still know him. There weren’t many six-foot-three white guys with dreadlocks down their back on our little college campus. Sam’s had a crush on Tate since the beginning of last year. He was a pretty big reason why we still lived in a double room as juniors. I couldn’t imagine Tate and Andrew being friends. Andrew seemed too quiet, and a little uptight.

“You and Tate should come to the party on Elm Court tonight.” A glimmer of a plan twinkled in her eyes. “Unless RAs aren’t allowed to go to off campus parties.”

“We can. If everyone there is legal, it’s not a problem.” He smiled at Sam. “Are you legal?” he asked me.

“She is. We both are.” Sam was lying. My birthday wasn’t until late November; hers was in January.

It would be easy for him to bust us by asking for IDs, but he didn’t.

“Okay, maybe I’ll see you there. No more smudging, ladies.” He didn’t make a move to leave. Instead, we stood there awkwardly. At least I felt awkward. Sam looked delighted at her newfound connection to Tate.

Torn between wanting him to get out of my room and throwing him down on my bed, I once again became mute. Charming.

“Okay,” I managed to say finally. Parrots had more interesting contributions to conversations. “I’ll be in a corner with a Solo cup.”

“Bring Tate!” Sam called out as the door shut behind him.

Yep. Awkward.

Four

Had Andrew bothered to show up at the party, he would have found me in a corner with a bottle of cider. I doubt he would have recognized me without the red cup.

Sam covered up her disappointment about Tate’s no-show by chatting up every guy there who wasn’t mashing his body or lips against a girl. Or guy. An endless parade of toads marched over to my corner with her encouragement. Not actual toads. Or frogs. Although one of them had buggy eyes and smelled like a pond, so he might have been a real toad in disguise. My grandmother’s words of dating wisdom came to mind.

“You have to kiss a lot of toads to find your Prince Charming.”

This from a woman who met and married a boy at seventeen. How many toads could she have kissed in western Massachusetts? Her town didn’t even have a stop sign.

Most of the toad-guys had names beginning with E’s: Ethan, Eli and Ev were followed by Eddie and Edgar, who didn’t appreciate being asked if he was named for Poe.

Over loud music, Poe sounds a lot like poo. Apparently.

No Prince Charming tonight.

I finished my cider and looked for Sam. I located her in the kitchen talking to a short, skinny guy, who was enthusiastically telling her all about his ninja costume for Halloween.

“I’m working on the suction cups for the hands and feet.”

“Suction cups?” Sam faked interest.

“For climbing buildings.” He didn’t say ‘duh’, but it was implied.

“Oh, right! Look, it’s Madison!” She hugged me and whispered, “Help me.”

By the time we broke apart, Ninja Boy had moved on to sharing his ninja plans with the girl to his left.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“They might still show.”

“It’s almost one o’clock. They’re not coming. And neither is Prince Charming.”

“Were you expecting him tonight? Halloween is a couple weeks away. It’s too early for men in tights.”

I laughed. “Not by much. A few more weeks and this town will be covered with them.”

She shuddered. “I wish you were joking.”

New Orleans had Mardi Gras; Salem had Halloween — a month-long party downtown with every sexy version of a normal costume possible. Last year we saw nine women dressed as the sexy version of the Supreme Court. In hot pants.

“Me too,” I agreed.

“We need to start planning our costumes.” She tugged me out of the kitchen and down the narrow hall where the parade of toads were lined up with their beers waiting for the bathroom. At least they were housebroken.

Sam continued plotting out her costume as we walked home. The night had turned cold and I wished I had a coat instead of a sweater.

“Shouldn’t you be picking our robes for a coven gathering in the woods or something? I don’t think Wiccans approve of sexy cat costumes.”

“I’m multi-denominational when it comes to Halloween.”

“No candy at coven gatherings?”

She chuckled, knowing she’d been busted. “And zero cute guys.”

“No guy witches?”

“There are some, but most of them are ancient and smell of patchouli.”

We both stuck out our tongues.

“Maybe instead of Prince Charming, we’ll meet a handsome monster, wicked cool Phantom of the Opera, or smoking hot Beast.” She sighed.

“Stalkers and kidnappers? Are you sure you didn’t watch princess movies?” I asked.

“You have no romance. Zero. You’re too young to be so cynical. And too pretty.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Dismissing every compliment you’re given. You’re gorgeous. Like a totally hot Audrey Hepburn.”

“Meaning flat chested and pointy?"

“No, petite. With the way he couldn’t take his eyes off you earlier, I think Andrew approved.”

It was my turn to sigh. “I doubt it. He didn’t even show at the party.”

“He and Tate probably had other plans. Like playing D&D. Or Magic.” She giggled and sighed. “Can you imagine?”

I could, and the thought of gorgeous guys being into role playing games was both ridiculous and kind of hot, depending on the role play.

“You don’t think they have girlfriends, do you? I’ve never seen Tate with anyone, but that doesn’t really mean anything.” Her uncertainty was unfamiliar.

“That would suck if they did.”

“Tate’s totally dreamy. He’s like a modern day philosopher. Did you know he rides a skateboard?”

“Nothing says wicked smart philosopher like an old school long board.” I giggled. “You have it bad.”

She sighed again and nodded. “I don’t know why, but it’s so bad it’s good. We might need to crash his Halloween party this year and charm him.”

“We?”

“Trust me, this is our year, Maddy. I can feel it in my bones.” She tapped her head.

I looked up and found a star in the clear sky and made a wish.

Please let Andrew be single.

And not be into Dungeons & Dragons.

Thank you.

Five

Andrew sat across from me at seminar the following week. Hamilton took his old seat at the far end of the table, out of range for whispered or mumbled slurs. Unfortunately, that didn’t keep him from making asshat comments for the whole group to hear. Andrew didn’t contribute to the discussion of the witch trials, and after last week’s outburst, I kept my comments to a minimum.

My only interaction with Andrew during class was when he loaned me a pen after I couldn’t find one in my bag.

When class ended, I found myself standing next to Hamilton.

“This class blows,” he said.

Not thinking before speaking, I asked, “Why are you even in this class?”

Hamilton’s gaze landed on my boobs, which were thankfully protected beneath at least three layers of clothing. “Duh. Wicked easy A, like that Hester chick. Dude, it’s about New England — I’m from here. And it’s in English. No brainer.”

My jaw should have hit the floor with how fast and low it dropped open. Hamilton’s eyes held lust as he stared at my open mouth.

Unbelievable. I clamped my mouth shut and crossed my arms. “Idiot,” I mumbled under my breath and stepped around him. Unfortunately, I should have held my breath. A wall of Axe body spray assaulted me as I passed him. Gag.

“Can you believe that idiot?” a deep, rumble of a voice asked once I’d hit the fresh air of the hallway.

I snorted and tried to cover it with a laugh, but it was more of a snort-cough. I coughed to cover up the snort-laugh-cough.

Andrew chuckled and held open the door for me.

Wow. No guy had ever done that for me before.

He matched his stride to mine as we exited and crossed the quad. I stared at his Chucks and long legs in worn jeans as we walked along together, trying to think of something to say.

“How was the party on Saturday?” he asked.

“Okay.” I shrugged.

“Sorry we didn’t show up. Tate’s planning his Halloween party and roped me into helping him.”

Tate’s Halloween parties were legend. His family owned a summer house near Marblehead, a gigantic stone, Gothic place with a wide lawn leading down to the rocky beach.

Or so I’d heard. I’d never been invited to his parties before — neither had Sam, but she knew every detail.

“Not into Halloween?” I asked, hoping to sound interested but not desperate.

He shook his head. “It’s okay. I get a little tired of all the mayhem downtown every year. Same witch hats and vomit in the streets gets a little old after a couple of decades.”

“Are you from here?”

“Yeah. Well, kind of. I grew up here, but my dad insisted I attend private school in Boston, so I spent most of the year with my dad in the city. I think he really just wanted me out of Salem.”

My eyebrows rose in a silent question.

“Long, boring story. Really boring fighting parents kind of story.” His voice had changed and he didn’t meet my eyes.

There was more, but we’d reached the campus center where I was meeting Sam. I reached inside my bag and offered him his pen.

“Keep it,” he said with a smile. “Consider it a gift.”

I smiled and thanked him.

Maybe not weird, but Andrew wasn’t typical.

* * *

Saturday felt more like summer than the first day of fall. A hazy sun and humid air greeted me on my morning jog around campus. Jogging was girl code for walking and drinking coffee with Sam. I sipped my extra-large skinny vanilla latte and listened to her share the details of last night’s date with some guy from her statistics class.

“Everything was about the odds and percentages of relationships working out. He offered to show me a spreadsheet.”

“Sounds like a keeper. No second date?”

“Maybe. He was a pretty decent kisser.”

“You kissed him?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure. Statistically, the odds were in his favor he’d be a good kisser.”

“Math is weird.” I laughed and picked up my pace.

“Good Goddess! What’s with the actual jogging?” She caught up with me. “We don’t really run, remember?”

“I thought maybe we could benefit from some physical exertion.”

“You need to get some action. And soon.”

“Me running a 5K is more likely to happen before that.”

“What’s going on with Wildes? My intuition tells me he likes you.”

I’d already told her about our chat after class, and of course she had witnessed the smudging incident. “He’s had chances to ask me out and hasn’t yet.”

“He seems shy. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to make the first move?”

“In what fairy tale does the princess ever make the first move?”

She stared at me blankly.

“Right, you wouldn’t know.” I sighed.

“You’re just in a slump. You should come to the Mabon celebration tonight.”

“Lots of dating material amongst the old and patchouli scented?”

“Probably not, but some gratitude and apple pie might help.”

“Nah, but thanks. I’m going to stay home and study.”

* * *

Sam asked me to go with her again after dinner, but I stuck to my plans of studying and maybe watching a few hours of Doctor Who with Grace down the hall. When I dug in my bag for a highlighter, my hand brushed against a small plastic bag. The love spell.

I pulled it out and walked over to the trash can, fully planning to toss it in, but my hand froze.

I had nothing to lose. Andrew had landed in the friend zone. There had to be a guy out there somewhere between Gropemaster Hamilton and Nice-but-Elusive-Wildes.

I opened up the package and poured the contents on my desk. Reading over the instructions, I decided it seemed simple enough. I was supposed to cleanse myself to be in the right mindset. Smudging counted as cleansing, so I skipped that step even though I hadn’t showered today or changed out of my jogging clothes. It wasn’t like I’d worked up a sweat this morning or anything.

I still wasn’t sure why pink peppercorns, but decided to step out of my skepticism box. After I made a circle with them on the desk, I put the love potion oil on the red votive candle while thinking of what I wanted in a man.

Smart.

Funny.

Chivalrous.

Cute, but not a narcissist.

Kind.

Fit.

Andrew’s story about Allison had made me laugh, but I put a saucer under the candle just in case. After the smudging incident, I didn’t want him to discover me in the middle of a love spell induced fire.

While the candle burned, I kept reading. I was supposed to have something personal if the spell was intended to work on a specific person. Next to the candle was the pen I’d borrowed from Andrew earlier in the week. I could use that. Was it personal enough? Was Andrew my intended target? I imagined myself with a bow and arrow aiming it straight at his chest. Nothing to lose. I put the pen inside of the circle and lit the candle. I repeated my list, adding in dark hair and pale skin.

All that was left was a piece of red ribbon and the heart pendant, which were to be worn out in public, preferably at a large gathering of people. According to the instructions, if I dropped the charm, my love would appear.

By magic!

At least the silver heart was pretty. I strung it on the ribbon and set it in my bowl of other jewelry.

I didn’t feel anything different. No gust of wind burst through the window. Nothing tingled or stood up on end. The oil and the candle made the room smell nice, but that was about it. Sighing, I texted Grace to come down when she was ready.

I crumpled up and threw away the spell instructions. I didn’t know what to do about the candle and peppercorns and hoped she wouldn’t notice if I turned off my desk lamp.

Three episodes of David Tenant as the Tenth Doctor and a giant bowl of popcorn later, the candle sputtered out with a blue flame and a few sparks, leaving the room in darkness except for the glow from my laptop. Grace and I both jumped.

“What the hell!” She glanced at the desk, and then at me. “What kind of candle was that?”

“Some random candle Sam had lying around,” I answered nonchalantly, hoping she wouldn’t notice the peppercorns and pen.

“Well, I think it’s a sign to call it a night.” With a yawn and a stretch, she peeled herself off my bed.

When she opened the door to leave, loud voices carried inside from the hall. One of those voices was Sam’s. The other two voices were male.

No.

No.

No.

One of the voices belonged to the owner of the pen currently sitting on my desk.

Crap!

There wasn’t time to slam the door shut and pretend I wasn’t here.

I leapt out of bed and swept the candle, pen, and saucer into my drawer, scattering warm wax and peppercorns everywhere. I was on my hands and knees picking them up when I heard Sam’s voice.

“Maddy? Are you in here? I just saw Grace leave. Hello? Why is the room dark?” She flipped the switch to the hideous overhead fluorescent light, which hummed and flickered to life.

While wondering if I could crawl completely under my desk and hide, it dawned on me my ass was probably sticking up in the air facing the door.

Great.

“Hey, there you are.” Sam’s and two other sets of footsteps crossed the threshold.

Even better.

Tate and Andrew were with her.

Too big to fit under the desk, I shuffled back and knelt, brushing my hair out of my face with the hand not holding peppercorns. “Hey.”

“You okay?” Andrew asked, looking both confused and amused.

“Oh, fine. I dropped something and was trying to find it.”

“In the dark?” Sam asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Did you find it?” Andrew asked.

“No, I’ll look later.” I attempted to straighten my sweatshirt over my running tights. I had to be a mess.

“What’s in your hand?” Tate asked.

“Nothing.” I shoved it behind my back like a toddler.

“Come on, share,” Andrew teased.

They were just peppercorns, not magic beans. “Peppercorns.”

“Random seasonings?” Andrew smirked and tilted his head. “Stealing from the dining hall?”

“Sam steals spoons,” I said to change the subject. I blushed and dumped the contents of my hand into the trash. “What have you three been doing?” I ignored Sam’s scowl.

Andrew’s attention stayed on the trashcan for a few beats before he replied, “We ran into Sam out front. She’s been telling us all about Mabon.”

“It’s fascinating,” Tate added, keeping his eyes on Sam.

She gazed back at him, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. “You should have come, Maddy. It was incredible — out in the woods and lit only with candles. I brought you some totally amazing apple crisp.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Tate was just inviting us to their Halloween party next weekend. Doesn’t that sound wicked cool?” she asked, attempting and almost succeeding in sounding aloof.

“You’ll come, won’t you?” Andrew asked sincerely. “You really should. It’s a great party.”

Tate faced me, echoing the invitation while Sam stood behind him, making begging gestures.

“Sure, of course, we’d love it,” I replied. “Is there a theme?”

“Nah,” Tate said. “Come as your wildest fantasy, darkest fear, or yourself, in a costume. No rules, no expectations. Just be there before midnight.”

“Will you turn back into pumpkins when the clock strikes twelve?” I asked, only slightly kidding.

Andrew stared at me with a serious expression. “Yes.” He held his face still for a moment before his rare smile lit up his eyes and he laughed.

I couldn’t help but return his grin. “Okay. We’ll be there.”

“Great,” Tate and Andrew said at the same time.

As soon as the door clicked closed behind them, Sam did a little jig. “Holy whoopie pies! We’re going to the best Halloween party ever, and got a personal invitation from Tate!”

She grabbed my hands and jumped on my bed. I joined her and we squealed.

After a few minutes of bouncing, we collapsed into a heap on top of my comforter. Our chests heaving and out of breath, we giggled and kicked our legs.

“Do I want to know about the peppercorns?” she asked.

“No.”

“You weren’t doing magic, were you?”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“Because casting spells on Mabon is powerful stuff. I wouldn’t want you to get it wrong and end up summoning a legion of toads.”

I gulped. “Is that possible?”

“Anything is possible. Like us going to Tate Winthrop’s party!” She fluttered her feet in the air a few times to emphasize her excitement. ““We have to find you a costume tomorrow!”

“What the hell am I going to wear to this party?”

“You need something sexy to wear.”

“Sexy? Really?”

“I know, we’ll make an exception, but something with a lot of leg.”

“Spider?”

“Not legs, just your two. And nothing creepy. Although, Andrew does seem the type to like the dark side. Sexy zombie?”

I laughed. “Sexy zombie nurse? Do animals become zombies? I could be a sexy zombie black cat.” I had to stop because I was laughing at my own joke. “Or bunny. A dead bunny, but sexy.”

“All right, all right. Nothing too sexy or dead. We’ll think of something perfect.”

Six

Beginning the next week, Andrew always sat next to me in seminar. His arm would brush mine when he took notes while I pretended to focus on whatever Dr. Philips said about the three-name author of the week. Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, or Louisa May Alcott… why did so many nineteenth century authors have three names?

“Want to grab a coffee?” Andrew asked as we walked out of the Alcott class. With his hands in his pockets, he seemed unsure of himself, unlike the typical, cool, aloof Andrew.

“I’m supposed to meet Sam,” I said, regretting rejecting him immediately. Wasn’t this what I wished for the other night?

“Oh.” He frowned.

“You could join us,” I offered.

Please let him join us. Andrew wanted to have coffee. With me. I could ditch Sam and explain later. Why hadn’t I thought before I opened my mouth? She’d understand. She would totally do the same and without a second thought if Tate asked her out.

Not that Andrew was asking me out. This wasn’t a date. It was coffee. I wanted to go and was willing to ditch my best friend. I closed my eyes and wished for her to understand before pulling out my phone to text her. However, my screen showed a new text alert from Sam.

*Got a costume idea. Heading into Boston. Sorry to bail on coffee. Catch you later.:)*

“Or not,” I said.

Andrew stopped walking and frowned, waiting for me to finish.

“No, not no. She just canceled.” I grinned, waving my phone in front of me.

His lips lifted in a lopsided smile. “Well, in that case, shall we?” He gestured toward the edge of campus.

“No campus cafe?”

With a shake of his head, he met my eyes. “I know someplace better.”

He led me through the wrought iron gates and past the ivy-covered stone walls, marking the edge of our little campus. After a few twists and turns through streets decorated for Halloween, we stood in front of a tiny house covered in black painted clapboards, diamond patterned panes of glass crisscrossing its small windows. I’d never seen it before. Even with the few stalks of dried corn and stack of white pumpkins made the place appear anything but festive. It looked a little creepy and probably a lot haunted.

“Here?” My voice squeaked.

“Sure. They make the best hot chocolate.” He opened the little door and ducked inside.

The door was that small.

I followed him into the dark space, bells chiming as the door closed behind me.

What’s with all of the bells in this town?

“People think they ward off bad spirits and bring good energy to the home or business,” Andrew answered.

“I asked that out loud?” My cheeks heated.

“Andrew!” A round woman with a frizzy halo of gray hair greeted him with a smile followed by an enveloping hug.

After extracting himself from her voluptuous curves, he introduced us. “Martha, this is my friend, Madison.”

Grinning at him, she extended her hand. “Nice to meet a friend of Andrew’s. Finally.”

I swore his cheeks pinked, but it was too dark to see clearly with the only light coming from the small windows and table lamps with black shades. My eyes slowly adjusted and I could see the walls were actually bookcases lined only with books with dark covers. In the nearest corner there was a barista working an espresso machine. Even the cups were black.

I worried if I dropped something or broke a cup, it would never be found again. “What is this place?”

He pressed his hand against my shoulder to steer me toward a table. “It’s had a lot of names over the years, but everyone calls it the Black Book, though I’m not sure why.”

I laughed as we sat down. “Because it’s completely black outside and in?”

His eyebrows did that furrowing thing where they disappeared into the frames of his glasses. “Huh, I’d never thought of that being the reason. I always figured it was because it was the perfect location for a secret rendezvous.”

Was that what this was? It was dark enough in here to have sex and no one would know.

We were interrupted by the return of Martha bearing two steaming cups and a plate of brownies. At least they looked like brownies. It was hard to differentiate them from the black plate.

“Death by chocolate. Andrew’s favorite,” she announced, squeezing his shoulder.

After she walked away, I said, “She seems fond of you.”

“I’ve known her my entire life. She and my mother are friends.”

“Does your mom still live here?”

“She does.”

I was prying — I could tell by the tightness in his shoulders — but I couldn’t stop myself. He was talking and I wanted to keep him speaking.

“Why don’t you live at home?”

He laughed, but he didn’t smile. “What twenty-one year old wants to live at home with his mother?”

I giggled. “Right. That would be weird.”

“The dorm is probably worse. Freshman are unbelievable.”

“I remember being an idiot first year.”

“I probably shouldn’t say this, but the kneeing incident in the lounge with Hamilton is pretty legendary in Residence Life.”

“Nooo.” I tried to hide underneath the table and realized I wasn’t bendy, so I made myself invisible by covering my eyes with my hands.

He chuckled, and I peeked at him from between my fingers.

“Please say you are teasing.” He didn’t answer, but his eyes danced with amusement. “Does everyone know?”

“I’m sure some of the freshman don’t, but you’re a legend. Own it.”

“This explains my lack of a love life. I’m the girl who knees boys in the balls. No wonder no one has asked me out in ages. I’m cursed.” I gave up the fight and laid my head on the table where I was eye level with the brownies. “At least I can die from chocolate instead of humiliation. Nice knowing you.” I broke off a big bite of brownie and ate it without lifting my head.

Andrew still hadn’t said anything.

I wondered how much chocolate I’d have to consume to actually die.

He tilted his neck to the side to study me. After a few beats, he said, “You’re not cursed.”

I felt a familiar tingle from his gaze. “I wish I could believe you, but I’m beginning to think someone put a hex on me.” I sighed.

He laughed again. “Really?”

“It’s worse than you know.”

“I’d be able to tell, trust me. No hex, no curse.” His hand brushed my arm, sending a shiver over my skin, raising my hair into goose bumps. It was the exact opposite of unpleasant.

“Sam thinks I’m a witch,” I blurted out.

He choked on his hot chocolate.

“I know, right? Something about family ancestors and matrilineal genes or something. I think she’s confusing magic and Judaism.” I lifted my head off the table and sipped my drink, which tasted exactly like melted chocolate.

“That explains the smudging last weekend.”

“Sam is into Wicca this year.”

“And you? Do you believe in magic?”

“Not really.” I met his beautiful brown eyes, which reminded me of warm melted chocolate. There was a chocolate I’d like to die by. Death by Andrew. A familiar feeling fluttered low in my belly and I crossed my legs. It had been ages since anything fluttered.

“Just curses and hexes, but not the good stuff?” he asked, playing with his cup, suddenly interested in studying the grain of the wood on the table.

“Being able to hex someone sounds pretty good to me.” I remembered wishing Hamilton would fall and my delight when he did. “Or do you mean magical potions and flying brooms? Do you believe?”

He shrugged. “Growing up in Salem, you begin to believe in all sorts of things, both light and darkness.”

Sarah and Sam’s words about Mabon echoed in my head … the balance between light and dark. Hexes and love spells.

“I think Philips’ class is getting to me,” I said. “Everything so far this semester has turned into the same conversation.”

“Then let’s talk about something else. You know more about me than I do about you. Tell me something I don’t know.” He smiled, and when he leaned back into the shadows, the low table light emphasized his angular jaw and high cheekbones.

“I’m an English major, but you probably already guessed as much since we have class together. Minor in business.”

“Business, eh?”

“Not a lot of jobs out there for English majors. It was my father’s idea.”

“Smart man.”

“And your major?”

“Bio-chemistry.”

He looked like a chemistry major. All glasses and smarts.

“How does an upper level English class fit into that?”

“I like to read.” He gave me a small smile. “I know, it’s weird.”

I matched his expression. “I like boys who read.”

His smile faltered and was quickly replaced by a grin. “Good to know.”

We chatted about classes, majors, and life in the dorms as the dim light from the windows grew darker. Andrew wasn’t as weird as I’d imagined — more serious than weird. Kind of an old soul. And cute. Very cute. Even in a dark bookstore café.

Okay, that place was a little weird.

Andrew walked me back to my dorm, saying he was meeting up with Tate. When he paused before the wide steps to the entrance, I ended up standing two steps above him, making us about the same height. I could see the layers of brown in his eyes and a slim line of silver near his pupil. He had a fine layer of dark stubble along his pale jaw, which only accentuated the deep red of his lips. Women would kill for his lip color.

“Hey.” He grabbed my hand.

I looked down to where his fingers touched mine, then back up at his face.

My breath stalled at the look in his eyes; it was lust, pure and new.

“I had fun this afternoon.” His eyes flicked down to my lips.

“Me too.” I leaned slightly forward and inhaled, waiting.

This was one of those moments before a kiss. The air between us crackled and our bodies drew together like magnets. Allowing my eyes to drift closed, I slowly exhaled and waited.

His fingers flexed against mine for a second before he let go, but I didn’t feel him step away.

I slowly blinked open my eyes to meet his.

He had an eyelash on his cheek. I reached up to touch it, transferring it to my finger. “Make a wish,” I whispered, holding out the tip of my finger for him to see it.

“You keep it.”

“Are you sure?”

His eyes settled back on my lips. When he shook his head, his hair flopped over his eyes. “No.”

I frowned and blew on the lash, but didn’t make a wish. Time paused as I waited for him to do something. I expected him to walk away. I hoped he didn’t. After a moment of quiet with only the sound breeze rustling the dying leaves, I turned to step away. However, he lifted his hand to my cheek to stop me.

“Madison …” he whispered, inching closer to my lips. His eyes remained locked with mine until they began to blur. Once again, I closed my eyes. This time I felt his breath brush lightly across my lips. It was a split second that felt like infinity before his mouth made contact with mine.

I pressed against him. My lips, my chest, my hips were magnets seeking connection. I gasped at the sensation of his hand wrapping around my neck, tilting my head back. He accepted it as invitation, exploring, claiming my mouth with his tongue. My own hands gripped his shoulders before winding their way into the hair at the nape of his neck. It was soft, so soft. I wanted to bury my nose in it.

All too soon he paused and then broke off the kiss, letting his hand drop away from my skin.

I stood for a moment with my eyes closed and my lips parted, waiting for him to kiss me again. The cool air breached the warmth between our bodies, forcing me to open my eyes and accept the kiss was over.

He slowly came into focus. My lips were swollen and my brain fuzzy from the kiss. He looked torn between joy and uncertainty; both emotions flickered across his face.

“I, um …” he paused, “I’ll see you in class.” He turned and swiftly walked away from me.

I guess he wasn’t visiting Tate after all.

I knew one thing for certain: the love spell seemed to be working.

Andrew had totally kissed me. With tongue.

Seven

I stared at my yellow and black reflection in the full-length mirror on my closet door.

“This? Why?” I plucked at the black tutu barely covering my ass. “Sexy bee? Sexy insect?” I shrieked. “If I was going as a sexy insect, shouldn’t it be a praying mantis?”

Sam glared at me. “No, they eat their males after sex. Not the message you want to be sending tonight.” She snort-laughed. “Bee sending,” she repeated.

“Help. I can’t be a bee. The puns will kill me.”

“Hold on, I’m not finished with the costume.” She placed a headband with a tiny, black witch’s hat on my head.

“I don’t get it.”

“Think about it.”

“I am! I look ridiculous.” Neon-colored diamond-patterned tights, the aforementioned microscopic tutu, and a yellow and black striped top. “Don’t forget these.” I turned to show her my wings.

“You’re bee-witched!” She clapped her hands together. “Get it? It’s brilliant.”

“If you do say so yourself.” I fought a smile. “Fine. It’s clever.”

“Andrew’s going to love it!”

“Does he have a bee fetish I’m not aware of? A passion for all things honey?” I tried to tug my nonexistent skirt lower only to have my hands swatted away.

“Not that I know of, but you look super hot. He won’t be able to resist.”

The last part was true. The love spell had clearly worked. Our chocolate date and the kiss proved it. He’d sat next to me in class again. We’d exchanged numbers, and texted a bunch of times.

Which was all great, but it wasn’t.

Did he really like me, or was it the spell?

There was only one way to find out. I picked up the heart charm and tied it around my neck.

“Red doesn’t really go with the bee thing, Maddy.” Sam wrinkled her nose. “Do you have to wear it tonight?”

“Listen, I’m letting you dress me up as a bee, I mean a bee-witch. Let me wear the necklace. Please?”

“If you insist.” She adjusted her corset and top hat. “Do you think Tate will like this?”

“I have no idea, but he’s a guy, with eyes, so I think he’ll love it.”

Sam was dressed as some sort of time-traveling, Steampunk, corset wearing hottie. She looked like a badass milkmaid.

I looked like a bee. Wearing a hat. At least my legs looked great.

* * *

Jack-o’-lanterns and luminaries lined the long driveway to the enormous stone mansion the Winthrops called a summerhouse. It was a far cry from the two-bedroom place my grandparents had on the Cape. Eerie white forms hung in the trees and swayed in the breeze. Shadowy figures spilled out of the house onto the lawn and driveway. It was impossible to identify anyone given the non-existent light, fake smoke, and costumes. A pair of sexy black cats dashed past us, squealing and holding their tails. Sam’s gaze met mine, and even in the dark I could see her roll hers.

“Where do you think Tate and Andrew are?” I asked as we approached the stone staircase leading up to the front door. “We’ll never find them.”

“We just got here, don’t lose faith yet.” She took my hand and led me inside, where the crowd filled the dark, paneled grand foyer and music pulsed from multiple speakers. “Let’s find the bar,” she shouted.

I allowed myself to be led deeper into the maze of hallways, feeling the urge to leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind me to find my way out again. We passed open doors into rooms that might be called studies or dens, each filled with a random assortment of costumed partygoers. Sexy bunnies chatted up rotting zombies while doctors flirted with sexy nurses. Hamilton was there dressed as a pimp, complete with hideous purple zebra pimp hat. Gross. If this love spell and magic thing did really work, I planned to buy a spell to give him boils. Or make his dick shrivel up smaller, if that was possible. He didn’t have the cock to back up his cocky attitude.

After asking a hobbit about the bar, we stepped outside on a large back terrace overlooking the dark beach and black water beyond. A huge bar — filled with bizarre looking jars of smoking potions — stood off to the left. The crowd was only a few people deep when we joined the line. I scanned the space for a familiar tall, lanky form with pale hands and long fingers while Sam chatted up a sexy Tardis in line ahead of us. Still no sign of our hosts.

“What’s your potion tonight?” a familiar voice asked.

My head whipped around so fast my witch’s hat almost flew off. Andrew stood behind the bar in a suit and trench coat.

“Maddy?”

“Andrew? Or should I say, Dr. Who?”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“He’s Doctor Who,” the sexy Tardis scoffed at us while tilting her cleavage in Andrew’s direction. The fact she had cleavage while dressed as a blue British telephone booth earned her bonus points for execution.

Andrew’s eyes widened and he averted his eyes as fast as possible.

“I heard you the first time and that’s why I asked who?” Sam said.

“He’s Who,” I said.

“Who?”

“I’m Who,” Andrew said, laughing.

“Sam, his costume is Doctor Who, from the show of the same name,” I explained.

Sam’s head ping-ponged between us like she was watching a tennis match. “Oh, one of those geeky shows you watch. Explains the coat.”

Andrew scowled at her. He turned to me and asked, “And what are you? A sexy bee?” His lips curled with a grin.

“Ugh, no. I’m—”

“She’s bewitched!” Sam blurted out, still extremely pleased with her idea.

Andrew smiled and leaned across the bar. I mirrored him, moving closer so he could speak directly in my ear. I may have hip-checked the Tardis out of the way on accident. Oops.

“You’ve bewitched me, heart and soul,” he said, quoting Mr. Darcy. I nearly swooned, and did in fact sway on my ridiculously high heels.

I blinked a few times as he smiled and stood to his full height. Bells tinkled and my eyes sought out their source, but I couldn’t find it. Instead, I said the first thing that came to mind, “You’re eyes are different. They’re blue. Or gray.” They reminded me of someone else’s eyes, but I couldn’t place them.

He stared at me for a few seconds. “They’re contacts. You like?” He batted his ridiculously long, dark lashes, rendering me speechless for a moment.

“Maddy?” he asked.

I gave him a shy smile. “I do, they’re very pretty, but I miss your glasses.”

“Good to know.” He grinned at me. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, what’s your potion?” He pointed at the labels on a row of enormous glass jars.

Number nine looked pink and much less scary than the black number thirteen or the milky green number six. “Number nine, please,” I said.

“Excellent choice,” Tate said, appearing from out of nowhere. He was dressed in all black with a long black cape; his dreads were pulled back and tucked under a tall top hat. “The love potion.”

My mouth dropped open, and Sam snickered beside me before ordering the same thing. Tate handed us both smoking glasses of pink liquid, which tasted like strawberries.

While Sam and Tate chatted, Andrew served drinks to a teen wolf and a fairy. I watched him and played with my heart charm. If I took it off now and dropped it, would it seal my fate with Andrew? Did I want him to fall in love with me because of a spell or potion? Would it even count as real love?

Before I could dwell, Sam was tugging me to the dance floor. I waved to Andrew before we were swallowed up by the crowd. The music was louder inside and I lost myself to the beat. We danced our way into the center of the crowded space. I grabbed Sam’s hands and raised our arms in the air, giggling together as we bumped hips. People jostled us and we broke apart. A monkey man spun Sam around, and then gave her a banana. I laughed so hard I bent to catch my breath… and felt the ribbon at my neck loosen and give way before it fell to the floor.

Oh no!

The heart.

I froze and looked around, holding my breath, wishing Andrew would be standing in front of me. Instead, my worst fear walked toward me. A purple zebra pimp hat moved through the crowd in our direction. Blond hair and brown eyes came into focus. Hamilton winked at me.

No. No. No.

I closed my eyes and spun around, stumbling when I met with the solid wall of someone’s chest. A pair of hands wrapped around my biceps, steadying me.

I gasped and opened my eyes to meet pale blue ones, and a lopsided smile.

“Hi,” I said, exhaling in relief.

Andrew just smiled and grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the dance floor and Hamilton. Outside he kept going past the terrace, leading me down a stone path to the beach.

“My heart!” I exclaimed, stopping in the middle of the path.

“What?”

“I lost my heart pendant on the dance floor. I should go find it.”

“You’ll never find it in the crowd.”

I frowned.

He pressed his finger to my bottom lip. “It’s not important, is it?”

The charm itself wasn’t worth anything, but how could I confess to him how important it was to find it — or even more important, he find it, for the love spell to be completed.

He studied me for a minute before pressing his hand to my cheek.

I wanted to kiss him again — more than I wanted to find the heart, even more than I cared about superstitious hocus-pocus magic, so I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.

He responded by wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer. With my heels, the height difference was much less and I could easily reach my hands into his hair. His open coat formed a cocoon around us.

We kissed like no one could see us, like we were the last two people alive, or the first people ever to fall in love. We kissed like we were falling in love.

My head spun as the earth shifted beneath my feet. Unable to catch my breath, I broke off the kiss, nuzzling my nose in his neck.

This was falling in love.

“Madison,” he whispered into my hair.

“Mmm.”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.” I lifted my head to meet his gaze.

Gently cupping my cheeks, he searched my eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I know about the love spell.”

Eight

“What?” I tried to pull away from him, but his arm around my waist held me in place. Therefore, all I achieved was bending backward and grinding my hips against him.

Oh. Spell or no spell, Andrew liked me. Really liked me.

I had hard evidence… against my stomach. When he moaned and pulled his hips away, I pouted.

“The spell?” he reminded me.

Oh, right. The spell.

“I don’t even believe in magic. It was kind of a joke, and I lost the heart pendant. My true love was supposed to find it when it dropped, but you didn’t. And I saw Hamilton first. So it didn’t work,” I babbled.

Andrew stilled and remained silent.

I rewound what I’d said. Not believing in magic, joke, not working … true love … him.

Closing my eyes, I wished for the ground to swallow me whole. The beach and the icy cold water sat a few yards away. A short run and I could throw myself into the sea.

“Madison, open your eyes.”

I opened one eye, and then slowly the other.

Andrew smiled at me. “Even if you don’t believe in magic, I do.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Really?”

“Doubts the girl who used a love spell on me,” he said with a chuckle and a peck to my lips. “If you didn’t believe, just a little, why are you worried about the spell working or not working?”

He had me there. “I, um.” I paused and sucked in a deep breath to buy some time. “If it worked, then you don’t really like me, you’re just enchanted. Or whatever you call it. And if it didn’t work, then I’m embarrassed and a fool.”

“What if I told you it didn’t work, but I’m still enchanted, although I prefer the word bewitched.”

Bewitched. My skin tingled and warmed.

“Walk with me? I want to show you something.” He entwined his fingers with mine and gently pulled me down the path.

I followed. Of course.

The beach was quiet except for small waves slapping against the rocky shore. Sand and rocks were madness with these heels, so I removed them and walked barefoot through the cold, wet sand. A large shadow loomed down the beach, and I realized it was a pile of wood for a bonfire.

“Is this the midnight surprise?” I asked, circling the pyre.

“It is. Tonight’s Samhain as well as Halloween. Do you know about it?” He followed behind me, but at a distance.

“Sam and Sarah told me a little. It’s the night when the threshold between worlds gets thinner and magic is easier.”

“Sarah?” He stopped walking.

I stopped, too, and faced him. “Sarah, at the Spelling B.”

He smirked. “I should have known.”

“Known what?” I stepped closer. His contacts made his eyes almost glow in the light from the sliver of moon above the bay. “Your contacts remind me of her eyes.”

“How odd.” He glanced down at his watch. “I’ll explain everything in a minute.”

With a look over his shoulder toward the house, he crouched near the wood. He held his hands in front of him and a spark hit the kindling. I never saw a match. Within seconds, a blue flame spread through the stack before transforming into a warm blaze. Flames reached toward the sky.

“I’ve never seen a bonfire alight so quickly,” I said in awe. “How did you do that?”

He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Seriously, how did you do that? Lighter fluid? I didn’t even see you use a lighter.”

“I didn’t.”

“What? That’s impossible.”

“Not if you believe in magic.”

I was utterly, completely, and entirely confused.

“Andrew?”

“Uh huh,” he said, stepping closer and touching my hips above my tutu.

“What going on?”

“Hmm … well, if you don’t believe in magic, nothing. Just two people standing near a bonfire.”

“A bonfire you lit with your hands.”

“Not if you don’t believe.”

“But I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Appearances can be deliberately deceiving.”

“You’re speaking in riddles.”

“I’m hoping you’ll catch on without me having to spell it out for you.” He chuckled and kissed me again.

I let myself fall into the kiss, but my mind kept spinning with questions. Andrew Wildes wasn’t what he seemed. Something clicked.

“You’re not wearing contacts tonight, are you?”

I could feel his smile against my cheek.

“I think you’re catching on.” As he spoke, his scruff rubbed against my skin.

“Glasses?”

“Fake lenses.” A kiss to my neck.

My forehead creased. He kissed the wrinkles.

“Wait. Contacts and fake lenses?”

He nodded, or at least dipped his chin in the beginning of a nod. His glacial blue eyes pierced through me. I shivered with the chill of his stare.

“All part of the illusion.”

“At first we dress to deceive?” I asked. When I crossed my arms, my wings tightened at my shoulders. This conversation was surreal enough beyond the fact it was happening while I was dressed like a bee.

“The quiet, loner boy who no one notices.” He raised one shoulder in a lopsided shrug

“But why?”

“Maybe I didn’t want to be who everyone expected me to be.”

“Because you’re from here.” I was missing something.

“And my mom.”

I gasped. The pieces fell into place like a puzzle coming together. “Your mom is Sarah at the Spelling Bee!”

“The lady is on to something.”

“Your mom is the most powerful witch in Salem.”

“Ding, ding,” he said flatly.

“Sam told me Sarah is a real witch.” I stopped myself and stared at him. “Does that mean …”

“I’m a witch.”

It wasn’t a question.

“You’re a witch?”

He nodded.

I nodded. “So the fire?”

He wiggled his fingers in front of me.

“And the love spell?”

He laughed. “The peppercorns made me suspicious. When I saw your heart pendant tonight, I recognized it from my mom’s shop.”

My cheeks heated, and not from the heat of the bonfire. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.” He kissed me again. “Those spells don’t work.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s against coven rules to influence emotions.”

“Yet okay for us mere mortals to think they do?”

“It’s all about the power of suggestion.” He looked smug.

“So, according to you, the spell didn’t work?”

“Right.”

“But you’re kissing me.”

“Not right now I’m not.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Or now.” He kissed the other corner, then smiled.

I smiled back.

“I like you, Madison. A lot. I have since you were a freshman.”

I scrunched up my nose. “I didn’t know you then.” I stopped. “Oh. The boy no one notices.”

He nodded, watching me carefully with a guarded expression.

“A bio-chem major in an English lit seminar?”

He shrugged. “I honestly like to read, but maybe I found out you’d be in Philips’ class.”

“Magic?”

“Friend works in the registrar’s office.”

“Any other magic I should know about?”

He looked down at his feet. “Maybe.”

I used my finger to tip up his chin.

“Hamilton’s chair didn’t fall on its own.”

My eyebrows touched my hairline. “I thought I wished that!”

“You kind of did. I could read your face and helped a little.”

“When else?”

“The rain when you wouldn’t accept my umbrella.”

“You can control the weather?”

He nodded. “Not in the grand scheme of things, but temporarily.”

“And Sam canceling coffee?”

Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. “A happy coincidence. I was working on something, but didn’t need to use it.”

“So you’re a real witch.”

He grinned. “I am. And you’re a Bradbury girl.”

Sarah’s strange words echoed in my head. A brown-haired Bradbury girl.

“I am.” I gave him a quizzical look.

“Mary Bradbury survived the Salem witch trials, but Sarah Wildes didn’t. There’s a long history between our families. And…” he paused and exhaled, “My mother saw you coming into my life two years ago.”

“Freshman year.”

He nodded, pulling me into his arms.

“You must have been relieved she didn’t say Dorcus Hoar was to be your true love.”

Andrew threw his head back and laughed. “So relieved.”

“Poor Dorcus. Persecuted when alive, and mocked in death.”

“I can call you Dorcus, if you feel so bad.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Please don’t.” I laughed and kissed him between chuckles. Laugh-kissing was better than snort-laughing.

He stopped laughing and his eyes focused on mine. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

I would have said more, but his lips crashed against mine, and I knew he’d waited long enough.

Whoops and screams coming down the lawn broke us apart, but Andrew held fast to my hand, not letting me move away from his side. Various partygoers tumbled toward the fire, among them Tate and Sarah walking close together, arms entwined.

I met Andrew’s eye and he kissed my forehead. “Don’t tell Sam her spell didn’t work either.”

My eyes widened, but I laughed.

If she needed to believe in spells, so be it.

I believed in real magic.

The End?

Thanks for reading Bewitched! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I loved writing it. I had fun branching out into New Adult and paranormal. If you enjoyed the humor and the falling in love parts, please check out my other books, which have both of those elements without the paranormal twist.

Special thanks to Allison Smith, Nadine Silber, Suzanne, and SO for reading early drafts of this story. It's better because of your input. Thank you to my editor Melissa Ringsted and proofreader Marla Esposito for fixing my crimes against grammar and giving my writing a final polish.

Look for more shorts and novels from me coming soon. Be sure to sign up for my mailing list for the latest news, exclusives, and giveaways.

Happy Reading!

xo Daisy

About the Author

Before writing bestselling contemporary adult romances, Daisy dreamed of being an author while doing a lot of other things. Antiques dealer, baker, blue ribbon pie-maker, fangirl, freelance writer, gardener, pet mom and wife are a few of the titles she's acquired over the years.

Born and raised in San Diego, Daisy currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with her husband, their dog Hubbell, and a still nameless imaginary house goat.

Connect with Daisy

Website: http://www.daisyprescott.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/daisyprescottauthorpage

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Email: daisyauthor@gmail.com

Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/xhXb5

Other Books by Daisy

Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Story #1)

Ready to Fall (Modern Love Story #2)

Missionary Position (Modern Love Story #3)

Take Two (Modern Love Story Short)

Red Rum

by Ashley Pullo

Trick o’ treat, a girl to meet. Blood Sangria wicked sweet.

Copyright © Ashley Pullo 2014, All rights reserved.

eBook edition

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Ashley Pullo

Proofed by Proofing Style, Inc./Marla Esposito

First Digital Edition October 2014

THE HALLOWEEN WITH THE RED RUM

4:15 p.m.

The tiny black bowler hat, mustache, and unlit cigarette are the perfect editions to my crime scene photo. After disguising my hostage, I shove the remaining Potato Head parts back in my desk drawer, and then scribble a ransom note on a Post-it. Positioning the succulent in a compromising pose with my stapler, I snap a photo. Adam will be pissed — he’s been looking for his potted cactus for days.

ME: image

Adam: you fucking asshole.

Laughing hysterically, I text back.

ME: Mr. Prickly will return to you in exchange for a case of Shiner.

“Mr. Brooks?”

I throw back a handful of candy corn before pressing the intercom button. “Yes, Roberta?”

“There have been some complaints about loud music coming from your office,” Roberta drones.

“Complaints? Who would object to The Old '97s?”

She doesn’t respond.

I check the volume on my iPod dock — if Adam is trying to get back at me by whining about my music, then it’s a pathetic attempt. “Roberta, I’ll lower it if you snag me some Rice Krispie treats from the pantry.” I smile to myself, knowing that bargaining is against her secretarial creed.

Being an associate at a prestigious Manhattan law firm comes with a shitload of rules and agendas. It also serves as a breeding ground for arrogant assholes to strut around like peacocks only to have frumpy secretaries put them in their place. Except for my buddy Adam Ford — he hit the jackpot when he made partner. His secretary is all boobs and mostly brains, but my secretary could frighten a gargoyle.

Since I can’t sneak out until the afternoon partners’ meeting, I decide to tend to some urgent matters in the world of Chris Brooks: I play a game of solitaire on the computer. I read an article about how different countries celebrate Halloween. I reply to my older brother’s email about the Red River Shootout in Dallas. A little homesick, I then look up the fried treats previously featured at the Texas State Fair. Holy shit, fried beer!

With a few minutes left to spare, I open my closing argument file for the Perkins case. A competitor sued the Perkins family for two millions dollars claiming they stole their secret pickle recipe. I mean really, three years of law school, three years of legal practice, partner tracked, and I’m the asshole stuck defending pickle thieves. The highlight of the case was when I traveled Upstate to the pickle factory to observe the ingredient taste test performed by pickle experts — food scientists equipped with the knowledge of extracting the exact ratios of vinegar, salt and garlic. That was awesome.

At exactly 4:30, I switch off my iPod, grab my suit jacket, pocket some Snickers from my desk, hide Adam’s cactus, and then lock my office door. I still need to buy candy to hand out to the kids in my building. If I don’t leave now, I’m going to be that creepy bachelor dude that gives the kids matches and condoms.

Passing her desk, I say, “Good night, Roberta.” As usual, Roberta ignores me. I clear my throat — she pretends to look through case files.

Walking toward the bank of elevators, I spot Adam speaking to a woman in a tight black suit. Not just a suit — it’s the sophisticated woman’s fuck-me-outfit. I should avoid Adam because of my cactus thievery…but damn, that woman’s ass is like a magnet, attracting my Southern pole.

As I approach them, Adam shakes her hand and nods cordially. Jesus, how does he do it? Gorgeous women just flock to him.

“Thank you, Adam. I’ll be in touch,” she rasps.

My eyes trace the curve of her ass before Adam catches me. “Lena, I’d like you to meet my associate, Chris Brooks.” Adam gives me one of his cold-as-fuck-smirks as she turns to face me — clearly planning his revenge for the cactus prank.

First impression? Sexy. Jet-black hair, ruby lips and pale skin … she’s basically Snow White with huge tits.

Extending my hand, I drawl, “Cute.”

Lena smiles slightly as she places her icy hand in my palm. “I’m Lena White,” she asserts. “What exactly do you find cute?”

Oh, fuck. My Texas charm isn’t going to work on this woman. In fact, she’s intimidating.

Adam scrolls through his Blackberry and says, “Sorry to rush off, but I have a partners’ meeting.” He looks up from his phone and smiles at Lena. “Chris will be happy to escort you downstairs.”

Following Adam’s suggestion, I press the elevator button with a smile. When the door opens, Lena steps inside and moves to the back of the elevator. I follow her, first pressing the button for the lobby and then joining her against the wall.

Alone in the elevator, we stand silently, watching as the numbers light up in descending order.

She breaks the silence by asking, “What size jacket do you wear?”

Without looking at her, I reply, “I’m not sure — my suits are custom tailored. But I think I bought a forty-four athletic blazer for my sister’s engagement party last summer.”

Continuing with her odd questioning, she asks, “Do you smoke?”

“Nah, never. Although I did chew dip as a freshman back at UT Austin. A horrible habit endured by fraternity pledges.”

“And do you smile all the time?” she asks, maintaining her stance and focus ahead.

Smiling and tapping my elbow against hers, I answer, “Smiling’s contagious. It’s also rule numero uno for the Matthew McConaughey School of Charm.”

Turning to me and smiling tightly, she deadpans, “You nailed it.” Her dark eyes narrow in on my smile, and then slowly trail down my chest. She’s mentally undressing me — I know that look! Flipping the roles and staring predatorily at my junk, she asks, “Why would you think I’m cute?”

The elevator dings with the passing of each missed floor. It’s a countdown.

Floor five. If she were a client, Adam would’ve introduced her as such. Floor four. She’s not wearing a wedding ring. Floor three. I haven’t had sex in five weeks. Floor two. It’s Halloween — the freakiest day of the year.

I move in front of her with my back to the elevator doors. “Lena, what I meant to say was …” I trail my finger slowly up her arm to rest on her cheek. Staring into her dark eyes, I stretch out my answer with an exaggerated Texas drawl. “You ridin’ my face and wearin’ nothin’ but a smile would be super cute.”

Floor one. I exit the elevator with a huge grin. Assuming she’s following me, I lead her toward the 5th Avenue exit.

“Chris,” she calls.

Turning my head back with a cocky smirk, I answer, “Yes, Lena?”

Her cold hand grabs mine, pulling me away from the revolving doors. “Would you like to go to a party with me tonight?” Lena’s chestnut eyes narrow in on mine, leaving me with no choice.

“Like a costume party?”

She releases my hand and takes a step back. “Is that a problem?”

“Are you into that?” I ask, wagging my eyebrows.

Lena’s mouth opens to speak, but then her lips curl into a seductive smile instead. She removes a black business card from her tiny purse and places it in my palm. “Pick me up at eight. And Chris,” she takes a step closer, “don’t ever walk in front of me again.”

The curt inflection of her voice nearly melts my face — smooth, white hot, and full of sexual tension. I watch as she floats through the revolving doors, graceful and confident. Studying her business card with a single phone number, I realize this woman has the potential to destroy me. I can either bite my knuckles and whimper, or forge ahead and bag that fine piece of dominating ass.

* * *

5:35 p.m.

Deep inside the mothball emporium of last-minute Halloween costumes, my phone rings.

Shit, it’s Adam.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Where are you?”

“Salvation Army.”

“Why?”

“I need a costume.”

“Did you get her number?”

“Of course,” I say proudly.

“Lena’s unique. Be careful,” Adam advises in a hyper-creepy voice.

Sorting through a rack of plaid shirts from the past two decades, I laugh. “Fuck off, man. What’s her story anyway?” There’s nothing wrong with being prepared.

“She’s researching an old murder case.”

“Good. A client would suck.” I spot a shiny buckle under a stack of belts. Perfect — even though it’s engraved with the name DICK. “All right, bro. Gotta get dolled up for my date.”

Laughing, Adam says, “You do that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Get a clue, Brooks.”

I end the call and join the line of other dumbfucks shopping at the last minute. Finally reaching the register, I throw my handful of western wear on the counter and teasingly say, “Scary night, huh?” The young woman at the register closes her eyes, clearly pissed about the long line of rich folks trying to score some costumes.

She opens her eyes and glares at me. “Yeah.” She sighs. “Cash or check?” She scribbles down the prices on a sales ticket and manually adds the tax.

“What about credit?” I ask.

“What about it? You owe $47.50 — most assholes round up, seeing as this is a charity and all,” she suggests.

I take out my wallet and attempt a friendly smile. She bites the inside of her mouth and waits. I place a fifty on the counter and take the receipt. She calls the next person in line as I shove my overpriced clothing in the sack with my small bag of peppermint Lifesavers — the only bag of candy left above 53rd Street. “Happy Halloween!” I shout to the people in line behind me.

I walk a few blocks east before popping into my second favorite pizzeria. Kids in costumes zoom around me, collecting candy from a bowl on the counter and then rushing back out to street. I forget that New York City children don’t really have an opportunity to go door-to-door begging for sweet morsels of tradition.

When I was a kid back in Austin, we had a system. My two brothers and I would circle the neighborhood in cheesy Halloween masks, recycled from year to year. I think I wore the mask of Hulk Hogan a dozen times before high school. After our first trip out, we would empty our bags, switch our masks, and then go with our own set of friends. Later at night, we would combine our candy and have enough to last until Christmas.

“Can I get two slices?” I ask.

The pizza guy slides two congealed slices in the oven and preps a to-go box. “Six bucks.”

Goddamn, that’s robbery. I place money on the counter and snag a Milky Way from a candy bowl. He gives me a dirty look — like I’m literally taking candy from babies.

With my steamy pizza box and paper sack from the bodega, I make my way a few more blocks to my building. A police car slows to a stop near a gang of teenagers in dark hoodies. They do look a little squirrely, but this is just one of those nights when everything seems odd. I wave at the cops and the teenagers run off.

Arriving at my building, my doorman, Declan, opens the lobby door. “Evening, Mr. Brooks.”

“Nice tie,” I say.

He holds up the pumpkin tie and shrugs. “Eh, just having some fun.”

A few boys I recognize from my building congregate in the lobby, shouting and making a scene. They seem to be teasing a kid on crutches dressed as Obi Wan Kenobi. I approach them calmly and ask, “What’s the deal?”

The one dressed as a skeleton turns to face me, his canvas bag of candy swinging into my leg. “Gimpy is slowing us down. We can’t take the elevator to every single floor.”

I turn to the kid on crutches and ask, “What happened to your leg?”

“Oh, football,” he says quietly.

His friends run to the stairs, turning once to give us the middle finger and laugh.

“Little jerks,” I yell after them. “What’s your name, kid?” I ask the one on crutches.

“I’m Trent. Halloween is like my favorite holiday, after Christmas.”

“I hear ya, Trent. And dude, your friends seem like turds.”

Trent laughs as he shifts his weight on his crutches. “Yeah, but they’ll have three times as much candy as me. I can’t hobble and hold my bag at the same time.”

“I can’t let that happen.” Facing the front desk, I shout, “Declan, keep an eye on Trent until I get back.”

Declan nods apathetically and waves me off.

“Trent, give me an hour. And your candy bag.”

He reluctantly passes me his bag and then plops down on one of the sofas. “Whatever, man.”

I hurry to my apartment, remove my suit jacket and tie, throw my pizza and brown paper bag on the kitchen island, remove the bag of shitty Lifesavers, and then begin my quest to collect more candy than those dipshit kids.

In the hall, I pass by my neighbors, the Hansons. Luckily, they placed a basket filled with Twizzlers and full-size Hershey bars outside their door. I survey the hallway — no one. Without hesitating, I pour the contents of the entire basket in Trent’s bag. I then refill the bowl with my bag of peppermint Lifesavers.

First mission: Accomplished.

I take out my phone and the business card from Lena. Continuing down the hall, I text her.

ME: What’s your address?

Her reply is instant.

LENA: 5611 Lexington

I place the phone back in my pocket and then knock on the next door. A nice-looking woman I recognize from the mail center opens the door with a smile, but then her face changes.

“Trick o’ treat,” I say charmingly. She looks behind my shoulder and then at my bag. “I’m not sure we’ve met, I’m Chris Brooks and I live a few doors down.”

Puzzled, she says, “Okay.”

“I know this looks really weird, but I’m actually helping out a boy in our building. He’s on crutches and his friends ditched him.”

She narrows her eyes and asks, “Do you want candy?”

Why would she assume anything else?

“Yes, please.”

I watch as she takes a wicker basket from a small table near the door. She faces me, still thoroughly confused. I open my bag and smile — hopefully that will give her a clue. She drops in two snack-sized Twix. This is going to be tough.

“Poor little guy — Halloween’s his favorite holiday.” She smiles awkwardly, and then places another small Twix inside the bag. “He’s all dressed up in a Star Wars costume and sitting in the lobby. Twix candy bars are his favorite.” Not sure how to perceive me, and probably a little frightened, the woman places two handfuls of Twix in my bag. Holding a now empty basket, she closes the door.

The adjacent apartment door is decorated with cobwebs and dozens of plastic spiders. As I knock on the door, a loud scream wails through a small speaker at the top of the doorframe. The door creaks open, revealing a witch drinking from a goblet. In character, she cackles, “What do you want?”

Playing along, I answer, “Trick o’ treat.”

“Where’s your costume?” she asks, moving her fingers in front of my chest like she’s clawing for air.

I smirk and lean against the doorframe. “Give me candy, you wench.”

She laughs as she tosses packages of M&M’s in my bag. At least a dozen make their way in before she turns to open another candy bag. Her voice returns to what I assume is her normal tone as she teases, “Good one, Chris. It’s me, Libby Sanders-Dunlap!”

Ah, Libby. She recently got divorced. Need I say more?

“I didn’t know we lived on the same floor,” I lie. “I also didn’t know you were into the black magic.”

Her painted green hand grazes my arm as she giggles. “Do you want to come in?”

I shake my head and lift my bag. “I can’t tonight. I’m on a candy mission.”

Libby appears insulted. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“I am. But hey, let’s get a beer sometime,” I casually add.

She nods sadly and then closes the door. To be honest, Libby’s not my type. When I moved here eight months ago, she brought me a “welcome” basket of wine and cheese. I want a girl who welcomes me with beer and porn.

The last door on my floor is opened slightly and reeks of burnt popcorn. I knock once before a man in his late fifties swings it open. “Yeah?” he grunts.

“Uh, never mind.”

Climbing the stairs, I look at my watch and hurry my pace. I have enough time to attack one more floor before I need to leave to meet Lena. The apartment door closest to the stairs has a doorbell the size of golf ball. I press the large buzzer and inadvertently summon church bells of Gothic proportions.

“Coming,” a shaky voice beckons from behind the door. “Almost there,” she crackles. The door opens and the cutest little old lady extends her arms. “Scotty! Give Me Maw a hug.”

Not sure what to do, I lean forward and accept her embrace. “Trick o’ treat,” I say into her poof of silver hair.

Pinching my waist, she rattles, “You’re as thin as a rail, Scotty! Come in, we’ll have some crab dip and watch Jeopardy.”

“Uh, okay,” I agree. She scoots through the entryway wearing leopard-print slippers and Christmas socks. I should turn around and leave, but the apartment is exactly like my real Me Maw’s house in Nacogdoches! Picture frames everywhere, and little bowls of those nasty orange peanuts stashed on every table. There’s even an identical lamp to my Me Maw’s antique from New Orleans — the one with a carriage as the base and red fringe hanging from the shade. This is trippy.

Unaware of her mental state, I quietly say, “Me Maw, I can only stay for a few minutes.”

She sits on a velvet love seat and passes me a tray of crackers. “Crab dip is your favorite, Scotty!”

I place my bag of candy on the floor and sit in a floral chair adorned with a lace doily. Taking a small bite of the crab dip, I decide to play along. After all, Halloween is the one night when role-playing is perfectly acceptable. Besides, I have a few minutes to kill, and she seems like a nice granny that just wants some company. “Delicious dip as always, Me Maw,” I compliment with a smile.

“Scotty, how’s Boy Scouts? Did you get all your patches?” she asks.

Not only does she think I’m her grandson, but apparently, ten-years old. “Oh, I need a few more.” I take another cracker with dip and watch the television.

“What is pumpernickel?” she shouts at the screen.

And she’s right.

It’s none of my business, but I feel inclined to make sure she’s okay living alone. “Me Maw, how are you feeling?”

She slaps her knee and laughs. “My damn cataracts are acting up, but other than that, I’m as fit as a fiddle, sweetie.”

I take a moment to look around her apartment. It’s neat and tidy and there aren’t any signs that she’s been forced to save her pension and eat cat food. Her clothes are clean and everything smells okay. Dozens of family photos line the walls — she’s loved by her family. “Me Maw, when was I here last?”

“Who is Clark Gable? Last week, Scotty. Your mother came with you — that little bitch,” she mumbles under her breath.

Noted.

“Me Maw, I really have to leave soon. Do you need anything?”

Saddened, she looks at me and pouts. “But you just got here!”

“I know, but it’s Halloween.”

She smiles and nods her head in understanding. “Well, where’s your costume? Do you need me to help you put something together?” She stands from the sofa with wobbly legs and pats my head. “Come with me, you can borrow one of Poppy’s old zoot suits.”

Not wanting to alarm her, I follow behind and keep up the charade. “No need, I have a costume,” I say.

“Oh Scotty, you can’t be Spiderman every year — try something new.”

The loud doorbell chimes. Ding, dong, ding, dong.

“I’ll get it — probably kids trick-or-treating,” I offer. “Do you have any candy to hand out?”

“Nonsense! I put the roll of quarters by the door. Kids love to have their own money.” She smiles as she threads her arm through mine.

Passing by the floral chair, I bend to pick up my bag of candy. I can secretly give the kids candy when she’s not looking and then get the hell out of here. We open the door together and … fuck!

Standing in the doorway is a man and woman — and a boy dressed as Spiderman. They stare at me blankly, but as the seconds pass, their expressions change to fear.

“Scotty!” Me Maw shouts, extending her arms to the Spiderman.

“Trick or treat, Me Maw,” Scotty replies quietly.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asks. He moves in front of Me Maw and narrows his eyes.

Stepping out into the hall, I reply, “She invited me in. I’m sorry, but she thought I was Scotty.” Saying it out loud only confirms my poor judgment.

“Ma, who is this guy?” he asks.

“I–I’m not sure. I was confused.” She rubs her temples and shakes her head. “Come on, Scotty! I made crab dip to eat while we watch Double Jeopardy!” The real Scotty and the “bitch” follow Me Maw into her apartment.

I’m left standing, silently defending myself to a man with a senile mother. Taking a step closer toward me, he pokes my chest. “If you come near her again, I will personally hunt you down and destroy you.”

I puff my chest — I don’t deserve to be threatened. “It won’t happen again,” I say, slamming my shoulder against his as I walk away.

When I reach the end of the hall, I glance back at the apartment and exhale in relief. I’m brought back to reality when several kids in costumes race out of the elevator and run past me — shit, I still need to get candy for Trent.

The apartment door on my right is decorated with cutesy, child-crafted ghosts and pumpkins. I knock quietly. A moment later, a little girl dressed in a princess costume answers the door. Before I can scold her for opening the door to a stranger, a boy around Trent’s age joins her.

He’s not wearing a costume and his face is smug. The boy snickers and asks, “Where are your kids?”

“I don’t have any,” I answer.

“Are you a fucking pervert?” he insults, stepping in front of his sister.

“What? No!” I answer defensively. Although, if I’m really honest with myself, this whole idea to help Trent get candy is kinda strange, maybe even something a pervert would do. However, this has become a personal quest — not a favor to some kid, but a mission to win. My competitive nature will always be a part of who I am, even if I don’t really know what it is I’m exactly winning.

“Listen, punk,” I spit out between clenched teeth. “I’m with the bureau of the New York City safety initiative. There are reports that you are providing tampered candy to unassuming little kids. I’m required to confiscate all your goods or be forced to take you to the precinct for questioning.”

Full of fear, the boy replies, “Okay, Mister.” He shoves bags and bags of candy at my waist as the little girl runs into the apartment yelling for her mom.

“And the bags over there as well,” I demand, pointing to extra bags on a table.

He hurries to retrieve them from the nearby table. Freaked, he shouts, “This is all we got — don’t tell my mom.” He shuts the door in my face.

Mission Two: Accomplished.

That was easy. Holding four giant-sized bags of Willy Wonka candy — Nerds, Runts, Gobstoppers, Laffy Taffy and those shitty Bottle Caps — I contemplate my next move. I should be getting ready for my date with Lena, but instead, I’m roaming around my apartment building like a middle school Halloween vigilante. At this rate, I’ll make the ten o’clock news as the Upper East Side Halloween Pervert.

Deciding I look like a chump carrying so much candy in dress slacks and a scruffy beard, I head back to my apartment. Once inside, I stash a bag of Willy Wonka in my kitchen cabinet (finder’s fee) and grab a beer from the refrigerator. I can take a quick shower and still be at Lena’s apartment on time.

There’s a knock on the door. I carry Trent’s bag of candy with me just in case.

“Trick or treat!” the little kids scream in unison as I open the door.

I pass out Hershey bars to a bloody leprechaun, a ghost-like doll, and a Dracula with blond hair. “Don’t y’all look scary!”

Excited with their treats, they chant, “Thank you!”

I nod at the designated parent escorting the kids — I feel his pain. Trick-or-treating as an adult sucks. Closing the door, I search for a bowl or basket to leave outside my door. I can’t keep answering the door all night …

Knock, knock.

I open the door to find Libby, witch-free and determined. She’s holding a six-pack of beer and arching her eyebrows in that way — the one a woman uses to seduce men.

“Hi, Chris. How about that beer?” Libby thrusts the bottles into my chest and walks past me. “Wow, your apartment is really pink!”

My apartment is pink because the previous tenant adored pink. Months later, I’m still waiting for the goddamn co-op board to approve my remodeling request. “What can I say? I’m a sensitive guy.”

Libby glances back over her shoulder with a sinister smile. “Even the bedroom?” she asks, walking toward my room.

Ah, shit. Not now — I have to be somewhere in an hour.

I place the beer on the counter next to my cold pizza and walk after her. By the time I catch up with Libby, she’s made her way onto the edge of my bed. Patting the spot next to her and popping open the top buttons to her shirt, she moans, “My divorce is final and I need to be fucked.”

Whoa.

Let me think this scenario through logically in five seconds or less. Five. I have an attractive woman sitting on my bed trying to seduce me. She’s inviting me to have sex without any of the foreplay. Four. It’s been weeks for me, and surely she’s been abstinent during her divorce. We’re both horny adults looking for some casual fun. Three. Being on the same floor in the same apartment building could pose complications. I’ve met her ex-husband — total douche. Two. Lena White is waiting for me. One. Libby brought Heineken. That decides it — I cannot have sex with a woman that drinks that shit.

“So, listen, Libby,” I start.

“Chris, please don’t turn me down,” she begs as her eyes begin to water.

I sit down next to her and place my arm around her shoulders. “Libby, I can’t. You deserve better than a one-night stand — and I can’t even commit to a cable company.”

Sobbing, she mumbles, “I know. But maybe that’s what I need — one night to feel something, anything.”

Libby is attractive and nice but her divorce comes with baggage. Although her baggage isn’t really the main issue, it’s more that I’m focused on my career and only have time for casual sex. If I met her at a bar, I would totally take her home, but this is awkward because I know she needs more. And hey, what’s the best solution in an awkward situation? Laughter.

Smiling, I say, “Libby, I can make you feel something, if that’s all you want. Would you like that? Lay down and hold still.” We both laugh as I attempt to unbuckle my belt. “C’mon, girl — let’s do the Texas Tangle.”

We fall back on the bed laughing, my hand resting on her hip.

“Oh, Chris. I needed that,” Libby says breathlessly.

“Animals need sex, humans want companionship.” Sitting up from the bed, I rub her leg. “You need to find a man that can give you both.”

Libby exhales and then buttons her top. “Easier said than done — seeing as how my first attempt didn’t go so well.”

“Libby, I’m the one that’s embarrassed.”

Libby sits up and rests her head on my arm. “Let’s just agree to never talk about this night?”

Can this night get any stranger?

I stand up from the bed and smile. “Deal.” After pulling her up from the bed, I twirl her around and do a two-step toward my closet. “I want to show you my costume,” I say. As I remove the plaid shirt and belt buckle from the Salvation Army bag, Libby laughs and shakes her head.

“I don’t get it?”

“A cowboy in Manhattan.”

“But what about the large hat and boots?” she asks.

With a smirk, I kick open my closet door to reveal my favorite boots beneath my tailored suits. Proudly, I point to the upper shelf housing my vintage, black Stetson. “Will these do?”

* * *

8:24 p.m.

After presenting Trent with the candy liquidation, I decide to take a cab to Lena’s apartment in fear of being unfashionably late. I read her text to the cab driver, repeating the address several times before he understands. My accent’s not that bad. When we arrive at the location, I remove ten bucks from my wallet and pay the driver. He grunts in appreciation and then speeds off into traffic. Dumbass.

Lena’s building is ten times more posh than mine. Not a single doorman with a pumpkin-themed tie. Nope, her doormen are dressed in wool suits with gold-fringed lapels.

“May I help you, sir?”

“Sure. I’m meeting Lena White,” I answer.

“There’s no one here with that name, sir. Please follow me to the desk so I may assist you.” The doorman leads me to a gold desk straight from textbook pictures of Versailles during the French Revolution.

I remove my phone and text Lena.

ME: I’m downstairs in the lobby.

LENA: I’ll be right down.

“Hey, she’s coming down to meet me,” I say arrogantly as I walk toward the elevators.

Against a wall, I pose like Clint Eastwood during the final sunset of a western flick. Head down, hat tipped, and one boot lazily crossed over the other. As the elevator door opens, I see the tips of her black pumps first, then raising my head, take in the rest of her outfit. A little black dress, off the shoulders and sexy as hell.

She gives me a tiny smile before stepping back inside the elevator. Holding the door, Lena suggests, “Let’s have a drink upstairs before we leave.”

Joining her in the elevator, I ask, “So what’s your real name, Ms. White?” I move within inches of her body, staring down and eliminating any doubt she may have of my objective. The tension is unbearable — the sexual tension is unbelievable.

Lena returns my concentrated gaze, but her full lips twitch into a smile. “My name is Lena. Do you want the drink or not?” she asks, enunciating every word.

Ready to challenge her smart, ruby-stained mouth, I’m interrupted by the opening of the elevator doors. She quickly exits the elevator, looking over her shoulder at me just once. But goddamn, that look she gives me … I’m in way over my head.

Lena leads me into her apartment, or rather, a temptress’ bachelorette lair. The first things I notice are the chill in the room and the multitude of closed doors. It’s cold and mysterious, like an elegant catacomb with secrets — possibly a dungeon or two as well. Every wall is painted charcoal gray, except for the one wallpapered in gray and black plaid. The lighting is minimal, seeing as how the chandeliers are candles and the lamp shades are red silk. Black velvet furniture, gray carpet, red pillows, and an entire wall that resembles an ancient library. The only lightness in the apartment is a large white canvas above the sofa — but even that has what appears to be a blood spatter.

“So, Adam told me you were researching a case.”

Pouring cognac into tiny black glasses, she says, “Mr. Ford shouldn’t have told you that. Shall we toast?”

I’m a dude, and I take masculine pride in never saying omigod in public — I even avoid it internally for fear it could slip out, but … Oh. My. God! Somehow, I just walked onto the set of American Psycho, cue Huey Lewis and the News.

I take the glass from her hand and casually sniff the liquid. “To new friends,” I declare in a scratchy voice.

Lena smiles and taps her glass against mine. “Yes, to new friends and new experiences.”

I take a drink, letting the cognac swirl around my mouth before swallowing. It’s pretty good, and it’s fucking sexy that this woman drinks like a man. “Shall we retreat to the parlor for a cigar?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Lena places her glass on the bar cart and then takes mine, her red nails scraping against my hand as she transfers the glass. She removes my hat and tosses it on a chair with a tiny smirk. Her hands then glide over my chest, teasing and mocking my thrift store shirt.

“These clothes won’t do,” she scorns. Lena unlatches my stubborn belt buckle, the difficulty of the task forcing her tits to press together and spill over her dress. After noticing the name engraved on my rodeo buckle, Lena’s mouth curls into a genuine smile. Then with her smile disappearing, she rips it off and throws the belt to the floor, the tacky gold contrasting against the chic gray carpet.

I place my hands on her hips but she viciously slaps them away. All right, Lena — take control. My shirt comes next. Lena traces each button with her finger before finally setting it free. Her cool hands reach inside my shirt, caressing my sides and delicately massaging my shoulders. She shakes the shirt off and kisses my chest. One, two, three pecks. Red stains from her lips form a trail of feminine seduction along my chest. I inhale and hold my breath as her hand slides inside the waistband of my jeans.

“Lena,” I moan.

“Shh,” she commands.

Unbuttoning my jeans and pulling them over my hips, she follows them to the floor. Her hands squeeze my thighs, holding her weight as she positions herself on her knees. More kissing. She kisses every inch of my legs, leaving me covered in red lipstick. When her mouth nears my briefs, I nearly lose it, especially when she grabs my ass. I stay still and give her what she wants. After her hand grazes my nuts and then slowly glides along Big Tex, I smile — this blow job is going to be amazing.

Looking up at me, she says, “Wait here.” With a gentle squeeze of my crotch and tiny bite on my stomach, Lena stands and walks away. She opens one of the many doors and closes it behind her.

This is definitely different, but there’s nothing wrong with changing things up. Kicking off my boots and removing my jeans, I contemplate this new experience. What harm is there in a little candle wax or rope? She might be a little dominating, but I find it extremely sensual. It’s decided. I will let her do whatever freaky shit she wants as long as …

“What the hell is that?” I shout as she walks toward me.

Draped across her arms is what looks like a tweed jacket and a bowtie. Oh shit, and a pipe. This just went from an erotic fantasy to an awkward role-playing game. I’ve read about fetishes and sex games that involve a reversal of power and the occasional props, but I just want a blow job — not dress like some creepy old dude and be bossed around. Reaching for my jeans, Lena approaches me with a frown.

“Chris, this isn’t what you think. But if you do something for me, a favor that would require one hour of your time, I promise to bring you back here and do whatever you want.” Lena places the jacket and tie on the chair with my Stetson, and then tosses me a black T-shirt.

As odd as all this seems, the promise of having her bent over the sofa in an hour decides my fate. I pull the T-shirt over my head, stopping midway to watch as Lena unzips her dress. The black fabric falls to the curve of her hips, revealing her ripe, plump breasts in a black lace bra.

“Put on the shirt,” she instructs.

Obliging, I pull the t-shirt over my chest. Lena arches her eyebrow as she observes the tightness of the shirt against my frame. Taking a step closer, she runs her hand across the small section of my stomach that the cotton fails to cover. Her fingers graze the waistband of my briefs — damn, that drives me crazy.

“Now your jeans,” she orders.

Taking a step back, Lena unfastens her bra. Fuck, it’s one of those bras with the hook in the front — like a package concealing a wonderful present. The tightness of my jeans against my erection is infuriating, knowing I have to wait an hour before I can play with her tits.

“Jacket,” Lena instructs.

As I reach for the tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, Lena fondles her nipples. Her skin is so flawless and delectable — I want to nibble and suck every inch until she moans in pleasure.

Pulling on the jacket and exhaling in agony, I ask, “One hour?”

Lena smiles. “Yes, Professor.”

* * *

9:40 p.m.

We stop in front of a walkup somewhere in SoHo. I pay the driver and then help Lena out of the cab. She pauses on the sidewalk to reapply her red lipstick — slowly and methodically, just to torment me.

“Is this a costume party?” I ask, still unsure of what I’m about to encounter.

“I suppose.” Lena takes my hand and earnestly adds, “Don’t be afraid to let your inhibitions go. It’s more enjoyable for everyone involved when guests are comfortable and open to new things. Role-play can be liberating, especially when encountered with people that share the same objective.”

No way. No fucking way — I’m on the cusp of my first swinger party! I shake my shoulders and roll my neck. “I’m ready, Lena.”

The palm of her hand moves to my cheek. Her thumb glides over my scruffy stubble, grazing the edge of my mouth, as she whispers, “Don’t forget your pipe.” Lena’s other hand slides into my jacket pocket to remove the smoking pipe. I smile as she tries to position it between my lips. “Hurry along, Professor,” she instructs.

If she wants me to act like a professor, I’ll do it. I know a lot about military history, and I can fake my way through a few conversations before the orgies commence. I need a back story — I’m a professor at a college on Long Island. I teach four graduate classes, and I’m currently writing a book on the JFK assassination. This is good!

Mission Three: Accomplished.

I follow behind Lena, watching as her ass shimmies when she climbs the steps to the front door. She presses the buzzer and I quickly pinch her ass. Lena shoots me an annoyed glare, but I simply smile.

A man decked out in a black tuxedo with tails and a tight frown opens the door. “Good evening. I’m Wadsworth, the butler.”

“Hello, I’m Ms. White,” Lena replies.

Wadsworth switches his attention to me as I chew on the pipe. “And you, sir?” he asks with a strained British accent.

Lena places her hand on my arm and answers. “I believe this is Professor Plum.”

“I wasn’t aware you two knew each other,” Wadsworth states.

“We only met today — we received similar invitations to a dinner party at this address and decided to share a taxi.”

Oh, so that’s our story. Hot.

“Very good. Follow me and I will introduce you to the other guests.” Wadsworth sharply turns toward the entry hall, so we obediently follow him. “Everyone is in the dining room,” he adds over his shoulder.

That’s weird — I guess swinger parties start with a nice meal so everyone can get acquainted. Like a potluck dinner that turns into potluck sex.

Whispering into Lena’s ear, I ask, “Why are we eating dinner?”

“Shh, just play along,” she scorns.

Fine. I’ll play along. I’ve read that Manhattan sex clubs have crazy memberships and vetting processes, but so far, this all seems like a silly game. Nothing like that movie with Nicole Kidman and the mask-wearing sex cult.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I present Ms. White and Professor Plum,” Wadsworth announces.

Wadsworth — where have I heard that name before?

Wadsworth extends his arm in a presentation gesture, and then pulls out a chair for Lena. I take the last available chair on the opposite side of the table between two attractive women.

Placing my pipe on the table and checking out the hot chick to my right, I ask, “What’s for dinner?”

She leans into me and smirks. “Mrs. Peacock revealed a few minutes ago that we’re having one of her favorite recipes prepared by the cook.”

Huh.

“I’m Miss Scarlet, and I love a man in tweed.” She pinches the fabric of my sleeve between her fingers and winks.

I wink back at her and then study the guests slurping bowls of soup around the table, none of which are wearing an actual Halloween costume. Across from me is dark and sexy Lena, dressed in black and going by the pseudonym of Ms. White. Miss Scarlet is wearing a revealing burgundy dress and staring at me with lust. Mrs. Peacock is to my left, drinking wine and nodding goofily at the table conversation. A dude next to Lena is dousing his hands in hand sanitizer and squirming in his seat.

“Do you like Kipling, Miss Scarlet?” asks a man with a fake mustache.

In a seductive voice, Miss Scarlet replies, “I’ll eat anything, Colonel Mustard.

“Colonel Mustard, are you a real Colonel?” Lena asks between slurps of soup.

White. Mustard. Peacock. Scarlet.

“Yes, of course. Retired and presently working in Washington,” Colonel Mustard adds.

“And what about you, Mr. Green? What do you do in Washington?” Miss Scarlet asks.

Green. Oh shit — Professor Plum.

Nervously, Mr. Green stands from the table and throws down his napkin. “I work for the State Department and I’m a homosexual,” he recites.

What the …

“Everyone, please follow me to the study to meet our host, Mr. Boddy,” Wadsworth instructs.

I watch in confused horror as the cast of Clue obediently rises from the table and follows a fictional butler through the entry hall.

“I’d like to know why we’re here, Wadsworth,” Colonel Mustard shouts.

Yeah, me too.

“I invited you — please follow to me the study and I will explain …” Wadsworth’s voice trails off.

I try to get Lena’s attention but she patters off ahead of me. Miss Scarlet on the other hand, gives me all her attention — pressing me against the wall outside the dining room and running her hand over my chest.

“I hear you do things to lady patients that doctors aren’t allowed to do,” she whispers while grabbing my junk. “Nice boots, Professor,” she adds in a breathless pant.

Miss Scarlet pushes off me in slow-motion but then she turns sharply and dashes off in front of me. As we make our way into the study, the guests disperse. Miss Scarlet chooses the antique desk to sit atop while I cozy up on the sofa next to Mrs. Peacock. Lena is seated in a wingback chair with her legs crossed. I stare feverishly at her body while placing my pipe in my mouth — this game better hurry up so I can get her naked.

A man in a dark suit and carrying a duffel bag moves swiftly to the fireplace. He looks at me like he’s confused and then shoots Wadsworth a nasty frown. No worries, because I’m soon distracted by a scantily dressed French maid with a huge rack.

“Would joo like some brandee?” Her French accent is terrible, but the view down her cleavage is awesome.

“I’ll take one,” Mrs. Peacock answers.

The maid continues to pass out the drinks to the guests and then places the tray on a table. She leaves, shutting the door behind her.

Wadsworth moves to the center of the room and nods to the man in the dark suit. “Very well, we’ve all been called here for one reason … blackmail!” His face becomes animated and excited as he addresses the guests. “Our host,” he points to the man with the duffel bag, “is blackmailing us.”

Mrs. Peacock fans herself with her purse and whines, “I’m not being blackmailed! I’m an open book. I have nothing to hide!”

The man against the fireplace laughs maniacally as Wadsworth reveals seven envelopes. “In my hand, I hold the only evidence of our government indiscretions. Including you, Mrs. Peacock.”

“I’m not ashamed of my dirty secrets,” Miss Scarlet declares with a devilish grin.

“Give me those envelopes,” Lena demands.

Colonel Mustard approaches the mystery man and claims, “So you’re Mr. Boddy?”

The man leaning against fireplace smirks. “Yeah, so what? There’s nothing you can do — I’ll be leaving now.”

Wadsworth puffs his chest and smiles. “Not so fast! I’ve called the police and locked all the doors. They will be here in thirty minutes. Once the police arrive, we can explain that we’ve been blackmailed and Mr. Boddy will be arrested.”

Mr. Green stands from his chair and moves toward Wadsworth. “We? Are you being blackmailed as well, Wadsworth?”

Wadsworth lowers his head and sighs. “I’m afraid so. My late wife befriended the wrong kind of people.” He raises his head and fakes a cry. “They were socialists. But I didn’t have any money so I was imprisoned as Mr. Boddy’s butler.”

“What exactly is a butler?” Colonel Mustard asks.

“I buttle.” Wadsworth deadpans.

Lena steps forward and asserts, “We should wait for the police and then we can forget about this horrible night.”

“Do you want the police to know about all your dead husbands?” Miss Scarlet quips.

“Enough!” Mr. Boddy opens his duffel bag and delivers a black box to each guest, excluding Wadsworth. I stare at the box in my lap, wondering how long this game plays out before the actual sex party begins. Talk about prolonged foreplay…

“In your box you will find a lethal weapon. The only person preventing us from leaving is Wadsworth. Murder Wadsworth and we can walk out of here and continue our monetary arrangements.” Mr. Boddy pauses by the light switch and waits for us to open our boxes.

Mrs. Peacock holds up a lead pipe and says, “But I’m not a murderer!”

Lena moves to the arm of the sofa where I’m sitting with her gifted weapon. She looks down at me and gives me a tiny smile. I glance at the nylon rope in her lap, imagining all the creative things that could be done with a rope and a naked Lena White.

I open my box to find a dagger. Unsure if it’s real, I carefully pick up the handle and examine the blade. Plastic.

And then the lights go out.

Thump.

Bump.

Crash.

I hear Mrs. Peacock moving from the sofa, but I stay put. In the darkness, I feel Lena’s nails combing through my hair, and then her hand grabbing the back of my neck. She kisses me. With her lips parting and her mouth accepting my tongue, we make out in the blackness like two teenagers.

Bang!

A gunshot pops through the silence forcing Lena to break our kiss. And then the lights come on.

“He’s dead!” someone shouts.

“There was a gunshot — who has the revolver?” Colonel Mustard demands.

Everyone turns their heads toward the desk where Mr. Green is shaking nervously. “I didn’t do it!” he shouts, dropping the gun on the floor.

Wadsworth kneels near the body, Mr. Boddy, and rolls him over. “Professor Plum, there’s no gunshot wound. Is he dead?”

“I’m just a teacher,” I say with a smile. I rise from the sofa and walk over to the body.

“No, you’re a psychologist with the W.H.O. - surely you can take a pulse,” Wadsworth insists.

Oh, right. I kneel next to the man on the floor and pretend to take his pulse. “Yep, he’s dead.”

“Then who killed him?” Lena asks.

With a trembling voice, Mrs. Peacock shouts, “This is just too much. I need a drink.” She picks up a glass of brandy from the tray and throws it back in one swallow.

Mr. Green points at the glass and yips, “Maybe it was poison!”

Mrs. Peacock launches the glass at the wall and wails. “I don’t want to die!”

Picking up the empty glass, Colonel Mustard states, “Now we’ll never know if the brandy is poisonous.”

Placing his arm around a faint Mrs. Peacock, Wadsworth adds, “Unless she, ya know.”

“Aaahhhhaaaa!” A scream resonates outside the study, forcing everyone to exaggerate a panic attack and rush out the door.

“Yvette!” they shout in unison.

Fuck. For a sex party, this is more elaborate and kinkier than I originally thought. Not wanting to stay in the study by myself, and wanting to know what’s going on, I dash out into the hall. I catch Wadsworth darting behind a door with my dagger.

I find the other guests standing inside a room with a large billiard table. On top of the pool table is the maid, Yvette, fingering a lace handkerchief.

“Why did you scream?” Lena asks on cue.

“I was frighteened, mon dieu,” she explains in her horrible French accent.

“Tell us what you heard, Yvette,” Colonel Mustard orders.

Glancing from Lena to Miss Scarlet, and finally to Yvette’s large chest, I eagerly accept this silly charade on the pretense that there will be a buffet of breasts in my near future. Even Mrs. Peacock, as quirky as she is, has a nice rack.

Crossing her legs and revealing a lace garter, Yvette mutters, “I heard a gun in the studee. I don’t want to be all alone so I scweamed.”

“Aaaahhhhaaa! Help!”

“Who’s screaming now?” Mr. Green asks, running in the direction of the yelp.

Following the other guests’ lead and plodding off toward the kitchen, I place my hand on Miss Scarlet’s back. She stops, takes my face in her hands, and kisses me. I run my hands up and down her body as Lena bumps into us.

“Shall we go to the kitchen?” Lena frowns.

We move quickly to the kitchen to find a large woman dressed as a cook draped on top of Wadsworth. He’s squirming beneath her dead weight until Colonel Mustard and Mr. Green heave her body onto a nearby chair. Obviously, she’s not really dead, and the blood stain on her back looks incredibly fake. I also catch her breathing but decide to just look away in fear that I may laugh.

“Another murder!” Mrs. Peacock screams.

Wadsworth stands inches from my face and says, “If I’m not mistaken, Professor Plum was given the dagger used to kill the cook.”

Everyone gasps.

Shrugging my shoulders, I say, “Uh, yeah. But I left it in the study.”

“So anyone could have taken the dagger,” Lena adds in my defense.

“But we were all in the billiard room with Yvette,” Mr. Green protests.

Actually, no. I saw Wadsworth carrying the knife and sneaking off somewhere.

Colonel Mustard wipes his brow and exhales. “That can only mean that there is someone else in the house.”

In unison, the women flutter and flail and Mrs. Peacock even loses her balance.

“We need to search the house — it’s time for everyone’s favorite part.” Wadsworth removes some long matches from a drawer and begins to cut them into different lengths, a pair at each size. “We’ll pair off and then decide what to do as a group. Bedrooms are on the second and third floor. Each pair can take a room.”

Finally! I wonder what Mr. Boddy and the cook do during the sex portion of the party.

Wadsworth distributes the matchsticks as I move closer to Lena — I want her to know that I want to be with her. Colonel Mustard and Yvette pair up and leave the kitchen in a hurry. They’re probably heading straight for the biggest bed. Next, Mrs. Peacock and Wadsworth tap their matches together and join arms. Wadsworth gives me a sly smile as he passes me on his way out of the kitchen. My odds are awesome, and hopefully Lena won’t be upset or jealous if I end up with Miss …

“You’re with me, sister,” Miss Scarlett teases. Holding their matchsticks together, Lena and Miss Scarlett acknowledge their matching pair.

But?

That leaves …

“Let’s go, Professor — I know where we should start.”

Nope. No. Nada. Uh uh. Never in a million years.

Full of frustration and nursing a bad case of blue balls, I shout, “Lena, I’m not fucking a guy. You’re welcome to stay and have your fun, but I just can’t do this.”

Mr. Green’s eyes widen as he frowns in horror. Worried that I may have offended him, I quickly add, “Bro, it’s not you. I’m into women.”

Breaking character, Lena stomps toward me and barks, “Chris, what in the hell are you talking about?”

“The sex party. Hey, I’m okay with being paired with a stranger, but I’m not comfortable with a guy.”

“Sex party?” Miss Scarlet snickers.

“Chris, if you haven’t noticed, this is a group of intellectuals that meet once a month for Clue reenactments. We needed a Plum … wait, why on earth would you think I was bringing you to a sex party?”

If I really think long and hard about her question, I will just end up embarrassing myself further. So instead, I simply place my hands on Lena’s shoulders and kiss her cheek. “I should probably go.”

I make my way through the entry hall and straight toward the front door, secretly praying that none of the others follow me. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I glance at myself in the entry mirror. Shit! I’m such an idiot. And I can’t even open the door. What the actual fuck?

“Chris,” Lena’s voice rasps.

I turn to face her and force a smile. “Lena tonight has been equally intriguing and ridiculous. I think I enjoyed some of it, but it’s just not my thing.”

“I’m really sorry I gave you the wrong impression about the party. When I met you today, you seemed like a guy that would be laid back and fun. It takes a certain kind of guy to put up with my little hobby.”

And maybe I could make it work — her hobby in exchange for kinky sex. “I’ll call you next week,” I say. And I will. I can take her to dinner on my own terms and bring her back to my own apartment.

“I’d like that. Here, I need to unlock the door.” Removing a key from a jar near the door, she adds, “Rules of the game.”

“Good night, Lena.”

She gives me a tiny, pathetic wave — alerting me that I will never see her or my Stetson again.

Once I’m outside, I walk a few blocks, enjoying the fresh air and laughing at my own stupidity. I take out my phone and text Adam.

ME: You will never believe where I was.

Adam: In the library with the revolver.

* * *

11:45 p.m.

By day, Bleecker Street is a typical Downtown avenue with businesses and apartment buildings. Tonight, in the midst of ghouls and goblins, it rivals Sixth Street in Austin during the South by Southwest music festival. People spill onto the street outside Bixby’s bar wearing an array of costumes — although I doubt anyone else has a story like mine. After squeezing through some pimps and hookers and stepping on the rubber claw of an oversized chicken, I spot Adam and his girlfriend, Chloe, standing at a high cocktail table.

Chloe, enchanting as usual, sashays toward me wearing layers of suede and floral, and a skirt that drags the floor. She has a daisy tucked behind her ear and a beaded headband fastened around her long, brown hair.

“Chris!” Smiling dazedly, she forms a ‘V’ with her index and middle fingers. “Peace, my brother.”

“Nice costume, Moon Beam.”

Chloe takes my hand and drags me to the table with Adam and a tray of pumpkin-flavored beer. “I heard you had an interesting night,” she says over her shoulder.

Adam smiles arrogantly and adds, “Hey, Brooks, glad you made it out of there alive.”

“Ha ha. Get all the jokes out now so I can enjoy the rest of my night,” I demand. “Where’s your costume?”

Chloe laughs as she says, “Did you expect Adam to be wearing anything that might make him look slightly ridiculous?” She passes me a pumpkin ale and places her elbow on Adam’s shoulder. “Show Chris your costume.”

Adam sighs and then points to the front of his gray T-shirt. I can make out some lettering and a canoe forged inside a circle. Ah, Camp Crystal Lake, the fictional camp of the Friday 13th franchise. My cousin, Daisy, was an extra in the first movie — and if the VHS tape is paused at just the exact second, her sneakers with the rainbow laces make a cameo. “Understated brilliance, bro,” I admit.

Chloe then puts her arms around Adam’s waist as he wraps his arm around her shoulders. I want that someday — someday when I’m ready.

“So Chris, how did you end up as a prime suspect in a murder dinner theater?” Chloe asks.

“I can answer that. It was payback,” Adam interjects.

Surprised, Chloe asks, “So you knew where he was going? Sometimes you two act like little boys.”

“He kidnapped my cactus!” Adam sarcastically whines.

Puzzled, I ask, “How did you know about the party? Wait, lemme guess — she invited you to go before she even met me.”

Placing his empty bottle of beer on the table and taking another one, Adam answers cockily, “Of course she asked me first, Brooks.”

“Wait, who are you talking about?” Chloe interrupts.

Adam turns to Chloe, rubbing her shoulder and smiling. “Remember that mystery writer I told you about? Lena DeMarco? She’s been researching white collar trials for the past month. She’s friends with someone important because I was instructed to give her full access.”

“Oh, yeah. I read her last novel,” Chloe says, nodding her head.

DeMarco. I only knew her as Ms. White.

“She came in today for a file. Before Lena left, she invited me to the Clue reenactment. I declined and found her a replacement,” Adam teases with a smile.

Chloe looks at me and asks, “And then what happened?”

“Adam introduced me to Lena. She introduced herself as Lena White — Adam didn’t correct her, and he failed to give me a heads up.”

“Ad-am.” Chloe pinches his waist as he laughs.

“Chloe, it was fine. At first,” I whisper.

“Really? Like how?”

“Don’t think I’m crude, okay?” Chloe is a lady, and my intentions are sometimes ungentlemanly.

“I’m not a prude,” she defends.

Throwing back some warm ale, I laugh at the night’s events. “Lena’s smokin’ hot, and I wanted to get laid. I was invited to her apartment where I drank cognac and then allowed a woman to sexually control me — she did some dirty things to me.” I raise my t-shirt and show them the lipstick stains on my chest. “And then she promised even dirtier things if I dressed how she wanted and took her to a party,” I say, finger-quoting the last word.

Confused, Adam asks, “So you didn’t know it was a Clue party?”

“No, you jackass. In fact, she kept talking about interacting with other guests and role-playing — even told me to let it all go and enjoy new experiences.” I lower the volume of my voice, knowing that Adam will find my next statement hysterical. “I thought we were going to a sex party.”

They both erupt in laughter. Adam slaps my back and teases, “So when did you figure out the mystery?”

“Colonel Mustard was the a-ha moment,” I answer, embarrassed.

“And that’s when you left?” Chloe asks, still chuckling.

I close my eyes and exhale. “Not exactly. I thought it was just a nerdy swinger party, and when you have such high hopes for sex in a new way, it’s impossible to believe it could be anything else.”

“Shit, Brooks! When did you finally figure it out?” Adam quips.

“Can I get a stronger drink first?” I ask, placing the nasty beer on the table.

Chloe shakes her head. “Not tonight. The bar is only serving pumpkin ale and the house special.”

Frowning, I say, “Well, after the maid was killed with my dagger in the kitchen, it clicked. To make the long story short — ”

“Too late.”

That voice. Her voice.

“Nat, you’re here!” Chloe shouts.

Natalie.

“Looking cheesy, Adam. Who’s the geek with the elbow patches?”

Damn, her snarky mouth is incredible.

Turning around to meet her gaze, I glance at my watch — willing it to stop. Our eyes connect. There she is … the girl that will eventually belong to me.

“Do you remember Chris?” I think Chloe asks the question. But I can’t be sure as I enter a new dimension that only consists of Natalie, smiling in suspended time.

“Hey, darlin’,” I finally say with a smirk.

Her red lips part and slowly form a smile. “Hey.”

There’s conversation happening all around us, muffled and unimportant. Monster Mash pounds through the speakers as a few guys dressed in ridiculous costumes whistle as they walk past Natalie. But I don’t look. This is our bubble — a public seclusion of two people destined to be together.

“Odd costume,” she teases, thumbing my sleeve.

“Long story,” I reply, taking her hand.

Chloe interrupts our moment of suspension by shouting over the music. “Nice costume, Nat! Only you could pull off Marilyn Monroe. Want a beer?”

I glance at my watch as Natalie turns her head. As I suspected, no time has elapsed.

“Pumpkin beer is vile. What else is there?” Natalie asks.

“Blood-orange Sangria. Hey, did Pete come with you?” Adam asks, organizing the empty beer bottles on a tray.

Natalie sighs. “I left his lederhosen-wearing-ass at the party in Chelsea,” she looks back at me with a smile, “and came here.”

Best decision she’ll ever make.

Taking her hand, I say, “Let’s get a drink.” Walking toward the bar, I notice the eyes of every single guy skimming her body — Natalie’s a vision tonight, platinum wig and iconic white dress swaying against her hips — but she’s mine.

Soon.

The first and last time I saw Natalie, she had some major shit going on in her life. But on that night, I knew without a doubt that we would eventually be together. Funny how fate likes to control the outcome. And funny how we both allow it, knowing that one day it won’t matter.

“Here, grab that seat,” I say, guiding her by the small of her back to an empty chair.

Natalie sits on the leather stool and pulls me in next to her. “Let’s order the Sangria.”

While motioning for the bartender, I place my other arm around her bare shoulder. The bartender, dressed as the alien, Alf, places two napkins on the bar in front of us.

“Beer or Red Rum?” he asks in a nasally voice.

“Red Rum, I guess.”

When the bartender leaves, Natalie swivels slightly on the stool, her knee resting under my nuts. “How’ve you been, Chris?”

“I’m good. Busy at work.”

With her blue eyes sparkling, Natalie asks the inevitable question. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nah, holding out for someone special. You?”

“Yeah, but nothing serious. No one special.” Her hand moves to the waistband of my jeans as her pinky strokes my stomach. But when the bartender places the mini pitcher of blood-red liquid on the bar, she quickly removes her hand.

“May I present, Red Rum. Do you want to start a tab?” the bartender asks.

“Sure,” I say, pouring the alcoholic punch into our glasses. He leaves an orange ticket next to the pitcher and waddles away toward the other patrons in his furry costume.

When it’s just us, alone in a pocket of space controlled by fate, I smile. Returning my smile with a wink, Natalie brings the glass of Sangria to her mouth. She slowly takes a sip, and then staring into my eyes, sensually licks her lips.

I simply watch.

“Perfection. Do you want a taste?” Natalie asks.

I take the glass from her hand and place it on the bar next to mine. Leaning in and inching closer, we let our lips linger on the verge of a new story — our story. Placing all my faith in our future, I don’t kiss her, not yet.

I shift behind her, placing my hands on her shoulders, and pressing my mouth against her ear.

“Soon,” I whisper.

Are you craving more from Chris, Natalie, Adam and Chloe?

Continue on their timeless journey of friendship and love in the upcoming release, The Album.

A moment, a kiss, a love, an epic soundtrack.

Available 11.11.14

About the Author

Hey y’all!

Fifteen years ago I became a permanent New Yorker, but I have yet to abandon my Texas charm. NYC is an amazing place to find inspiration — the random and the ordinary that make up reality. My writing showcases inspired ideas, as well as my love for dichotomy, authenticity and humor.

I'm just a girl. A girl with a dream. A dream to write for television. I also had a dream to marry Christian Bale, but I digress. I'm a girl with a dream to write and write and write until someone tells me to stop. And even then I would find a way to write about the jerk who wanted me to stop.

Connect with Ashley Pullo

Website: www.ashleypullo.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/ashleypullo

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AshPullo

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/ashpullo

Email: authorashpullo@gmail.com

Mailing List: www.ashleypullo.com

Other Books by Ashley Pullo

The Album 11.11.14

The Ballad 12.11.14

Double Dare by Penny Reid

Never play truth or dare with identical twins

A note from the author

Dear Reader,

This short story is actually the beginning of book #1 in the Winston Brother’s series (the full novel will be released before summer 2015). I did my best to end it at a place where (if this is all you were to read of Jessica and Duane’s story, then) you would feel content and satisfied that they reached their Happily Ever After. But for those of you who want more, do not fret! It’s on its way.

I hope you all have a happy Halloween!!

Best, Penny

Part 1: The Tale of Two Twins

— Jessica~

I pulled into the Green Valley Community Center parking lot and scared the crap out of five senior citizens.

Though it was Halloween, frightening senior citizens was not on my agenda.

I’d dutifully stopped as they crossed in front of my vehicle. Unfortunately for everyone within earshot, the truck made a ghastly, high-pitched whining sound whenever it idled.

The five of them jumped, obviously startled, and glared at me as though I’d commanded the truck to make the screech on purpose. Soon their glares morphed into wrinkled squints of plain befuddlement as their eyes moved over my appearance from my perch. It took them a few minutes, but they recognized me.

Everyone knew me.

Nevertheless, I imagined they were not expecting to see Jessica James, the twenty-one year old daughter of Jeffrey James and sister of Jackson James, dressed in a long white beard sitting behind the wheel of an ancient Ford Super Duty F-350 XL.

In my defense, it wasn’t my monster truck. It was my mother’s. I was currently between automobiles, and she’d just upgraded to a newer, bigger, more intimidating model. Something she could plaster with bumper stickers that said, Have You Kissed Your Sheriff Today? and Don’t Drink and DERIVE, Alcohol and Calculus Don’t Mix, and Eat Steak!! The West Wasn’t Won With Salad.

As the local chief of police’s wife, mother to a police officer (my brother) and math teacher (me), and the daughter of a cattle rancher, I think she felt it was her duty to use the wide canvas of her truck as a mobile pro-police, mathematics, and beef billboard.

After a few more minutes of confused stares, the gang of seniors shuffled off toward the entrance to the community center, casting cautiously confused glances over their shoulders. As quickly as I could, I maneuvered the beast into a space at the edge of the lot. Since inheriting the truck I usually parked on the edge of parking lots so as not to be that jerk who drives an oversized vehicle and takes up two spaces.

I adjusted my beard, tossing the three-foot, white length over my shoulder, and grabbed my gray cape and wizard hat. Then I tried not to fall out of the truck or flash anyone on my hike down from the driver’s seat. Luckily, my costume also called for a long staff, and I leveraged the polished wood to aid my descent; the rest of my costume was negligible — a one-piece mini-skirt sheath with a low cut front — and made stretching and moving simple.

I was halfway across the lot, lost in delighted mental preparation for my father and brother’s scowls of disapproval, when I heard my name.

“Jessica, wait up.” I turned, found my coworker Claire jogging toward me. I set my wizard hat — which had a built-in wig — on my head and waved.

“I thought that was you. I saw the beard and the staff.” She slowed as she neared, her eyes moving over the rest of my costume. “You’ve made some… modifications.”

“Yes.” I nodded proudly, grinning at her warily amused expression. I noted that Claire hadn’t changed since work; she was still wearing an adorable Raggedy Ann costume. Lucky for her, she already had bright red hair and freckles. All she had to do was put her long locks in pig tails, add the overalls and white cap.

“Do you like what I’ve done?” I twisted to one side then the other to show off my new garment and the high-heeled strappy sandals.

“Are you still Gandalf? Or what are you supposed to be?”

“Yeah, I’m still Gandalf. But now I’m sexy Gandalf.” I wagged my eyebrows.

Claire covered her mouth with a white-gloved hand then snorted. “Oh my God! You are a nut!”

A sinister giggle escaped my lips. I’m not much of a giggler unless I’ve done something sinister. “Well, I couldn’t wear it to work. But I love the irony of it, you know? All those stupid Halloween costumes that women are expected to wear, like sexy nurse and sexy witch and sexy bee. I’ve actually seen a ‘sexy bee’ costume. Am I missing something? Is there a subset of men who get off thinking about pollinators?”

“I agree. You can’t wear the sexy Gandalf costume to work. In addition to being against the dress code, you’re already starring in the sex fantasies of all your male students as their hot calculus teacher. If you’d worn sexy Gandalf at school instead of regular Gandalf, I think they’d go home feeling confused about their sexuality.”

I laughed and shook my head, thinking how odd the last three months had been.

Like me, Claire was a native of Green Valley; also like me, she’d moved back to town after college. She’d become the band teacher during my senior year of high school. Now we were coworkers. With her gorgeous red hair, light blue eyes, and a strikingly beautiful face, during my senior year as well as now, she was labeled the hot music teacher.

She even had those awesome high cheekbones that magazines talk about, with the little hollow above the jaw. Add to her stunning good looks the most laid-back, kind, generous, and all-around talented person I’d ever met, she should have been in New York or Milan living the life of a muse or a model or a concert pianist.

But she had sad eyes.

Unlike me, she’d married her childhood sweetheart. Her husband, Ben McClure, had been a marine; he’d died overseas two years ago. Having no other family to speak of, I surmised that Claire was still living in Green Valley because she wanted to stay near his family.

I’d left home for college a content, albeit geektastic, invisible nobody. I didn’t marry my childhood sweetheart because I didn’t have one. But upon my return (just a short four years later), same school with the same social order and subsets, I’d now become a new stereotype.

I was the hot math teacher.

I’d never thought of myself as the hot anything.

I shivered as a gust of late autumn wind met my excess of bare skin.

“Come on,” Claire looped her arm through mine. “Let’s get inside before you freeze your beard off.”

I followed her into the old school building; as we neared I heard the telltale sounds of folk music drifting out of the open double doors.

It was Friday night, and that meant nearly every able-bodied person in a thirty-mile radius was gathering for the jam session at the Green Valley Community Center. As it was Halloween I noted the place had been decorated with paper skeletons, carved pumpkins, and orange and black streamers. The old school had been converted only seven years earlier, and the jam sessions started shortly thereafter.

Everyone in Green Valley would start their evening here. Even if it hadn’t been Halloween, married folks with kids would leave first, followed by the elderly. Then the older teenagers would go off, likely to Cooper’s field for a drunken bonfire. Those that were adult, unmarried, and childless would leave next.

When I was home last, four years ago, I was part of the Cooper’s field drunken bonfire subset, even though I never stayed long and never got drunk. Now I was clumsily and hesitantly trying to find my way in this new single adult subgroup as of September when I moved back to Green Valley after completing my bachelor’s degree at the University of Tennessee with a double major in mathematics and education.

Where each individual from the unattached adult cluster (to which I now belonged) ended the evening would depend heavily on that person’s personal goals. If the goal was to have good, clean fun, then you typically went to Genie’s Country Western bar for dancing and darts. If the goal was to get laid, then you typically went to the Wooden Plank*, a biker bar just on the edge of town. If the goal was to get laid and cause trouble, then maybe get laid again, then you went to the Dragon Biker bar, several miles outside of town and home of a biker club named the Iron Order.

Or, if you were like me and the goal was to grade a week’s worth of calculus assignments, then you went home, put on flannel PJs, and turned on The Lord of the Rings for background noise and glimpses of Viggo Mortensen being dreamy.

I spotted my father before he spotted me as a crowd had gathered; he was speaking animatedly to someone I could not see. My dad was standing at the table just inside the entrance to the old school where a big glass bowl had been placed to collect donations. He was, as always, wearing his uniform.

Claire stood on her tiptoes then tried leaning to the side to gauge the cause of the crowd. “Looks like they’re doing trick-or-treating. I see a bunch of kids in costume, and there’s a bucket of candy at the table.”

I nodded, glancing down one of the short hallways then the other. I noted that I only heard music coming from one room, but there was a mass of kids going in and out of the five classrooms, each with either a decorated pillow case or an orange plastic Jack O'Lantern bucket to hold their treats.

I leaned close to Claire to suggest we skip the line and make our donations later when my eyes snagged on a red-haired and bearded man coming out of one of the classrooms, holding the hand of a blonde little girl — not more than seven — dressed like Tinker Bell.

I felt a shock, a jolt from my throat, travel down my collarbone to my fingertips, weave through my chest and belly and hips and thighs. I lost my breath on a startled gasp. The shock was followed by a suffusion of spreading warmth and levels of intense self-consciousness — the magnitude of which I hadn’t experienced in years.

My eyes greedily traveled over every inch of him, dressed in blue Dickies coveralls that had been pulled off his sculpted torso, the long sleeves now tied around his waist to keep the pants portion from falling down; they were dotted with grease stains and dirt at the knee and cuff. He wore a bright white T-shirt and black work boots. His thick red hair was longish and askew, like he’d just run his fingers through it…or someone else had just run their fingers through it.

Beau Winston.

I knew it was Beau and not his twin Duane for three reasons. He was smiling at the little girl. Beau always smiled. Duane never smiled. Also, he appeared to be helping the little girl in some way. Beau was friendly and outgoing. Duane was moody, quiet, and sullen. And lastly, my body knew the difference. I’d always been reduced to a blubbering mess of teenage hormones at the sight of Beau. Duane, though identical in looks, did absolutely nothing for me.

My adolescent crush — nay, my adolescent obsession—was walking toward us, his attention focused solely on the child next to him. He looked like a ginger-bearded James Dean, only taller, broader, and a hell of a lot sexier. I think I forgot how to breathe.

“Jess,” I felt Claire nudge me with a sharp elbow, “Jessica, what’s wrong?”

I couldn’t pull my eyes away from Beau, from watching how he walked, how his hips moved, the way his T-shirt pulled over his pectoral muscles and was tight where the short sleeves ended at his biceps. I was all kinds of abruptly aroused.

Goodness gracious, I thought I might incinerate on the spot.

How some pre-teens lose their minds for Boy Bands, rock stars, and hot celebrities, I lost my marbles for Beau. It all started when he climbed a tree to save my cat. I was seven. He was ten. He kissed me on the cheek. He wiped my tears. He held my hand. He hugged me close.

He was my hero.

My infatuation with him was like a wound that re-opened every time I laid eyes on him. I wondered for a flash whether there was something truly wrong with me, whether there were other twenty-one year old women out there who still experienced a paralyzing avalanche of hot, raging lust at the sight of their first crush. Really, he was my only crush. Shouldn’t I have outgrown this by now?

My voice was a weak whisper, and my mouth was dry when I finally answered, tipping my head just slightly toward the pair. “That’s Beau Winston.”

There was a little pause, and I knew Claire was looking past me to where I’d indicated.

“No.” She squeezed my arm with hers. “No, that’s Duane Winston.”

I shook my head, forcing myself to look away from all his manly deliciousness, even though my heart protested wildly, and met Claire’s eyes. “No, that’s Beau.”

Claire’s mouth hooked to the side as she studied my features; I’m sure my face had gone mostly pink, a byproduct of being blessed with freckles and an insane, persistent crush on the nicest, sexiest, funniest guy in the world. I wasn’t embarrassed, but I was impressively flushed. Growing up, whenever I was in the same room with Beau, he had that effect on me. Full-on butterflies in the stomach and music only I could hear between my ears. It appeared some things never changed.

Growing up, every time I saw him I’d spend the next hour or day lost in a teenage love fog; duration depended on the length of time I’d spent in his presence, whether we’d spoken, and if he’d inadvertently touched me. I once went two days without washing my hand because he’d accidentally brushed it as he walked by.

“I’m telling you, that’s Duane. Beau’s hair is shorter.”

“Nope.” I shook my head again, more resolutely this time as I tried to regulate my breathing and body temperature. “I don’t go haywire around Duane. That must be Beau.”

In fact, I didn’t much like Duane. During the same episode that initiated and solidified my life-long adoration of Beau, my aversion for Duane had also been established. While Beau was climbing the tree to save my cat, Duane was throwing rocks at the branch. While Beau had been kissing my cheek, Duane had been mocking his brother.

I could tell Claire was trying not to laugh as she added, “Cripes, you weren’t kidding when you told me you had a crush on that boy. Is this the first time you’ve seen either of them since high school?”

“No. I saw Beau once at the Piggly Wiggly during my sophomore year when I was home for winter break. He was buying bacon and green beans, and I stood behind him in line.”

She stopped trying to hide her smile and grinned. “I bet you can recall the conversation word-for-word.”

I stared at her, wanting to deny it, but also not wanting to lie. She was right. I could recall the conversation word-for-word, action-for-action. He’d turned to me and asked if I’d mind passing him a gum package that was just out of his reach. I tried to shrug, but I’m sure it looked more like a minor seizure. Then I fumbled for the gum, accidentally knocking an array of breath mints to the floor.

He’d knelt and helped me pick up the felled mints, our hands touched, I almost fainted, and I was certainly bright red. Then he smiled at me. I almost fainted again. Then he helped me stand, and I almost had a heart attack.

He asked, “Hey, Jess… are you okay?” dipping his head close to mine, his amazing blue eyes all sparkly and lovely and concerned.

I nodded, not able to speak because his hands were still on my forearms, and gazed up at him. Butterflies and music only I could hear — that time it was Eternal Flame by the Bangles — drowned out the sound of his voice and the next words from his mouth. I did see that his lips curved in a barely-there smile as he studied me.

Then my brother Jackson appeared and ruined everything by telling Beau to mind his own business. Beau shrugged — an actual shrug, not a semi-seizure — and turned back to the cashier. He paid for his bacon and green beans and left.

I was such a doofus. Though I had introverted proclivities, I was not a shy person. I considered myself confident and levelheaded. But Beau Winston had always rendered me beyond completely tongue tied. He rendered me stupid.

Now, nearly three years since the last time I’d seen him, my hands were balled into fists, and I couldn’t quite force my fingers to relax. I could feel and hear the whooshing of blood through my heart and between my ears. I was, in a word, completely ridiculous.

Okay, that was two words. I was so ridiculous, I’d lost the ability to count.

“Jess, seriously…are you all right? Your face is turning bright red.” Claire squeezed my arm, drawing my attention away from the sound of my blood pressure.

“Yeah.” I knew I sounded weak. “Just let me know when he’s gone.”

“You’re not going to talk to him?”

I shook my head quickly.

Her nose wrinkled; her eyes flicking over my shoulder briefly, presumably to his approaching form; she squeezed my arm again. “Honey, most of those Winston boys are nice boys. Why don’t you talk to him?”

“Because I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No. Really. I can’t.” I felt my eyes widen to their maximum diameter. “I’ve never successfully carried on a conversation with Beau Winston. Every time I try to speak it’s like my brain forgets English, and I start slurring Swahili or Swedish or Swiss.”

“The people of Switzerland don’t speak Swiss. They speak German, French, Italian, and Romansh.”

“See? I’m becoming dumber with each second.”

I sucked in a breath because I could hear his voice now; he was speaking to the little girl, and the sound was so fantastically adorable and sexy it caused my stomach to pitch then lurch like I was in a small boat in the middle of the ocean. I placed my hand over my belly and braced my feet apart.

When he entered my peripheral vision, my attention was drawn to him like a magnet. He was still smiling, but it was smaller, polite. He was handing the little girl off to a lady I recognized as Mrs. Macintyre, the lead librarian at the local branch in town. I knew at once Tinker Bell must be her granddaughter.

She said something about a chicken or a rooster. He said something in response. They laughed. I stared, letting the velvety sound wash over me. Once again I was caught on a big wave in the middle of the ocean — pitch, lurch.

Then it happened. His eyes flickered to the side, likely feeling my stalker stare, and he did a double take, his gaze ensnaring mine. My throat worked without success, and I was a lava field of suffused heat and awareness. His stare narrowed just slightly as I continued to meet his gaze.

God, I was such a creeper.

I wanted to look away, but I physically couldn’t. He so rarely looked at me, I felt like I was falling, my surroundings fading away — everything except him and his blue, blue, blue eyes.

Annoyingly, the music only I could hear whenever he was near started playing between my ears — this time it was Dreamweaver by Gary Wright — therefore I missed the sound of his voice when he said, “Hey, Jessica.” Instead, I surmised what he’d said based on the movement of his lips and subsequently tried my best to turn down the volume in my head.

I nodded at him, still not able to look away.

Then, horrified, I watched as he excused himself from Mrs. Macintyre and Tinker Bell and walked to where I was standing with Claire. I swayed a little, took a step backward as he advanced; Claire slipped her arm through mine and fit herself against my side. She probably thought I was going to either faint or make a run for it.

Unfortunately, I managed neither by the time he made it to where we were standing.

“Hey…Beau.” Claire said, the hesitation in her voice obvious. “You are Beau, right? Or are you Duane?”

He gave us a crooked smile that looked completely adorable and mischievous, his eyes darting between us. “You can’t tell the difference?”

Claire returned his smile with a small one of her own. Beau’s charm was contagious and addictive; I’d once overheard my daddy tell my momma that the six Winston boys had inherited their father’s ability to charm snakes, the IRS, and women.

I was also smiling, although mine probably looked dazed and weird. I was thankful for the long gray beard around my mouth. I hoped it camouflaged my expression of worshipful adoration.

“I’m pretty sure you’re Duane,” Claire said, then indicated me with a tilt of her head. “But Jess thinks you’re Beau.”

His eyes moved back to mine — somehow more intense, interested, piercing than they’d been before — and he swept me up and down once again. On the return pass I saw what I thought might be appreciation, and that’s when I remembered I was wearing my ironic sexy Gandalf costume, which basically hid nothing except my face and hair.

It hadn’t occurred to me until that very moment that someone might look at me, my curves in this scrap of fabric, and see more sexy than irony.

“What’s this costume, Jessica? Are you a wizard?” His lips tugged to the side, but his tone deepened when he added, “I like it.”

The tenor of his voice paired with the words sent a jolt of racing through my body. I gripped Claire tighter to keep from sinking to the floor.

“She’s sexy Gandalf. She was going to be a sexy bee, but the shop sold out of pollinator costumes.”

Beau laughed — a sound that, for reasons unknown, I felt in my uterus — and reached for the beard at my navel. The back of his fingers brushed against my stomach as he plucked the length of synthetic facial hair from my inconsequential sheath of a costume.

“The beard adds a certain something…” He tugged just gently and winked at me.

Of course, my response was to stare at him mutely because my first impulse was to dry hump his leg. Some odd little corner of my brain briefly thought about the logistics of wearing this long white beard always, every day.

“Hey, if you tug her beard, she gets to tug yours,” Claire teased.

His smile growing, the redhead stepped forward and into my space, his eyes at half-mast as they glittered down at me. “Go ahead, Jessica…Touch it.”

Part 2: Kiss Then Tell

His nearness stole my breath.

I could smell him, and it just made me want to…want to…want to touch every inch of him. Tie him up and grab and squeeze and feel and bite and lick and suck and listen as he moaned my name. I wasn’t this person; I didn’t have these kinds of thoughts about anyone but Beau Winston. He brought out the horny hare in me.

Beau’s eyes seemed to flicker then flare as though he could read my thoughts; they dropped to my lips.

Yeah. I was definitely going to dry hump his leg. That was going to happen in 3, 2…

“I am so sorry about your momma, son.” A voice to my right and his left pulled our attention away from each other. We both turned our heads to find Mr. McClure, our local fire chief and Claire’s father-in-law, standing there with his hand outstretched. Beau looked down at it and then, taking a step away from me, accepted the offered hand as the man continued. “She was a good woman, and she’ll be missed.”

I shook myself a little, a spark of sobriety cutting its way through Dreamweaver. The Winstons had just lost their mother not more than four weeks ago. Bethany Winston was only forty-six. It was very sad and had been quite sudden. I hadn’t gone to the funeral as I was sick with flu, but apparently everyone else in town had shown to pay their respects to Mrs. Winston, her six sons, and her daughter.

“Thank you, sir.” Beau nodded once. The heat of his earlier expression was now extinguished, replaced with a tight-lipped smile and a shuttered gaze.

Mr. McClure nodded at Beau, then turned to Claire and me. He greeted us warmly, stepping forward to give Claire a kiss on the cheek. During this intermission, I felt Beau’s eyes follow my movements. I gave myself a mental high five for keeping my attention on Claire’s father-in-law, even though I really, really wanted to just stare at Beau.

After hellos were exchanged, Mr. McClure narrowed his eyes at Claire, “Claire, did you lock your car?”

I thought it was cute how Mr. McClure looked after Claire like she was his daughter, it warmed my heart.

She nodded, her lips curved in a warm and patient smile, “Yes, sir. I locked my car.”

To my surprise, Mr. McClure swung his blue eyes to me, “Jessica, did you lock your car?”

I blinked at him, caught off guard, and glanced at Claire.

“There’s been some thefts,” Claire explained, “and not just tourists, like usual. Jennifer Sylvester’s new BMW went missing last week.”

“Her momma told me she had a banana cake in the front seat, too.” Mr. McClure tsked, like the real crime was the loss of the banana cake, then he turned his attention back to Beau. “Your brothers here?”

“Yes, sir. Everyone but, uh…” his eyes flickered to mine then back to Mr. McClure. “Everyone but my twin.”

“I see…” He nodded, glancing down the hallway toward the sound of music. “I need to talk to Cletus about the transmission work he did.”

Beau stood a little taller. “Is there something wrong?”

Beau, Duane, and their older brother Cletus owned the Winston Brothers Auto Shop in town, hence the blue, grease-stained coveralls he currently donned. Cletus, son number three in the Winston family, was four years older than the twins but had always been a little…odd. Sweet, but odd.

As an example, he’d started attending my first period advanced placement calculus class two weeks ago. Apparently, he’d talked to my principal and had been cleared to sit in for the rest of the year.

The fire chief shook his head. “No, no. It’s not for my truck, son. It’s Red, the fire engine. He’s helping me get the old girl running again for the Christmas parade.”

“Ah. I see. Yeah, Cletus is playing his banjo.” Beau tossed his thumb over his shoulder. “Only one room is jamming so far tonight; I think everyone else is waiting until the trick-or-treating is over.”

Mr. McClure glanced in the direction Beau had indicated. “I’ll go sit in then and wait for a break.” He then turned a friendly smile to Claire and me. “Girls, I’d be honored to be your escort.”

Claire nodded for both of us; but before she could verbally accept the offer, Beau reached out and grabbed my arm lightning fast.

“Claire, you go on.” Beau pulled me away from my friend in a smooth motion. “I’d like to catch up with Jess. See y’all later.”

He didn’t wait for Claire or me to react.

Before I knew what was happening, he’d slipped his rough palm into mine, grasped my fingers, and turned toward the converted cafeteria, tugging me after him. I was so shocked by the sensation of his skin, the electric current running up my arm, that I could only follow mutely.

I loved the feel of him. In truth I was in danger of climbing him. I just wanted to be near him, touch him, snuggle against him. He was so epically enticing.

We wove through the crowd as I tried to memorize the feeling of his hand grasping mine. I had difficulty drawing breath; my stomach was an eruption of amorous butterflies. People said hi — to both him and to me — but we didn’t pause. I was his shadow as Beau led me to the buffet table; I dreaded reaching it because he would likely release me. To my surprise we kept on walking.

He didn’t glance back at me as we skirted around a table laden with lemonade and sweet tea, heading behind a curtain that ran the length of one wall — from ceiling to floor — and obscured a set of stairs leading to a small stage. The stage, likewise, was hidden by the curtain. Beau didn’t pause once we were up the steps or on the stage. Instead he continued tugging until he had me to one side, backstage, completely hidden by the curtain, around a corner, and behind a wall.

It was dark and my eyes required several seconds to adjust; likewise, my brain hadn’t yet caught up with where we were and how we’d arrived here, not to mention who I was with. A single light source overhead cast our surroundings in a grayish murkiness. Therefore, I nearly tripped over my own feet when Beau turned, his hands suddenly on my hips, and backed me into the wall.

I felt solid concrete behind me, Beau and all his gorgeousness looming before me, scant inches away. His glittering eyes ensnared mine. Then and only then did he stop.

I was so confused — really discombobulated was the word for it. This was like something out of my music video fantasies. (Did I forget to mention that my daydreams actually present themselves as music videos ala Paula Abdul’s Rush, Rush complete with glowing, imperfection-blurring lens filters?) Therefore I could only gaze up at him in wonder.

He leaned forward, and his forehead hit the rim of my hat. Scowling, he pulled it and the wig from my head.

“I like this costume,” he said in a low voice as his hands reclaimed their spot, his thumbs rubbing the area just above my hips like he was entitled to touch me and my body how he liked. The heat from his palms sent spiking shivers to my lower belly. “But I do not enjoy that hat.”

I’d known Beau for almost fifteen years, had dreamt of a moment like this since my earliest awkward stages of puberty. In all those fantasies, Beau had been sweet and slow, gentle and coaxing, patient. As well in my fantasies, nothing ever really happened. He’d kiss me, I’d feel warm and tingly. Basically they were the neutered fantasies of a young girl.

But Beau didn’t look patient now and he felt very, very real. Even in the murky dimness his eyes glittered like sapphires, like they possessed their own internal radiance. I thought mournfully of my plain brown irises and, like the weirdo I was, I hoped that our make-believe children would inherit his eyes.

His hands slid up my body then pushed my cape over my shoulders with a whisper-light touch. He removed the staff from my hands. I watched as Beau leaned it against the wall with care, his boots scuffing against the wooden floor.

“Jessica James, you’ve been giving me hot looks that are difficult to ignore.” He said this in a near growl, leaning a fraction of an inch closer.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what a hot look was, what it meant, or how to make it on purpose. Regardless, I surmised my inadvertent hot looks were responsible for our alone time. Therefore, I mentally high-fived my hot looks. My heart twisted then leapt as he wet his bottom lip just before drawing the succulent flesh into his mouth, between his teeth, and biting.

That’s right, bite that lip.

I almost groaned.

I was maniacally and fiercely aroused, and I was completely ill-equipped to deal with these feelings. A broken hymen while horseback riding; a few inconsequential and forgettable gropings in high school and college; a drunken, laconic coupling in my dorm room with my physics lab TA last year. These were the pithy total of my sexual exploits.

In all honesty, I’d enjoyed the horse ride more than the man ride. At least the horse had been a stallion. Looking back, my lab TA was more like a Shetland pony — hairy and small.

Instinct told me to tackle Beau, maul him before he discovered his error and tousled my hair like I was still a twelve year old. At the very least, I’d made up my mind to force his mouth down to my chest. Nothing fantastic had ever happened to my nipples before. I was pretty sure I’d die a happy woman after Beau Winston did something fantastic to my nipples.

Speaking of nipples, I didn’t realize I’d brought Beau’s hand from my hip to my breast until hot sparks of desire radiated from where I pressed his palm against me, the only barriers between our skin my lace bra and the thin fabric of my sheath.

I didn’t know what I was doing. My experience was so lackluster, and in my fantasies we never made it to second base.

Beau stared at me, his mouth parted in stunned surprise. His eyebrows jumped, and his eyes widened at my forward gesture. I arched forward, again without consciously meaning to, straining to close the distance between our bodies, wanting to feel his hard against my soft.

And then I learned what a hot look was.

Because Beau Winston was giving me a hot look.

I wanted to label it as incendiary, but as it was the first hot look I’d ever been aware of receiving, I decided instead to make his hot look the baseline by which all other hot looks would be measured.

I didn’t get much time to mull over what units of measurement I would apply to hot looks — would it be Celsius? Calories? Watts? Or voltage? — because Beau did four things, driving all thought and ability to reason from my brain.

First, he tugged my beard off my face and over my head.

Second, his fingers at my breast worked, massaged, and caressed while his thumb brushed over the nipple. His hand felt greedy, rough, and fantastic.

Third, his free hand reached around, gripped my bottom, and squeezed as he brought me against him.

Fourth, he kissed me.

And, oh God, parts of me tensed, clenched, braced in a completely new way, a way that made no sense at all, but sent all the amorous butterflies diving straight to my pelvis and heat to my lungs. I was abruptly starring in the music video for Beyonce’s Naughty Girl and desperately trying to figure out how to get all Beau’s clothes off.

He dominated, pushing me against the wall, his hands under my sheath, on the bare skin of my hips then into my lace underwear, grabbing my bare ass. Nothing about him was soft. He was hard edges, solid granite everywhere I touched. And I touched him. I touched him in a fevered frenzy because I didn’t know what the hell was going on or when it would stop. I hoped never. Peripherally, I heard my wizard’s staff clatter to the ground.

I’d always thought of Beau as a really, really nice guy. But he didn’t kiss like a nice guy. He kissed with dangerous and punishing hunger, his mouth greedy and demanding. He bit me, my bottom lip, then soothed and tasted the abused flesh with his tongue while grinding his hips against mine, his hard length growing against my belly.

“Fuck, Jess…” He growled, pulled his mouth from mine, his breathing labored. He bent to bite my jaw, lick my ear, suck the soft skin into his hot mouth while one hand pushed my little gray dress up to expose my breasts. The fingers of his other hand danced around the hem of my panties but moved no further. I felt his hesitation and I clawed him. I dug my nails into his shoulders and bucked instinctively, wanting him to touch me.

In response he tugged the cup of my bra down. Then his wet mouth was on the center of my breast. Then his tongue swirled over my nipple as a tortured-sounding moan rumbled in the back of his throat. Then I panted because it was fantastic.

I reached for his white shirt, drawing him closer, then roughly pulled it off. He acquiesced as my fingertips fumbled for the hem of his boxers then delved into his pants. My hand closed around his hard length, and he sucked in a startled-sounding breath, releasing it raggedly as I stroked him.

“Oh, God…” he breathed, his eyes moving back to mine. I’d expected to find them dazed with desire, instead he looked a little shocked, panicked even. “Wait, wait a minute.”

He reached for my wrist, and I saw his intentions clear as day. We were moving too fast. He was going to put on the brakes.

But the thing was, I didn’t want brakes. I wanted acceleration. I wanted velocity. I wanted reckless, heedless, crazy, passionate sex with Beau. And I wanted it right now, against this wall, at the Green Valley Community Center, while children trick-or-treated and Mrs. Sylvester traded recipes for blueberry muffins, ignorant to the fervent and erotic moment on the other side.

I stroked him again, pressing my chest to his and lifting on my tiptoes to bite his neck. He shuddered, moaned, his hips instinctively jutting forward and into my palm even as his fingers tightened around my wrist and gently tried to force my withdrawal.

Instead I rubbed my body against his, my thumb circling the head of his erection. With my other hand I brought his fingers back to my panties, pressing them against my center, and nipped at his parted lips.

His breathing was labored, and he moaned again, cursing. His eyes were squeezed shut like he was trying to separate himself from what was happening, like he was trying to strengthen his resolve, like he was losing control.

Abruptly, and with an audible growl, he yanked my hand out of his boxers and turned, walking ten steps further backstage and away from me.

I felt the loss of his heat first, then the loss of his touch. I didn’t try to pursue him because I felt dizzy and disoriented and out of breath. Instead I leaned against the wall at my back, closing my eyes, my body humming and protesting the loss of promised comprehensive sexual fulfillment. I don’t know how long I stood there, gulping air and trying to figure out what had just happened and why it ended.

“Goddammit…” I heard him say, again like a growl. His voice closer than I’d expected.

I opened my eyes and found him standing a few feet away, shirtless, hands on his hips. His chest visibly rose and fell as he breathed. His gaze flickered over my body then to the floor of the stage. Numbly, I adjusted my bra to conceal my breasts and tugged my tiny dress down to my thighs even as I allowed myself to devour his muscled torso, the ridges of his stomach, the plane of his hard chest.

“Jessica, you have got to stop looking at me like that.” He sounded irritated, desperate, catching me off guard and pulling my eyes back to his.

I was surprised to find that his teeth were clenched, his eyes flashing; however, despite the fact that he’d just reprimanded me for how I was looking at him, Beau was giving me an extremely hot look. Regardless of his words and the fact that he’d been the one to end our frantic grope-fest, he appeared torn. He appeared to be struggling.

He appeared to want me very, very badly.

I stared at him mystified as this realization paired with the reality of the last twenty minutes caught up with the here and now. He was watching me as I was watching him. My stare was undoubtedly one of inviting and anxious expectation; whereas his glare oscillated between blatant desire peppered heavily with longing and then fierce frustration.

I waited silently, witnessed his resolve waver, his eyes lose focus as they moved beseechingly between mine. He was still breathing hard.

He took a step forward as though he were pulled, stumbling in a daze, had no choice; words tumbled from his lips in a rush, “Jessica, I’m not who you think I am and — fuck me — but I want you, I’ve always wanted you, and I can’t do this without you knowing—”

“Duane, you dummy. Are you back here?” A man called from my left, and I heard the telltale sound of boots on steps.

My eyes bulged. My jaw dropped. My breath caught in my throat. And my head whipped to the side and toward the newcomer.

It wasn’t that I feared getting caught in a heated moment, not at all. The cause of my intense shock was the sound of the approaching voice.

It was Beau’s voice.

The steps slowed, then stopped, Beau once more calling out to us, “Should I… uh, do you need some privacy?”

My body jolted as understanding punched me in the stomach. I turned my attention back to the man of my dreams.

Except he wasn’t.

My companion was most definitely not Beau Winston — hero, world’s sexiest, nicest guy. No, no, no. This man was not Beau. This man was Duane. And this man had just done fantastic things to my nipples.

As soon as our eyes tangled, Duane winced — almost like I’d sucker punched him — and he turned away. I watched his chest rise and fall with an expansive breath just before he reached for his shirt and pulled it on.

He cleared his throat then called out, “Yeah, a little privacy would be nice.”

“Who’s back there with you? Is it Tina?” Beau’s deep, velvety chuckle met my ears, and my stomach twisted painfully.

I felt like I was going to be sick. My eyes drifted shut, the back of my head hitting the wall behind me. My chest seized. I was so stupid. I wished for a black hole to open up under my feet and swallow me, send me to the other side of the universe.

“None of your business, asshole. Go away,” Duane answered his twin; his voice sounded thick, gravely, and I felt his eyes on me though mine remained firmly closed.

“Alright, alright. Fine. Tell Tina I say hi, but we’re leaving for Bandit Lake in twenty minutes.” Beau's response was paired with the sound of boots descending the stairs.

The first notes of a new song played between my ears; Radiohead’s Creep. Ice entered my veins even as a mortified flush spread up my neck, over my cheeks to the top of my head. Gritting my teeth, I opened my eyes and glared at Duane Winston.

If he thought I’d been giving him hot looks before, then my look now was the polar opposite. It was the equivalent of midnight at the arctic pole during the winter solstice.

His hands were on his hips, and I watched him slowly nibble on his bottom lip, like he was tasting it, like he was tasting me. His eyes were on the floor of the stage, his breath beginning to even, though not yet completely normalized.

I’d never wanted to stab and/or maim someone so much in all my life, therefore I was not surprised when I said the words I was thinking.

“You are such a bastard.”

His eyes lifted then, glittering sapphires that held just a whisper of bitter amusement buried under another hot look.

“Now she speaks,” he said flatly.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Now you speak.” He raged, accused, sounding so different to my ears. Instead of the friendly and adorable Beau, I heard Duane. Sarcastic, sullen, snappish Duane. “This whole time, since I walked over to you and Claire, you haven’t said a single word. Not when I take you away from your friend, not when I pull you through the cafeteria, not when I bring you here, not when I’ve got my hand in your panties and your tits in my mouth. But now, miraculously you find your voice.”

God, how I loathed him.

“You are such a bastard!” I repeated, louder and a little more violently this time as I pointedly tried to ignore the confusing, swirling, humming desire that still twisted in my belly. I used the lingering passion to fuel my anger.

“Nice to see you again, Jess. I admit, you’ve filled out very nicely,” his eyes blazed a path from my strappy sandals to my breasts, “but you’re just as bratty as ever.”

I charged forward and pushed against his chest. “You lying asshat! I thought you were Beau!”

Before I could claw his eyes out, Duane caught my wrists and walked me backward, against the wall, holding my arms hostage over my head; his body trapped me, keeping me in place. I tried to knee him in the groin, but he deftly sidestepped and pressed his legs against mine to keep them immobile.

“Ah, there now, Princess, we’ll have none of that.”

This unfortunate position meant that his impressive erection was digging into my abdomen and my breasts were flattened against his chest. Again, confusing, swirling, humming desire ignited, and I clenched my jaw to keep from rubbing my torso along his. Our eyes locked. His look was still hot but now tempered with something else, something that felt like contempt flavored with bitterness.

“I hope you wander into a hornets’ nest and die of an acetylcholine overdose,” I spat.

“You say the prettiest things.”

“Let me go!”

“Not until you calm down.” These words arrived sounding exceedingly reasonable.

“Calm down? Calm down!?” I bellowed because I’d never been so angry in my entire life. I didn’t know how I was going to calm down. I might never calm down. I might spend the rest of my life as the five foot six, blonde, female version of the Incredible Hulk. I wanted to smash everything, starting with Duane Winston.

“Yes. Calm down.”

“I AM NEVER GOING TO CALM DOWN!” I shouted in his face.

“THEN WE’LL STAND HERE FOREVER!” he shouted in my face.

I glared at him. He glared back. A storm of feelings whirled around and between us. I despised him, yet some nonsensical — obviously mentally-ill — part of myself desperately wanted him to kiss me again. Kiss me and touch me and pull my hair and bite the softest parts of my body. I wanted his hungry mouth and greedy fingers.

I wanted him.

His eyes flared as he watched me, moved between mine then darted to my lips. I wondered if he could read my thoughts, I wondered if I was still throwing him inadvertent hot looks, I wondered at the unfairness of his eyes. He had such pretty eyes, blue and glittering, mesmerizing… it was a shame they belonged to Satan.

“I hate you,” I spat, feeling confused, defensive, and therefore spiteful.

Duane’s fingers loosened just a smidge where he held me, and his thumb stroked the inside of my wrist. I shivered, and I hated myself for the involuntary response.

He cocked an eyebrow and whispered gently, softly, “I hate you too, Jess. I hate you so very, very much…”

Inexplicably my breathing quickened. Further muddling matters, Duane’s pretty eyes were fastened on my mouth, and his mouth was lowering — inch by excruciating inch — closer to mine. As though pulled, as though our lips were still magnetized, I lifted my chin.

Then, like before, he pulled away. Again I felt the loss of his heat first, but this time I felt like he’d also thrown me off a cliff; I was free falling into nothing, with no one to catch me. As well, his eyes — instead of unfocused with desire — were mocking and hard.

He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets, his lips twisted to the side in a derisive sneer. “Did you forget? I’m not Beau.”

I drew myself up, straightened my spine, braced my feet apart, and shot him daggers as I said, “Obviously you’re not Beau. He doesn’t have to lie about who he is in order for me to like him.”

Duane’s flinch was subtle; if I’d blinked, I would have missed it. The muscle at his temple jumped, and his eyes flashed blue fire. He looked like he was going to toss me another insult, so I bent and retrieved my beard, staff, and hat. My cape swirled around my shoulders. I was intent on getting as far away from him as possible, as soon as possible.

“You know what, never mind. Just…just go away, and leave me alone.” I turned, tucking my hat under my arm, and managed three paces toward the curtain before Duane’s hand caught me by the wrist.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I tried to shake him off, but his grip tightened. “I’m leaving.”

“Not that way, you’re not.”

I huffed, still not looking at him. “Why not?”

Without answering me, Duane turned me around then slipped his hand in mine. I promptly planted my feet in place and pulled out my palm out of his grip.

He turned suddenly and charged me, cursing under his breath before spearing me with a menacing glower and barely-restrained fury. “Listen, Princess, my brothers are probably all waiting for me out there. If we leave the way we came in, they’re all going to see us. Together. And that includes Beau. Now do you understand?”

I frowned at him, absorbing his harshly-spoken statement. At length I nodded once, reluctantly realizing that I would have to accept his help in order to avoid an epic walk of shame. “So…how do I get out of here?”

“Follow me.” He moved like he was going to touch my hand again, but I pulled it out of his reach and took a step back. His eyes shot near-incinerating flames at my retreat.

“You don’t need to hold my hand in order for me to follow you.” I crossed my arms over my chest, closed my cape around me, and lifted my chin. “Lead the way… Duane.”

His eyes moved between mine, dimming, growing remote and guarded. Inexplicably, my stomach flipped, and I felt oddly remorseful.

After a protracted moment, Duane swallowed, his voice thick and gravelly when he finally said, “Sure thing, Princess.” Then he turned away from me toward some unseen exit, his stride unhurried, languid and confident, and still sexy as hell.

I hesitated for a single second, then followed hesitantly. I couldn’t help but admire his backside, the width of his strong shoulders, how is waist tapered at his hips, how he walked, the curve of his bottom.

I kept thinking about his heavenly kisses, his divine, rough hands on my body, his hot mouth on my skin. I pushed those thoughts away, but they were replaced with the memory of how great he’d felt in my hands — long and smooth and hard and thick — and how close I’d come to having him inside me. I bit my lip to stifle a pitiful groan, feeling out of breath and dizzy from the mere possibility.

Despite how I loathed him, I knew now that riding him would not be like anything I’d ever experienced. He was no Shetland pony. He was a stallion.

And, worst of all, I would have to live my life trying to suppress the memory of Duane Winston doing fantastic things to my nipples.

Part 3: Bump in the Night

Cletus Winston took a step back from my truck and scratched his neck. He looked at me where I hovered anxiously by my open driver’s side door and said, “Catastrophic engine failure.”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Catastrophic engine failure. You have it.”

Feeling abruptly winded, I croaked, “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not good. It’s bad,” he said simply.

I shifted from foot to foot, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. Now ten o’clock and bitterly cold outside, I was still dressed as sexy Gandalf. I was sure my nipples were hard as frozen peas and gave my chest a lovely headlight effect. To Cletus’s credit, he didn’t appear to be interested in my nipples.

“What can I do?” I asked, grimacing at the small, desperate quality of my voice. The evening’s events were catching up with me.

After Duane had led me outside from a hidden exit behind the stage, I took off without looking back and re-entered the community center from the front door. Immediately, my brother and father saw me and proceeded to throw disapproving glares at my skimpy costume.

I welcomed the distraction because every part of me missed the feeling of Duane’s hands and mouth. All evening I shivered, but it wasn’t from cold. I tried my best to ignore it.

I’d effectively put off Claire’s pointed questions. I’d excelled at chit chat with my students' parents — despite my ironic costume choice — and I’d successfully avoided seeing both Duane and Beau. Granted, based on what Beau had said about leaving for Bandit Lake, they were probably long gone from the community center well before I tried to leave. Duane was probably off with that girl Beau had mentioned — Trixie or Tami or Bambi or whatever her dumb name was.

I shook myself out of my weird musings about Duane — who I most certainly did not care about — and tried to focus on something else, anything else. For instance, Naomi Winters’s insistence that on All Hallows' Eve, aka Halloween, the veil between the spirit world and our world was the most vulnerable.

She explained that Halloween was based on a Celtic festival named Samhain and was the most significant of the ancient holidays. In addition to marking the first day of winter, Celts believed that at the time of Samhain, spirits of the dead were able to intermingle with the living. They believed that at Samhain the souls of those who had died during the year traveled into the beyond.

Naomi happened to be a Wiccan. She worked at the library in town and taught classes in witchcraft and Celtic mythology. One might think such a thing would be frowned upon in eastern Tennessee, the bosom of the south, but it wasn’t. This was likely because Naomi was a lovely, kind, and generous woman. This was also because Green Valley was filled with nice people.

As the evening wore on, I’d even sat still long enough to listen to Cletus Winston play his banjo solo in one of the music rooms during an oddly charming folk rendition of Michael Jackson’s Thriller.

But I was tired, and my head was muddled, and I was tired of my head being muddled, and my monster truck wouldn’t start. Thankfully, just as I was about give up hope, Cletus was walking by my truck with his banjo case tucked under his arm.

He recognized me from my perch, and he stopped. Without asking any questions, he motioned for me to pop the release and took a flashlight out of his pants’ pocket. Then he delved under my hood.

At present he was shaking his head, his lips twisting to the side. “Your timing belt broke. You need a new engine.”

“I need a new engine?” I asked dumbly.

“You need a new engine and a new timing belt.”

All the wind left my lungs in a whoosh, and I staggered a bit to the side. I was dizzy, mostly because there were little dollar signs flying around my head. I couldn’t afford a new engine. I couldn’t afford a car. I had student loans out the wazoo.

In an instant, Cletus was at my elbow, his hand wrapping around my waist.

He must’ve realized I was about fall down, because he scooped me up in his arms and said, “You’ll have to grab my banjo and carry it on your lap.”

“What?” I stared up at him, at his brown beard and his perma-serious hazel eyes.

“My banjo case, you’ll need to carry it on your lap. I can’t carry both you and the case unless I put you over my shoulder. But I think that would be counterproductive, seeing as your skirt is extremely short and has already hiked up around your thighs.”

I glanced down at myself and found his words to be an understatement. I’d taken my cape off earlier. Along with my beard, hat, and staff, it was in the cab of the truck. Therefore I was basically mooning the darkened parking lot.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I shook my head to clear it. “Just…just put me down. I’ll figure something out.”

Cletus deposited my feet on the ground but didn’t move away. “Did your daddy already leave?”

I nodded. My dad and my brother would be on duty tonight. I had no desire to call them for a ride.

“What about your momma?”

“She’s visiting my aunt in Texas.” My teeth chattered and I glared at the monster truck.

I heard Cletus sigh. With his arm still around my waist, he walked us both to his banjo case and picked it up. “Well, looks like you’re coming with me. Do you have a sweater or something?”

“Naw, Cletus. I don’t want to be a bother.”

His hand gripped me tighter. “Nonsense. You’re no bother. But I have to make a stop before I take you home. What about that sweater? A coat maybe?”

“I have a wizard cape in the truck,” I offered weakly.

Cletus grunted and kicked my driver’s side door shut; he then pushed me gently against it. “Hold still.” He said, placing his banjo back on the ground. He took off his red and black flannel jacket and handed it to me.

I thought about pushing it away, but something about his deadpan expression told me not to argue.

“Thanks, Cletus.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Jackson.”

I frowned at the formal salutation. Cletus Winston was the third oldest of the Winston kids and was a full six or seven years older than me. “You can call me Jessica, you know.”

“Nope. You’re my teacher. It wouldn’t be fit.” He grabbed his banjo case in one arm, me with the other, and marched us to his car.

“Wait,” I glanced over my shoulder. “I didn’t lock the truck.”

Cletus shrugged. “I wouldn’t fret too much about it. In order for someone to steal the beast, they’d have to install a new engine.”

* * *

After the seventeenth switchback I lost count. All I knew was that Cletus was taking me up the mountain because he had to check on a friend’s house before he could take me home.

We fell into a surprisingly companionable silence as he focused on navigating his Geo Prism. That was also surprising — Cletus’s car choice. Here was a guy who worked on cars for a living. He, Duane, and Beau found old classics and fixed them up to sell at a hefty premium. According to my daddy, the Winston Brothers Auto Shop was doing gangbusters business.

And Cletus was driving a 1990 Geo Prism painted primer gray.

I tried to use the quiet time to ponder my own car situation, figure out a solution. Instead I spent 99 % of my brain power slapping away thoughts of Duane Winston and his tongue. He really did have a lovely tongue. Unlike all of my previous kiss-encounters, Duane seemed to actually know what he was doing with his tongue. He used it in the most delightful ways.

I was a little stunned and disoriented when we pulled into a gravel driveway at the very top of the mountain and Cletus put the car in neutral to park.

“We’re here,” he said, engaging the emergency break, the sound punctuating his words. “You should come with me. I don’t know how long I’ll be, and I don’t like the idea of leaving you in the car by yourself.”

I shrugged and looked around at the inky darkness. I had no idea where we were and couldn’t find my way back if my life and the future of chocolate hung in the balance.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Looks like there’s not another person out here for miles.”

“That may be…” he said, his eyes flickering over to mine before he twisted in his seat to pull out a large canvas bag from behind him, “but there are bears out here. This is a reliable car, but it won’t keep out bears.”

My eyes widened at the thought, and I quickly opened my door when he opened his. I followed him to a big house with a wraparound porch. All the lights were off.

“Whose house is this?” I asked, taking in the pretty white trim.

“Dr. Runous, the game warden from D.C. He’s on a trek with my brother Jethro at present up in North Carolina. Should be back close to Christmas, I suspect.”

“And you’re looking after the place?”

Cletus gave a non-committal shrug and veered away from the porch into the darkness. “More like, I’m keeping an eye on the two people who are supposed to be looking after the place.”

I stumbled on something I couldn’t see, causing Cletus to halt and turn. He fit his hand in mine then used the contact to pass me a flashlight. “Here, I got my hands full with this stuff,” he picked up the canvas bag which he’d momentarily placed at his feet. “Maybe you could make yourself useful by shining the light ahead of us.”

I got the impression that Cletus could see just fine without the flashlight but was perhaps looking to give me an excuse to use it. I gave him a grateful smile and clicked it on, shining the light ahead, and was surprised when I saw a wooden boardwalk with a rail directly in front of us.

“Where does this go?”

“Down to the lake.” Cletus began walking again, his boots connecting with the wood of the boardwalk, making a distinct thudding sound. His movements were swift while I hesitated, trying to see by the glow of the flashlight; therefore, he was soon twenty or more feet ahead of me. I realized we were approaching stairs that descended into a black nothing.

“Which lake?” I asked, hesitating again.

“Bandit Lake,” he threw over his shoulder just before falling out of sight

I stopped, suddenly unable to move, and whispered to myself, “Bandit Lake…”

Beau and Duane were at Bandit Lake.

My heart rate skyrocketed and, despite the fact that my legs were bare and I was in strappy high heels, I felt abruptly hot and anxious. I didn’t know what to do, so I stood stone still, my flashlight shining in the direction where Cletus had disappeared. I couldn’t go forward, so I lingered, feeling paralyzed and fretful for an indeterminate period of time. I kept thinking, What if he’s there? And not knowing which he I meant.

Did I mean Beau?…Or did I mean Duane?

Forward likely led to the twins — one made me tongue tied and the other…the other…

A rustling behind me caused me to jump, pulling me out of my musings and back to the present, a small squeak escaping my throat. I was still flushed, but I shivered, my heart now thundering in my chest. It might have been a bear. It might also have been a possum. I tried to calm down. But then an owl hooted, and my squeak turned into a yelp.

Winston twins or not, anything was preferable to being stranded alone in the darkness on a moonless Halloween night in the middle of nowhere. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I ventured forward and down the steps, pausing briefly to take off my shoes when I realized they were keeping me from moving at maximum speed.

I sprinted forward, a feeling of dread in my chest. Every few feet I thought I heard the sound of steps behind me. This only made me move recklessly faster. A lump formed in my throat when I realized I should have reached Cletus already, but the stairs were never ending. The light in front of me seemed to waver, and I comprehended that my hands were shaking. I clenched my jaw, telling myself to relax.

But then I heard the steps again, and this time they were unmistakable. Someone — or something—was behind me, and it was moving faster than I was. Panic and dread and every tortuous emotion clawed at my lungs, which were now on fire, and I had only one thought. I needed to get away.

I descended another two full flights, the sound at my back growing louder, and a scream started building in my throat. But just before I released it, a hand closed around my mouth, and an arm wrapped around my middle, easily lifting me off my feet.

I thrashed against the strong hold, dropping both my shoes and the flashlight in my struggle. Blind fear took the place of sense, and I bit one of the fingers over my mouth with gusty violence.

“Ow! Dammit that hurt!” I felt the hard chest behind me vibrate as the hand was removed from my mouth. I was not so far gone to recognize that the voice of my captor belonged to either Duane or Beau Winston.

Therefore I froze.

“Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing here, and why the hell did you bite me?”

I swallowed, tearing my lip through my teeth. My back was still to his front, my feet were still not touching the ground.

Tentatively, I asked, “Duane?”

He stilled, and I felt some of the tension leave his arms. Slowly, carefully, gently he set me down and turned me to face him. I could just make out a shadow of his features in the starlight.

“Jessica?” he asked, his hands on my shoulders. “Jessica James?”

“Yes. Yes, it’s me.” I swallowed my last word, my knees feeling weak as adrenaline left my body. I was so relieved. Despite our lengthy history of mutual dislike and his trickery earlier in the evening, my chest flooded with warmth at the sight of him. I couldn’t ever remember being so happy to see the outline of another person in my whole life.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft and concerned.

Overcome, I lunged forward and threw my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. I knew I was behaving like a lunatic, but I’d spent the whole night thinking about him. I needed him to hold me; even if he didn’t like me, I needed him.

He shushed me, his arms coming around my body, his hand petting my hair. “It’s all right, Jessica. I got you now.”

I had no idea how much time passed as we stood holding each other. I know I snuggled shamelessly closer, eliciting a short, velvety chuckle from him.

And then, just as I was beginning to relax and decide what to do next, he surprised the hell out of me by saying, “Jessica, I have to tell you. I’m not Duane, honey. I’m Beau.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, but before I could react, before I distinguished whether what I felt was joy or disappointment, the screams started.

Part 4: Double Dare

— Duane~

I knew the exact moment I fell for Jessica James. I remember it clear as day.

Even though I hadn’t set my eyes on her for years, time and distance hadn’t dulled the memory. It just made her presence now in Green Valley feel fleeting, like she was slipping through my fingers.

I was sixteen. She was fourteen. I shoved her off a dock into the river behind our house. Instead of screaming or freaking out like a stupid girl, she grabbed my leg on her way down and pulled me under too, dragging me out to the middle.

I was in swim shorts, and she was in her Sunday school dress. While we were struggling under the water, she pulled my shorts down and off then escaped. She was the better swimmer, even in a Sunday school dress, seeing as how she’d been on the swim team since elementary school.

Jessica climbed onto the bank. Her blonde hair was wet, tangled around her face, down her back. Her white dress clung to her body making every young curve visible, and she took off. She’d always been real pretty, but so had lots of other girls. Spitting mad, I ran after her, not caring one lick that I was naked.

I caught her easy enough — I was the better runner — and tackled her to the ground. I pinned her hands above her head and searched them. They were empty.

“Where are my shorts?” I demanded, furious.

Her body shook beneath mine; she was laughing. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t hardly breathe, and I remember thinking she was beautiful.

Then she said, “I threw them in a tree.”

I watched her, again losing her breath to laughter, and I couldn’t stop my smile. “You threw them in a tree?” I asked, feeling a touch of wonder at her cleverness.

“Yeah,” she’d said, her smile wide and crooked, “you think being mean is enough. Being mean and being smart is better.”

That was the moment. That was when it happened.

I hadn’t noticed her, or any other girl, until I was nearly fourteen. By then it was too late. She disliked me. But she worshipped my brother. He didn’t see her, not really. Not like I did. I’d always liked her, but I fell hard the day she threw my swim trunks into a tree.

Presently, I was sitting on the edge of Bandit Lake, staring at the bonfire Beau and I had built hours before and feeling downright sorry for myself. I stood, shaking my head, and pushed the memory aside. I glanced at my cup. It was empty, and I was two vodka shots shy of drunk.

I was refilling the cup when Cletus suddenly appeared at the edge of the bonfire and gave me a fright.

He was a floating head, his body invisible. I was the first to see him, and he scared the butter off my biscuits. I inhaled sharply and jumped about three feet. He also made me spill the vodka.

“Dammit, Cletus!” I closed my eyes, concentrated on slowing my pulse.

Then one of the girls screamed. Then another. Soon they were all screaming. I sighed because they were irritating.

Cattle, I thought. It was an uncharitable thought. My mother would have been disappointed.

I opened my eyes, grinding my teeth, and set about the task of pacifying the screamers. “It’s Cletus, my brother. Tina, listen to me, Tina — it’s just Cletus.”

Tina’s screams continued until I covered her mouth with my hand; her blue eyes were wide and worried as she glanced from me to my older brother. When I was sure she wasn’t going to scream again, I took my palm away.

“Cletus?” she parroted, frowning. Her face was framed by a black and yellow wig; her cleavage was spilling out of the sexy bee costume she wore as she gathered gulping breaths.

“Yeah. It’s Cletus. Just Cletus.” I glanced at him. He wasn’t helping the situation by hovering just beyond the glow of the fire, his eyes eerily wide. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. He really did look like a floating head.

The other guys had also stood, but were now shaking off the brief fright and moving forward to welcome my brother.

In all, we had about twenty-five people gathered, almost an equal amount of guys and girls. The bonfire had been Beau’s idea, and he’d promised to keep the party small. Twenty five felt like a crowd. The mood I was in, I would have preferred five or six…or one.

Tina wrapped her arms around me, giggling into my chest. She was two vodka shots past drunk, and she was pissing me off. “Duane, baby. Hold me, I’m scared.”

I placed my arm around her shoulders, mostly to keep her from falling into the flames and ruining everyone’s good time, and walked her over to a blanket. My plan to remove her from my person proved difficult, because she seemed to have grown two more arms. Each time I removed one, another three took its place. Too late I realized this was because she was now climbing me with her legs. She made my skin crawl.

“Come on, Tina.” I pushed her away, cursing my brother for inviting her in the first place.

Tina and I had been seeing each other on and off for going on six years until I’d called it quits once and for all four months ago. This was the first time I’d seen her since.

Looking back, six years with Tina was five years and eleven months too long. Sure, she was pretty enough, beautiful even. She had a free-spirited wildness that had been fun for about ten minutes. She also had the body of an exotic dancer — because she was one — and never lacked enthusiasm when we fucked.

But that’s all it had ever been — fucking.

And six years of fucking around was more than enough.

What Tina had in looks she lacked in sense. She was shrewd but ignorant. I couldn’t talk to her about anything, because she didn’t know about anything other than townie gossip, biker gossip, how to work a pole, and how to spread her legs.

Hell, I was ready shoot that horse four years ago. But she’d become a bad habit. She was easy and soft and persistent. And that had been enough to keep me from turning her away.

Until last July.

Until I found out from Jackson James that his sister was moving back to town.

With a firm grip I finally succeeded in removing Tina’s claws, setting her on the blanket and away from me.

“Stay there,” I ordered, then walked around the circle of flames to greet my brother, throwing my cup in the fire. Tina climbing on me was incentive enough to sober up. I heard her call after me, but I ignored it. Two shots shy of drunk was where I wanted to stop, especially since I was still frustrated from earlier events.

“It’s me, your brother Cletus,” he said unnecessarily — as he was prone to do — dropping a canvas bag to the ground at his feet.

I felt my lips tug to the side. He was wearing a black turtleneck and pants; this explained why he looked like a floating head.

“Hey, are you sticking around?”

“Nah, just dropping off the supplies Beau wanted.”

I studied him. He looked cold. “You want to warm up next to the fire before you go?”

“Sure. Maybe for a bit.” He shrugged, glanced at the crowd. “Who are these people?”

“Mostly Beau’s friends.” I scanned several unfamiliar faces. “You know how he is, he has more friends than that tree has leaves. Some are from Merryville, a few came over from the Cades Cove side.”

I knew the moment his eyes found Tina because they turned mean. “What’s she doing here? You two back together?”

“No.” I said, feeling revulsion at the thought. “No way.”

He nodded, frowning in an atypical display of dislike. “Good, cause she’s a crazy bitch.”

I didn’t even have three seconds to register or feel surprise at Cletus’s words before Beau reappeared at the edge of the bonfire, drawing everyone’s attention to him and the girl he had tucked under his arm.

If Cletus’s statement had surprised me, then the sight of Jessica James pressed against my twin nearly knocked me flat on my ass.

Time slowed. I couldn’t breathe. My vision turned red. My throat and chest burned. I wanted to punch something…or someone.

“What the fuck…?” My thoughts escaped on a breath, and a deep, piercing pain twisted in my gut. Thankfully, only Cletus had heard my curse.

“Oh, yeah. Catastrophic engine failure.” Cletus lifted his chin toward Jessica as though Catastrophic Engine Failure was her name. “I’m taking her home.”

I turned my glare to Cletus and snapped, “What do you mean you’re taking her home?”

His stare narrowed, and he openly studied me. I hated it when he did this. When Cletus put his mind to something, he could see everything. I adverted my eyes but then instantly regretted it, because Jessica was looking straight at me. Images of her exposed breasts, her hot looks, bringing my hand to her flimsy panties played through my mind’s eye.

I swallowed so I wouldn’t groan. Again my gut twisted, again I couldn’t breathe. I fought to distance myself from her gaze, but she reeled me in. Jessica was so much more than beautiful.

I hadn’t wanted things to escalate backstage at the community center; that wasn’t my intent or my goal. It was a kiss I was after, a single kiss. I wanted her mouth on mine. I wanted the memory. With Jessica, I wanted so much more than fucking around.

When she’d thought I was Beau, her big brown eyes had been trusting, adoring. She’d never looked at me like that before. It was addictive. I wanted her to do it again. But my prospects were dwindling, slipping through my fingers.

Her skin had been soft, like a petal or silk. I balled my hands into fists and forced my mind to blank. Even so, my eyes were drawn to her lips. They’d always been a little slanted, higher on one side than the other. This imperfection only added to her appeal. It made her look like she was thinking about a private joke, like she was ready to laugh.

My eyes lowered to her neck before I willed them to stop. If I moved them any lower I would be thinking about her naked. I didn’t need that kind of torture. So I brought my eyes back to hers.

She wasn’t looking at me with trust now. I couldn’t read her expression, but it appeared to be founded in unkind thoughts.

I wiped my expression clean. I didn’t want her to see what she did to me. I was caught in her web. Worse, she didn’t even know that she’d caught me. And even if she had known, she couldn't care less.

These thoughts tasted bitter, and I regretted throwing away my cup.

“Everyone, this is Jessica James.” Beau announced with his usual effortless charm. He glanced down at her, and she removed her eyes from mine to look at my brother. He smiled. She returned it. I felt like I’d swallowed rocks. “Jessica, this is everyone.”

People waved. A few stood up to greet her. But I could only stare. I felt like I’d been planted, roots had grown out of my feet. I couldn’t look away. She was wearing a man’s jacket — I suspected Cletus’s by the look of it — but her long, toned legs were still bare to her thighs, and she had no shoes.

“I think we’ll stay for a while,” Cletus announced.

“Fine,” I said, realizing too late it sounded like a growl.

“Good.”

“Okay then.”

“Excellent,” he said, rubbing his hands together. He had the outward appearance of calm, bored even. But I knew my brother well enough to know his tells. Rubbing his hands together meant he was near giddy. My suspicions were confirmed when he added, “In fact, we should all play a game.”

I scowled at him, still wanting to punch something, and he was closest.

“Hey, Beau,” Cletus ignored me, stepping forward. “Duane wants to play Truth or Dare.”

I set my jaw, grimacing. Several people voiced their support for this terrible idea. Before long, someone had placed a cup in Jessica’s hand, the crowd was huddled together, and truths were being shared like STDs and unsolicited advice.

I withdrew to the edge of the group, sitting with my knees up and my elbows resting on them. I couldn’t help but watch my brother Beau with Jessica. It was like rubbing salt on a wound or shoving a hot poker up my nose. Each time she smiled at him was a knife in my heart.

She was sitting close; his arm was around her. They were laughing together. I wanted to gouge my eyes out.

Just when I’d had enough and was thinking about leaving, Tina turned to me and said, “Duane baby, truth or dare?”

She cast me a seductive gaze, her blue eyes flirtatious as she sucked on her index finger. It did nothing for me.

I shrugged and said, “I’m not playing.”

“Come on! It was your idea.” Tina pouted, appealing to the crowd.

I felt myself grimace as I ground out, “Fine. Dare.”

Most people chose truth, but I prefer dare. I couldn’t think of doing a single thing that scared me, and I’d never embarrassed easily. However, talking about myself in front of Jessica felt terrifying.

Tina squealed and clapped. She reminded me of a piglet. “Yay! Okay, good. I was hoping you’d pick dare. I dare you to come over here and kiss me.”

Someone, likely an asshole, called out, “I’ll take that dare!”

I tried not to gag.

My attention moved to Jessica. I don’t know why I did it. Some part of me, likely the asshole part that enjoys feeling like shit, wanted to see her reaction — or non-reaction.

But to my surprise, she wasn’t gazing at Beau. She was looking at Tina, and she was looking at Tina like she wanted to bury her alive. The intensity of her glare, the ice behind it, caught me off guard. Suddenly, kissing Tina didn’t seem quite so disgusting.

“All right,” I drawled.

Jessica’s eyes flickered to mine. Before she was able to hide it, I saw misery. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, I also saw jealousy.

Encouraged by the possibility that Jess might care at all about who I was kissing, I stood and picked my way through the crowd, then knelt in front of Tina. I had a decision to make.

I could give her a quick peck and move the game forward.

Or, I could kiss Tina like I wanted to kiss Jess. I could use her. I could exploit the situation and potentially push Jess out of her comfort zone, hopefully provoking some response. Something to give me a reason to hope.

Decision made, I grabbed Tina by the neck, and I kissed the hell out of her.

Pretending Tina Patterson was Jessica James was like pretending tofu was steak. Despite the disparity in quality, texture, and taste, I soldiered on. I tapped into a hell of a lot of pent-up sexual frustration and had to restrain her hands when I felt them reach for my dick. Despite all this, I ended it artfully, with lip-biting and sucking flourish.

The crowd had made noises at first, egging me on. But then they grew quiet, and I heard a few whispered, Damn, that boy can kiss and I’m next and Remind me to use my next turn on Duane.

As soon as I finished, I lifted my eyes to Jess, and what I saw made my chest hurt. But this time, it was a good hurt.

Her glare was affixed to mine, her face was bright red. Her usual charming smirk was replaced with a deep frown. Beyond all that, she was giving me a hot look.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stood, holding her gaze, and leaving Tina dazed on the blanket.

“It’s your turn, Duane,” Cletus’s voice broke the silence. He sounded cheerful…for Cletus. “Pick anyone you want, anyone at all.”

I nodded, my eyes never leaving Jessica’s, and gritted my teeth in preparation for what I was going to do next. It would require courage, the kind that risks public rejection.

“Jessica.” Her name on my lips sounded too loud. I had an odd thought just then, that I should only ever whisper her name, and that she should always be close enough to hear it. “Truth or dare?”

Her gaze narrowed. Even beneath the thick coat she wore, I could see her chest rise and fall with her breath. To drive my point home, I allowed my eyes to flicker meaningfully to Beau. I hoped she’d interpret the movement as an implied threat to expose her feelings for him.

For the record, I would never do that. I would have to be a complete idiot to do that. If Beau had any idea, he’d be a jackass to let her go. Also, it would be a betrayal. I didn’t want to betray Jessica. I wanted to cherish her.

“Dare,” she said, like she was daring me and not the other way around.

I kept my relief from showing but did allow myself a smirk. “Okay. Dare it is.”

Again I picked my way through the crowd, and again I knelt down on the blanket; but this time I was kneeling next to Jess, and she was adorably ruffled, unable to hide her anger.

“I dare you to come with me and go skinny dipping in Bandit Lake for the next hour.”

Her brown eyes widened, rimmed with shock, and the crowd erupted in opinions. I heard someone say, I should have thought of that one, that’s a good one.

“Well?” I pushed, suppressing my enthusiasm under an expression of boredom. “What’s it going to be?”

Finally she sputtered, “An hour? That lake is near freezing; we’ll get hypothermia.”

“Okay, thirty minutes then.”

“Thirty minutes?”

“Fifteen. Final offer. Or else you have to choose truth.”

A wrinkle formed above her nose, and her eyes bounced between mine. Then, abruptly, she lifted her chin and said, “Fine. I accept.”

She stood, unzipped her jacket, tossed it to Cletus, then jogged out of the circle of the bonfire’s light. I was too surprised to move at first, but then Beau punched me in the shoulder.

“What are you waiting for, dumbass? Go get her!”

I stared at my brother for a beat and saw what I’d been blind to earlier. Beau wasn’t interested in Jessica, not because she wasn't beautiful or amazing. She was. She was gorgeous. She was breathtaking. She was too good for either of us.

Beau wasn't interested in Jess, because he knew how I felt. Of course he did. We were twins. He must’ve always known.

We exchanged a brotherly grin, and he punched me again. “Go on, get.”

I nodded once then stood, toeing my boots off and pulling both my sweater and shirt over my head. I left everything but my pants in a pile on the blanket then sprinted into the woods after Jessica James.

I was always running after her, but this time I wasn't going to let her get away.

END

About the Author

This is the fifth full-length novel published by Penny Reid. Her days are spent writing federal grant proposals for biomedical research; her evenings are either spent playing dress-up or mad-scientist with her two people-children (boy-7, girl-4) or knitting with her knitting group at the local coffee shop. Please feel free to drop her a line. She'd be happy to hijack your thoughts!

Come find me-

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Other books by Penny Reid

Knitting in the City Series

Neanderthal Seeks Human: A Smart Romance (#1)

Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (#1.5)

Friends without Benefits: An Unrequited Romance (#2)

Love Hacked: A Reluctant Romance (#3)

Beauty and the Mustache: A Philosophical Romance (#4)

Happily Ever Ninja: A Married Romance (#5 coming Fall 2015)

Book #6 — TBD

Book #7 — TBD

The Hypothesis Series

The Elements of Chemistry

(#1, coming Spring 2015; continuation of Bunsen Burner Bingo)

The Winston Brother’s Series

Double Dare (#1, coming Summer 2015)

Nightmare in Night Court

by N.M. Silber

When lusty lawyers meet creepy criminals

Copyright © 2014/N.M. Silber

Proofed by Proofing Style, Inc./Marla Esposito

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

I dedicate this story to Shaggy, Scooby, Freddie, Daphne, and especially Velma, because it’s hard to be the brainy chick (even though that orange turtleneck was just awful). Thanks for the memories. I forgive you for the Scrappy years.

NOTICE: This is an adult contemporary romance novel and contains EXPLICIT descriptions of sexual acts and mature language. It is intended for readers over the age of eighteen.

Chapter One

“So, how’s it going, honey?” my best friend, Jess, asked as soon as I answered my cell phone. I watched as a sheriff escorted a six-foot-five leprechaun away in handcuffs.

“How’s it going? I’m in Night Court in Philly. That’s a nightmare under the best of circumstances. Throw in the fact that it’s Halloween and there’s a full moon tonight, and you have the makings of a bad horror movie. Part sixteen.”

“At least your hottie hubby is there with you, and you two only have one case.”

“Correction, we only had one case. Judge Epstein appointed us to several other cases, because the place is hopping, and she didn’t want us to feel left out. By the way, that one case we were here for, do you remember the charge?”

“Disorderly Conduct? What about him?”

“He admitted to being in the U.S. without a visa.”

“Oh no, an illegal alien …”

“He’s originally from the planet Nebulon Six.”

“Is that anywhere near Tijuana?”

“One galaxy over.”

“What are the other cases like?”

“Would you rather hear about the guy whose file says he died in 1905, or the guy who I think might be a vampire?”

“They’re two different people? Is anyone on your caseload human?”

“Mr. Harris, the shoplifter is back. This time they caught him with three bags of candy corn, a gallon of spiced cider and about 500 miniature Snickers bars in his pants.”

“Well, it is Halloween, honey.” She sighed. “I suppose this means you and Braden won’t be joining the party anytime soon. I’ll send someone else out for ice.”

“Probably a good idea.” I looked up at that moment and saw my tall blonde husband stalking across the courtroom to question a witness, and it made me shiver in a good way. “You know, I have to admit, that even though this is like punishment for doing something bad in a former life, seeing Braden being commanding in a courtroom again, makes it much more bearable.”

“Uh oh, there will be no sexy deliberations in the jury room for old time’s sake. The quicker you get out of there, the quicker you can find a more private place to examine his briefs. Besides, nobody wants to make an ice run.”

“I’m overwhelmed by your sympathy.”

“Have fun! Say ‘hi’ to Mr. Harris for me, and thank him for helping me to stick to my diet.”

“Later.” I clicked my phone off and took a deep breath, steeling my nerves. Before my husband and I had founded our own legal non-profit, I'd been a public defender here in the City of Brotherly Love, so this wasn’t my first time at the rodeo. Nevertheless, tonight was already shaping up to be a whole new level of crazy.

“Mrs. Pierce,” Judge Debra Epstein, originally of Bayonne, New Jersey, shouted across the courtroom, “what’s going awn with Mowrk from Owrk?” She was such a delicate snowflake.

“Mr. Smith went to get a drink of water. He isn’t feeling well, Your Honor,” I explained.

“Well, go get him and tell him it’s time to take him to your leader, counselor!”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I replied as my husband caught my eye and gave me an amused, but sympathetic, look. Even amused sympathy looked sexy on Braden. I headed for the hall, but before I exited the courtroom, Mr. Smith, my interstellar client, returned.

“I need to get out of here,” he said with a desperate look.

“We all do, Mr. Smith.”

“No! You don’t understand! This atmosphere is toxic.”

“I do understand. I had to work this courtroom for a whole month once.”

“Counselor!” Judge Epstein bellowed, in case I'd forgotten.

“Coming Your Honor!” I bellowed back. I was from New York. I could bellow. “We are not helping your case by keeping her waiting. Let’s go.” I turned and headed to the bench with E.T. right behind me.

“Mr. Brenner, what are the charges?” Judge Epstein glared at the handsome dark-haired, young prosecutor standing next to me. She was an equal opportunity Gorgon.

“Disorderly Conduct, Your Honor. However, since the defendant confessed to being in this country illegally, we were obligated to inform the INS. We’re still waiting for an agent to arrive.” He sighed and shifted his weight to the other foot. Poor Mr. Brenner. He had obviously pissed off somebody in his office. Assigning a young guy, barely out of law school, to Night Court on Halloween had to be a malicious act.

“Ha! You’re waiting for a federal employee to show up in Night Court on Halloween! That’s rich. I hope you brought a snack. Call the next case!”

“Judge!” Mr. Smith broke in. “The gravity …”

“I’m glad you realize this is serious. Now go sit down and contemplate.” She banged her gavel and gave him a gaze that would have withered a lesser alien.

“You don’t understand,” he tried again undaunted, clearly unfamiliar with Judge Epstein’s species. “The level of gravity where I come from is significantly lower. If I don’t get out of here, I may implode.”

“Yeah, you and me both, honey. Mr. Brenner, I don’t have all night! Move it along!” She banged her gavel again for good measure, narrowly missing the fingers of her clerk who was placing a file in front of her. I noticed that he had a nervous twitch, and I wondered whether or not that would be covered under Workmen’s Compensation.

“I’m warning you,” Mr. Smith said, giving me an earnest look, “if I don’t get back to the Mother Ship soon, it will be very ugly.”

“Look, Mr. Smith. I’m doing the best I can here, but the federal government is not noted for the speed of its response even during normal business hours. I wouldn’t exactly expect them to race down here at,” I glanced at my watch, “eleven-thirty PM on Halloween night because some guy from Nebulon Six doesn’t have the proper visa.”

“I’m not trying to be difficult, Mrs. Pierce. I’m merely letting you know that there could be green innards all over the floor in here if I don’t get out of this gravity.”

“It won’t be the first time, I’m sure, Mr. Smith. Now, go have a seat and I’ll let you know as soon as immigration gets here.”

I turned and headed for the defense table to get the file for my next case. Braden was there shuffling through some papers. Even after a year of married life, the sight of him still made my pulse race. He was big and blonde, like a Norse God, and he could do things to my body that sent me to another planet. Braden took sexy to illegal heights.

Back in the day, the two of us had been known to engage in some very interesting negotiations in various locations here at the criminal courts building. Ironically, though, now that we worked together, we hardly ever appeared in court at the same time. I had almost forgotten how seeing him so cool, confident and in control could melt my panties and make me want to be a bad girl.

He looked up and I saw his eyes darken. He gave me his hot Braden sex look, and I was tempted to throw myself down on the defense table in front of him and plead for mercy. The fact that we could turn each other on with just a look, while standing in the middle of Philly Night Court, was a testament to the volcanic level of sexual chemistry we had.

“Hey, Mr. Pierce,” I said in what I fancied to be my sultry voice.

“Mrs. Pierce, have you come to make a motion?” He gave me a cocky smile.

“I don’t know that we would have a chance to fully reach a resolution. The pace here is pretty frantic.” One thing I didn’t need was the pressure of trying to reach the Promised Land before Judge Epstein started bellowing somewhere nearby.

“She has to take a recess eventually. Nobody can sustain that much wrath for too long without a break. I’ve already spoken to my two clients, so I’m free and ready to engage in some private negotiations anytime you are.”

“I’ve spoken to both of mine too. If she calls a recess of at least half an hour, you’re on. In the meanwhile, while we have a moment, let’s compare notes.”

“Okay, for round one, I have this Mr. Marley, charged with trespass and prowling at night,” he said picking up a file and furrowing his brows. “He’s odd.”

“No, really? Imagine that,” I commented, dryly.

“I mean odd even for Philly criminal court,” he clarified.

“How so?” I leaned against the table and looked up at my handsome husband. There were still moments that I couldn’t believe that a clumsy, socially awkward woman like me, had charmed a gorgeous, sexy, guy like him. Braden loved me, though, quirks and all. In fact, I suspected that he loved me because of them.

“It’s weird, I can’t put my finger on it exactly, something about the way he talks, and the way he’s dressed.”

“He’s wearing a suit,” I noted, looking up at the gallery, where people sat waiting for cases to be heard. Mr. Marley was staring at a wall as if he were watching it do something. Okay, I could see Braden’s point.

“Yeah, but it’s the cut of it …”

“The cut of it? What are you, his tailor?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking sheepish. “It’s probably my imagination.”

“Oh wait, he’s the guy whose file said that he died in 1905. So, there you go. He’s odd because he’s been dead for over a century.”

“Yeah, right.” Braden rolled his eyes. “They still haven’t gotten that straightened out by the way. His case is all messed up. It’s listed on the docket for October 31st, but the year of his trial is also listed as 1905. There must have been some glitch in Records.”

“Either that or he’s a ghost.”

“Well then, I should introduce him to them.” Braden gestured at a team of guys in black t-shirts and ball caps who were laying wire and setting up some kind of equipment.

“Who are they? They don’t look like the Maintenance Department. For one thing, they’re not sitting in the lobby eating doughnuts.”

“Don’t you recognize the Spirit Hunters Team from television? They’re here to try to capture paranormal activity.”

“Well, they’re in the right place. Nothing here is normal.”

“How’s your close encounter of the annoying kind going?”

“Mr. Smith has an urgent need to return to the Mother Ship as soon as possible. He has warned me that Earth’s gravitational pull might result in him imploding into a puddle of green slime.”

“That would suck.”

“Yeah, especially since nothing involving Night Court is urgent to the Feds. It’s going to be a green bloodbath.” I nodded. “How about your other case?”

“Delores Crowley? She’s a strange woman who does creepy things.”

“Have small children mysteriously gone missing in her yard?”

“Nah, she’s charged with Disorderly Conduct, and Terroristic Threats.” He glanced at the file he was holding. “Oh, and, uh, littering.”

“Glad they tacked that on there. God forbid, a disorderly litterbug walk free. What’s her story?”

“She’s an exorcist.”

“Who did she threaten, Satan? And more importantly, will he be testifying?” You needed to have a sense of humor in this business. And alcohol. It was also important to have alcohol.

“Testifying for the Commonwealth will be Mr. Evan Drake. You’re going to love Ev. Trust me. He’s such a winner.” Braden smiled.

“Even better. Speaking of people who you would never want to bring home to meet mom, my other client is Mr. Bates. There’s something really creepy about him.”

“How so?’

“He has a weird way of staring at you, and he’s so pale and still.”

“What’s he charged with?”

“Abuse of a corpse. He’s an undertaker’s assistant.”

“That last one might be the biggest reason he’s creepy. Just sayin’. ”

“Yeah. I should introduce him to Mr. Marley. He likes dead people.”

Just then Judge Epstein summoned Braden, so I decided that I would chat with the Crypt Keeper some more. He was sitting in the only shadow in the entire courtroom. It figured. I grabbed his file and headed in his direction.

He was a tall, thin, pale guy with beady eyes and a hawk-like nose. He looked like the love child of Monty Burns from The Simpsons, and Riff Raff from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. What a cutie.

“Mrs. Pierce.” He had the bubbly voice of a spokesmodel. Okay, not really, he sounded like he looked, which was like the Grim Reaper.

“Mr. Bates, we’re just waiting for your case to be called. The docket is very full this evening,” I explained in case that fact had eluded him.

“It’s the full moon,” he replied, eyes widening. A wolf cry echoed from somewhere in the distance, or it might have been Judge Epstein.

“You know, I think that’s true,” I agreed. “It seems like the full moon really does bring out all the crazies. Oh! Uh, no offense.”

“None taken.”

“So let’s go over the facts of the case once again. This was just a mistake …” I had never heard that one before.

“I had moved the object in question …”

“That would be Mr. Peterman?” I interrupted.

“It would be the mortal remains of Mr. Peterman. It’s kind of a funny story.”

“Hey, with a dead body involved, how could it not be?”

“I’m assigned to the night shift at the funeral parlor.”

“And Mr. Peterman gave you a ride to work?” I joked. He didn’t look amused. I had a feeling that he blended in well with the other corpses. Who knew that funeral parlors even had a night shift?

“Philadelphia is a scary place at night.” He had to be kidding.

“Were you planning to use Mr. Peterman as the Neighborhood Watch? Wouldn’t someone less dead have been a better choice?”

“I was worried that someone might steal my car.” Someone might steal his car? Hold on a second. I looked down at my file.

“That would be the 1998 Geo Metro?”

“It’s a classic. I thought that maybe if the car looked occupied …”

“And you were going to put Mr. Peterman in your car so that he could act like some sort of scarecrow?” Oh I couldn’t wait to tell Judge Epstein this one.

“Exactly.” An evil grin spread across his crooked mouth and I cringed at the sight of his jagged yellow teeth. He looked like a shark, a really creepy shark. Jinkies Scooby! “What else would I have been doing with a dead body? I wasn’t planning to take him home to meet my mother.” He burst onto a fit of laughter that could only be described a “diabolical.” It sounded like “bwahahahaha.” I wish I were kidding. I inched back a bit further. I didn’t want to think about what else he could be doing with a dead body.

“Okay, then. And if for some wacky reason, that perfectly reasonable explanation doesn’t fly with Judge Epstein, do you want me to try to negotiate a guilty plea or request a trial date?”

“Eh. See what they offer.”

“Gotcha. Okay, see you soon.” I smiled and got up to leave. The moment I turned my back I rolled my eyes. I caught sight of Braden again. Judge Epstein had called his case with Ms. Crowley, who was dressed in every color imaginable. She looked like somebody threw up a rainbow. I think the look she was going for was Sideshow Fortuneteller chic. I decided to pause to watch. I had a feeling it could get interesting.

“What are the charges Mr. Brenner?” Judge Epstein, for once didn’t bellow. Maybe she recognized Ms. Crowley as one of her own.

“Disorderly Conduct, Terroristic Threats and Littering.”

“I assume that the defendant has not waived the preliminary hearing, because that would make my life too easy.”

“That’s correct, Your Honor,” Braden replied with a smile. God, I loved him.

“Are the Commonwealth’s witnesses present, Mr. Brenner?” she asked with a glimmer of hope shining in her steely eyes like a glint on the edge of a dagger.

“They are, Your Honor,” he replied, and the light was extinguished.

“Let’s get this show on the road then. Nothing like the intricate legal challenge of a littering case.” The attorneys and Ms. Crowley resumed their seats at opposing counsel table.

“The Commonwealth calls Mr. Evan Drake.” A guy in tight pants and a T-shirt that said, “Hello, my name is Stud,” stalked up to the witness stand. As he passed by, I saw that the back said “Kiss me before my girlfriend gets back.” Ah, there was nothing like a manly man with a fabulous wit. He looked like a real catch. The kind you throw back. He was sworn in and stated his name and address for the record. He could even spell it. Who knew?

“Mr. Drake,” Mr. Brenner began, “do you recognize that woman?” He looked over at the defense table.

“Yes I do,” Ev spat back in a whiny voice. “That’s the woman who threatened me.” He seemed like the type who was threatened by women in general. I could tell already that Braden was right; I was going to love Ev. What intelligent woman with self-respect wouldn’t?

“Let the record indicate that the witness has identified the defendant, Delores Crowley. And do you recall seeing Ms. Crowley on the night of September 23rd of this year, sir?”

“Yeah. She was trying to get into my friggin’ apartment. Not that she would be the first chick to try that.” He snorted and flexed. Oh my, what a turn on. Someone stop me from tossing my panties at his feet.

“Would you please explain what you mean? About her trying to get in, that is.”

“I live in a two unit building. I’m on the first floor. Anyway, that wackadoo, ‘Steven,’ who lives above me, had that woman come to his apartment for some mumbo jumbo party.” He made sure to lisp as he pronounced his neighbor’s name. Wow, a homophobe too. He was getting sexier by the minute. Somehow, I thought that Ev had a smaller unit than Steven.

“What do you mean ‘mumbo jumbo party’ Mr. Drake?” Mr. Brenner asked.

“She came in and I heard furniture moving around upstairs and moaning coming from Steven’s place. Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of moaning coming from my place on any given night, but this was different.” Ev sat back and gave us all what I’m sure he thought was a cocky grin, but in reality, it was more like a dicky smile. Judge Epstein was looking at Ev like one would look at a bag of burning dog pooh.

“What happened?” Mr. Brenner asked, clearing his throat and grimacing. He looked like he had eaten some bad dip.

I noted that Mr. Brenner and Mr. Drake resembled each other physically. They were both tall, dark haired guys in their mid-twenties. But, while I could understand Mr. Brenner being popular with the ladies, I couldn’t help feeling that a woman would have to be desperate, or clinically brain dead, to even have a one-night stand with Ev.

“What happened was that the lights went out and came back on a few times and the air conditioning went on the blink. Then the next thing I knew, they were pounding on my door.”

“What did they want?” Mr. Brenner leaned against the prosecution table and crossed his arms.

“Steven said that the crazy chick was an exorcist and she was ‘cleansing’ the house.” He made little air quotes and rolled his eyes.

“What happened then?”

“She started mumbling and moaning. She sounded like she had been on a bender, you know? Then she pointed at me! That nasty bi … woman, said that I was full of bad energy. Can you believe that garbage?” He looked up at Judge Epstein imploringly. Her head was cocked to the side as she squinted at him. I think she was wondering if evil might be inhabiting Ev. My money was on him being possessed by the spirit of a 1970’s B-list porn star.

“What, if anything, did you say in response?” Mr. Brenner went on.

“I told them to get out of my friggin’ apartment but she said that I was the reason that our building was cursed. Can you imagine, somebody saying that I brought them bad mojo?”

“Hell yeah!” yelled some woman from the gallery.

“Order,” Judge Epstein said sternly, but I saw her smile a little.

“She said your building is cursed?” Mr. Brenner went on, glancing up almost apologetically at the woman. Clearly, he agreed with her.

“Like I said, the lights go on and off and we’ve got problems with the heat and the air conditioning. It gets really cold in some rooms, and hotter everywhere else. That’s not a curse though. It’s a cheap-ass landlord who doesn’t want to hire anybody to fix it.”

“What happened after you told them to get out?”

“Steven told her they should go because I wasn’t going to cooperate. Damn straight I wasn’t. But that nut wouldn’t leave. She kept insisting that I was the reason that our building was cursed, and she had to do some kind of exorcism and ‘cleanse’ my apartment. She was just after some extra cash. I know how these people work.”

“What happened then?”

“She started chanting some BS about returning to where I came from. I told her I came from Jersey, and she could go back to the nuthouse.”

“Did she leave?”

“No, and I tried to slam my door in her face, but she started yelling, ‘to hell with you.’ So, I yelled, to hell with you too lady! I felt threatened — in fear for my life, you know?” Oh please! I rolled my eyes.

“Did she do anything else?”

“Yeah, she dropped garlic cloves and salt all over the place.”

“No further questions.”

“Cross examination.” Judge Epstein grumbled.

“Mr. Drake,” Braden said, standing to his full six-foot-three-inch height and striding up to the witness stand commandingly. Ev shrunk back a little. “Isn’t it true that when Mr. Steven McKenna and Ms. Delores Crowley showed up at your door you opened it willingly?”

“Yeah, so?”

“You weren’t in any fear at that point, correct?”

“Not at that point, no.”

“Ms. Crowley never laid a hand on you at any point during this interaction, correct?”

“Nah, but she’s a chick, so she probably thought about it.” He started snort laughing. Braden stared. He stopped snort laughing.

“She never said she would harm you in any way, right?”

“She said ‘I order you to leave.’ That sounds like an implied threat to me.”

“Your Honor …” Braden began.

“Answer the question he asked you,” Judge Epstein snapped and Ev gave her a wounded look.

“She never actually said she would harm me, no,” he answered petulantly.

“And you testified that you yourself were yelling, correct?”

“Yeah, but she yelled first.”

“Other than the garlic and the salt, she didn’t drop anything else on the floor did she?”

“No, but that was plenty. It smelled like a friggin’ pizzeria in there.”

“No further questions,” Braden returned to the defense table. Most of the women, and a few of the men, watching from the gallery, sighed collectively. Have I mentioned how sexy my husband is? A cry echoed from the back of the room, “The EMF reader is going off the scale! Folks, we have paranormal activity!” a guy in a black T-shirt shouted. Another guy, holding a stick that seemed to light up spontaneously, headed toward Ev.

“Objection Your Honor.” Mr. Brenner was on his feet.

“I’m being threatened again!” Ev whined.

“We’re the Spirit Hunter Team,” the guy with the stick explained. “Your Honor, the witness in this case seems to be surrounded by an electromagnetic field. That could be indicative of paranormal activity.”

“What?” Judge Epstein screeched incredulously.

“This man is possessed,” a second Spirit Hunter announced as he ran a little gadget up and down near Ev’s body.

“I told you!” Ms. Crowley called out and Braden warned her to be quiet.

“We should probably get a sample, Ernie,” said the guy with the stick.

“A sample of what?!” Ev broke in.

“We’re going to need a sample of a body fluid,” the guy with box answered. “What do think, Burt, mucus or spit?” Ev looked helplessly at Mr. Brenner, but he seemed to be momentarily stunned.

“Okay, enough!” Judge Epstein banged her gavel. “You can’t just interrupt a case like this. I know President Judge Feeney said you could shoot in here, but you cannot stand in the way of justice. And there will be no spitting either.” She looked purple and veins were sticking out all over the place. It was like a scene from that old horror movie Scanners.

“Oh, uh. Sorry, Your Honor,” Ernie apologized sheepishly.

“We can wait and get the sample later,” Burt added. “He’s probably going to want to find a good exorcist, though.”

“I’ve got a special going right now,” Ms. Crowley called out.

“How much?” Ev asked. Suddenly, he was a believer.

“Work this out later!” Judge Epstein screeched. “Is there any argument?”

“Well, Your Honor …” Mr. Brenner began.

“Case dismissed!” She slammed down her gavel. “Five minute recess.” With that she flew off the bench with her black robe billowing. She looked like a giant vampire bat. Ev went off to talk to his new friend Ms. Crowley, and I went over to talk to Braden.

“Have I told you lately how sexy you are?” I asked him quietly.

“So, you want to get sexy with me?”

“In five minutes?” I laughed.

“That’s long enough for me to cop a feel. It will build anticipation.”

“Where do you want to go?” I asked coquettishly. He contemplated for a moment, and then grabbed my hand and led me out of the courtroom. We headed down the hallway and around a corner into a cavernous room, lit only by the dim glow of vending machines. “What, are you in the mood for a three year-old Milky Way?” I joked.

“There’s a dark corner behind the machine with dubious looking sandwiches, and the pickles shot full of chemical waste. Nobody will ever venture over there.” He had a point.

I felt naughty as we snuck over into the corner, stepping over cables and wires along the way. He backed me against a wall and put his hands on my bottom, pulling my hips against him and then he leaned down and kissed me hungrily. I sighed and slid my tongue against his. Kissing Braden would never get old. His mouth was so warm, wet and wonderfully minty, and his tongue was alternately teasing and demanding. I could happily make out with him all night.

One hand slid from my bottom up over my hip, tracing my curves until he arrived at the swell of my breast beneath my blouse. Braden was a boob man, and luckily for us both, I had a pretty nice rack. He cupped and lifted with his palm and brushed his thumb over the tip, sending shivers down my spine. His mouth moved to kiss my neck and whisper in my ear.

“Wait until I get you home tonight. I’m going to do bad things to you that will make you feel so good.” His tongue traced the edge of my ear and I moaned quietly and ground my hips against him. I could feel a bulge pressing against my abdomen that was filled with decadent promise.

“Uh oh, you’re indisposed. What are you going to do about that?” I ran my hands up his back, thoroughly enjoying the way his hard muscles tensed under my fingertips. I began gently biting his neck.

“For now I’ll walk it off and think about baseball,” he mumbled against my throat, pinning me against the wall with his hips and making me tingle from head to toe. “Later tonight I’ll give it to you.”

“Oh, baby.” I giggled and writhed against him. I was starting to get lightheaded. A moment later, though, I heard Mr. Brenner calling my name from somewhere down the hall. Great. Braden sighed, collected himself, and stepped back, strategically buttoning his suit jacket in front.

“I think you’re needed back in court.” His voice was a little husky.

“Yeah, I guess so. Well, here we go.” I steeled my nerves, straightened my shoulders and prepared to return to the trenches.

“Round two.” He smiled.

Chapter Two

When we returned to the courtroom the Spirit Hunters gang seemed to be conferring about something exciting. Maybe they had found intelligent life here. Nah.

“Uh oh, I don’t see Mr. Marley anywhere. I had better go hunt him down,” Braden said, heading off in the other direction to do some spirit hunting himself. I saw Mr. Brenner head my way with a determined look on his face and a file in his hand. Great.

“Hey, Mrs. Pierce,” he said. “What’s going on with Norman Bates?”

“That’s Nathan Bates,” I corrected him.

“Right, sorry, Nathan Bates, the body snatcher.” He smiled.

“You have an offer for me?” I asked hopefully. He grimaced and shifted his weight from foot to foot. That didn’t look like a good sign.

“Mr. Peterman’s family is very upset about what he went through.”

“What he went through? You’re kidding me right? Mr. Brenner, Mr. Peterman is dead. It’s not like he cared about his little trip around the block.”

“Your client was absconding with their dead relative, to go do, God knows what. I kinda get where they’re coming from. Don’t you?”

“What are you trying to tell me here, Mr. Brenner, that you’re going to make me try this stupid case? Oh come on. Just tell the family about how the system works, how we rely on plea bargains to keep things moving along, so that live people can have their day in court.”

“I’m not going to make you try it. Your client can always just plead to the charges as filed and let the judge craft an appropriate sentence.”

“Are you serious? Let delicate Debra up there have at him? She’ll sentence him to be racked and boiled in oil. And then she’ll make him do community service and pay a fine too.”

“Now, Mrs. Pierce, you’re not implying that Judge Epstein would be unnecessarily harsh with Igor over there are you?” He was trying hard not to laugh.

“I’m so glad you find this amusing, Mr. Brenner,” I answered, trying not to laugh myself. I wasn’t succeeding very well either. Both of us were on the verge of cracking up. This was just so freaking ridiculous.

“I’m sorry, counselor, but the office policy these days is that if the family strenuously objects, we don’t offer a deal anymore, even in Night Court on Halloween.” He gave me a boyish look that probably melted plenty of panties. “I really am sorry.” I had a feeling that Mr. Brenner was a ladies’ man like my Braden had been back in the day. I think the DA’s office recruited them right out of law school. They were like their not-so-secret weapon.

“Well, I hope you enjoy our defense, Mr. Brenner. It should be very entertaining.” He nodded and covered his mouth with his fist. As he turned around to leave, he nearly ran into one of the Spirit Hunters, who was coming up behind him.

“Hello, there. I’m Ernie, and this is ….”

“Burt!” I broke in gleefully as his partner approached. Three other guys in matching T-shirts brought up the rear. I noticed for the first time that their shirts had a picture of a ghost and the letters S.H.I.T. on the front.

“Spirit Hunters Investigative Team,” Ernie, who had noticed me noticing, explained. I nodded silently and Mr. Brenner actually bit down on his knuckle at that point. At least somebody was having fun.

“Did you have something to tell us?” I prompted.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we felt that we should let someone know, we’re picking up some really weird stuff.”

“You should be fine as long you’ve had your shots,” Mr. Brenner replied.

“No, on our equipment!” his partner, Burt said, looking excited. “We’re picking up definite signs of an infestation.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure they sprayed,” Mr. Brenner added.

“He means we think there may be a malevolent entity here,” one of the guys in the background piped up, “but we’re not really sure it’s intelligent.”

“I thought Mr. Drake left,” I said to Mr. Brenner,

“No, he’s out in the hall having a pow wow with Delores in the Technicolor Dream Coat,” Mr. Brenner answered.

“Not him. He’s just a minor inhuman,” Burt offered.

“Those were my thoughts exactly,” I said with a smile.

“This is major spirit activity. The epicenter seems to be right in that spot right there,” Ernie said, turning around and pointing to precisely the place that Mr. Marley had been seated before he had vanished. Thunder clapped in background and lightening lit up the sky at that exact moment. Okay, not really. But if this had been a movie, that’s what would have happened.

“That spot, really? That’s where Mr. Marley was sitting,” I said to Mr. Brenner.

“Who was sitting there?” he asked.

“My husband Braden’s client, Mr. Marley. You know, the guy who supposedly died in 1905?”

“I don’t have a Mr. Marley. Edna must have him on her caseload,” he answered, referring to Edna Manson, the other prosecutor, who was working the room.

“Edna must have who on her caseload?” said a hardened-looking, Assistant District Attorney who happened to be walking by at the moment. She pushed a lock of jet-black hair out of her face, revealing a jagged scar and a charming sneer.

“Mr. Marley? He’s charged with trespassing and prowling at night?”

“Oh right. That’s just an administrative case, though. It was never closed, and we just have to figure out what to put in the file.”

“Why did you make him show up for that?”

“Make him show up? What are you talking about? The guy died in 1905, right here in this courtroom as a matter of fact.” Her mouth curled into a nasty grin, and I noticed that she had rather pointy teeth.

“From what, old age?” I asked, looking at my watch. There were going to be lots of warm drinks at Jessica’s Halloween party.

“He had a heart attack just as they called his case,” she answered in her gravely, three-pack-a-day lilt. “That’s why it was never resolved.” She cracked her knuckles.

“What are you talking about? He was sitting right over there,” I said, inching back. Edna was a little creepy.

“In the epicenter!” Ernie looked like he might wet his pants.

“We might be talking vortex,” Burt replied. He and Ernie gazed at each other like they had just struck gold. They darted off to go play with their lights in the spot Mr. Marley had been occupying with the entire S.H.I.T. following close behind. Well, at least I was fairly sure they could get a sample of some body fluid over there.

“It must be a mistake,” Edna said dismissively. She was such cynic, but she was a regular in that courtroom. Her spirit had probably died in there a few decades ago too.

“The date must be wrong,” I suggested. “Maybe he had a heart attack recently, but he survived. That’s probably what happened.”

“I work this courtroom all the time. I would have remembered that.” Edna paused and seemed to give it some thought. “Probably.” She didn’t look like she was so sure.

“Well, I’m telling you, there was a Mr. Marley, who must have known the facts of the case, because Braden discussed it with him,” I insisted. I had just been kidding around about him being a ghost. This night was getting weirder by the minute.

“I don’t know what to tell ya.” Edna shrugged and ambled on. Judge Epstein’s clerk called Commonwealth vs. Bates. Mr. Brenner and I glanced at each other resignedly and headed up to the bench. When we got there, I turned to see if Mr. Bates was coming, but he had been standing silently right behind me. I yelped and jumped about a foot in the air, putting a hand over my racing heart and blowing out a ragged breath. I turned around and saw Judge Epstein’s glare and jumped again. I had to get out of there or I was going to develop a nervous condition.

“What are the charges Mr. Brenner?” the judge growled.

“Abuse of a corpse, Your Honor.”

“Charming. What, no littering charge you can tack on?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Honor,” Mr. Brenner answered.

“Please tell me that you’ve reached an agreement on this,” she said, dropping a couple of Alka Seltzer into a glass of water and taking a big belt of it before it had even finished plop-plopping and fizz-fizzing.

“I’m afraid not, Your Honor,” I echoed, throwing a baleful look at Mr. Brenner to let her know whose fault that was.

“Your Honor, the victim’s relatives …” he began.

“The victim?!” Judge Epstein screeched. “The victim is a corpse!”

“Nevertheless, Your Honor …” Mr. Brenner looked like he might be in pain.

“Oh …” she grumbled something unintelligible. “Get them up here!” Mr. Brenner sighed and headed off to find the late Mr. Peterman’s relatives. I turned around and saw that Braden was watching. He gave me a supportive smile. I smiled back and reminded myself that he was going to make my body an epicenter of pleasure later.

A couple of minutes went by, and Mr. Brenner returned with a guy who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else and a woman who had such an angry, pinched look on her face; she made Judge Epstein look like Betty White. She was clutching a purse in front of her body like a shield, and I wanted to tell her it wouldn’t work in here. This whole place was like Kryptonite. She looked up at Riff Raff and a vein started pulsing on her forehead. Yikes. She made Edna look like Betty White.

“Your Honor,” Mr. Brenner said with another heavy sigh, “on my left is Mr. Irv Peterman, brother of the deceased. And this, is Mrs. Gladys Peterman, widow of Sid Peterman, who Mr. Bates took for a stroll.” Suddenly, I felt sorry for Mr. Brenner, and the late Mr. Sid Peterman.

“I want that sicko locked up!” Gladys shouted, waving her handbag at my client.

“Off the record!” Judge Epstein yelled back, glaring at the stenographer who immediately stopped typing and looked up at her in shock like a deer in headlights. She must have been a sub. “Mr. Brenner, what are the facts of the case?”

“During the early morning hours of October twenty-fourth of this year, in the city and county of Philadelphia, undercover vice squad officer, Jason Gallagher, observed Mr. Norman, uh, sorry,” Mr. Brenner cleared his throat, “Mr. Nathan Bates, dragging the mortal remains of Mr. Sid Peterman down the sidewalk on the fifteen hundred block of Broad Street. When Officer Gallagher ordered Mr. Bates to stop, he instead picked up Mr. Peterman and hurled him at Officer Gallagher, who ducked out of the way.” Mr. Brenner paused and looked up significantly. “I will note, Your Honor, that the Commonwealth has not added a charge of aggravated assault on Officer Gallagher.”

“Why not?!” Gladys shrieked, and the glass of Alka Seltzer on the bench shook.

“Order!” Judge Epstein banged her gavel, shaking the glass harder. Nobody was going to out-shrew her in her own courtroom. “Counselor,” she said, glaring at me, “why was your client taking a dead guy out for a midnight stroll in North Philly?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could get a word out, Gladys chimed in again, “He wanted to have sex with him!” We all turned and looked at her in confusion.

“I’m not a homosexual!” Mr. Bates piped up. We all turned to look at him in confusion. Gay? He was worried we would think he was gay?

“Your Honor,” I answered, ripping my gaze away from Mr. Bates and shaking my head to clear it, “my client was concerned with the rate of car theft in the area. He felt that if he stored Mr. Peterman in his car, that it would act as a deterrent to car thieves.”

I wondered if that explanation sounded as stupid as I thought it did. When several people waiting in the gallery broke out in laughter a moment later, I got my answer. Yep. It sounded as stupid as I thought it did. I looked up at Judge Epstein and winced. Somehow, I didn’t think she was really onboard with Mr. Bates’ anti-car theft strategy. She just sat there, glaring. Why wasn’t she saying anything? I started to sweat and shifted my weight to the other foot, waiting for her to crucify me.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said finally.

“Tonight, or in general?” I asked. Brenner coughed and quickly turned away to cover up his own laughter. Judge Epstein actually looked amused for about a millisecond. Gladys, however, would not be thwarted.

“I’m telling you. He wanted to have sex with Sid! I know about these narcoleptics. I saw it on the Discovery Channel.”

“And God forbid that Sid have sex for once,” the live Mr. Peterman spoke up. I had forgotten he was there. “It’s Gladys’ mission in life to make sure my brother never gets laid. Even in death.” He shook his head in obvious disgust.

“I’m not gay!” Mr. Bates yelled again. Apparently, the possibility that he might be a necrophiliac, or a narcoleptic for that matter, didn’t seem to bother him, as long as we knew that he was heterosexual.

“Why did you toss Mr. Peterman at Officer Gallagher, Mr. Bates?” Judge Epstein asked my client.

“It was North Philly at night and some guy dressed like a deadbeat, no pun intended, ordered me to stop. I was scared!” It said something about North Philly that the guy carrying the dead body was scared.

“It's true, Your Honor, that Officer Gallagher wasn’t in uniform, but he did identify himself as a police officer,” Mr. Brenner offered.

“And I was supposed to believe him?” Mr. Bates asked, sounding incredulous. “You know what kind of crazy people are walking around out there these days?”

“All right! Enough already!” Judge Epstein broke in. “That explanation is so stupid that I actually believe it.”

“You do?” I asked, wondering if I had heard her wrong.

“Yeah. I do. But he still couldn’t just walk out the door with a dead body. Charge him with Receiving Stolen Property. Did he spend the night in jail?”

“Defendant served 24 hours, Your Honor,” Mr. Brenner answered.

“Time served. Fines and costs.” She banged her gavel.

“Wait a minute! That’s it?” Gladys screeched.

“That’s it!” Judge Epstein snapped back. Her clerk handed her a paper, which she quickly read. “Half hour recess!” she called out and got up to leave. The minute she was gone, the lights seemed to get brighter.

As I escorted Mr. Bates off to meet with a deputy, who would take him to fill out his paperwork, Braden walked over to the courtroom door and gestured subtly for me to join him. I smiled with anticipation, and followed.

We walked down the hall casually. I was about to turn the corner toward the vending machine room, when Braden steered me in the other direction. “Where are we going?” I asked, looking up at him, intrigued.

“For a trip down memory lane,” he answered with a smile, and I saw that he was headed for the District Attorney’s on-site office suite.

“We can’t do that in there anymore,” I said coyly, feeling my tummy flutter at the memory of how we had utilized the negotiation rooms back when Braden was a prosecutor and I was a public defender.

“I asked Mr. Brenner earlier if he would mind if we discussed a case in there privately, and he said it was no problem.” He held the door open for me and I walked inside. Thankfully, we were the only ones there. “I think that he may have suspected, though, because he did remind me that the negotiation room doors don’t lock.”

He led the way down the hall to the furthest room, and then stepped aside to let me pass by. I went in, flipped the light on, and turned to face him. I immediately recognized the look on his face, and my breathing quickened in response, as my pulse shot up. The hot Braden sex look always did me in.

“Just like old times,” I said in a husky voice.

“Watching you in court always turns me on,” he said crossing the room in one stride and pinning me up against the wall. He began trailing kisses up my neck and along my jaw. I sighed happily and buried my fingers in his hair.

“Watching that case turned you on? What are you a narcoleptic?” I teased and he laughed, which tickled my neck deliciously.

I pulled his mouth to mine, and took the initiative, letting my tongue explore freely. Suddenly, I wanted to make this beautiful man, whom I loved so much, feel really good. I grabbed that sexy ass of his, and ground my hips against him, reveling in how hard I could make him so quickly. I pushed him back and undid his trousers. Giving him a naughty smile, I dropped to my knees as he placed his palms flat against the wall to brace himself. “Oh yeah,” he said, his voice vibrating with arousal, as I freed him from his boxers.

Looking up into his eyes, I leaned in and ran my tongue teasingly around his tip, and then gripped him at the base, and slid him into my mouth until he hit up against the back of my throat. He let out a low groan that sent a surge of tingling warmth flowing between my legs. Exciting him excited me.

I knew what he liked and I gave it to him, twisting my fist as I pumped up and down, lightly scraping him with my teeth as I pulled him out of my mouth and sucked him back in, swirling my tongue along the sensitive underside, and then finally, reaching down between his legs to gently cup and squeeze his balls. Suddenly, he grabbed my head and held me still.

“Stop,” he bit out in a low, thick voice. “Ladies first.” I knew that making me come was important to Braden, and I wasn’t about to deny either one of us. I eased him out of my mouth and he helped me to my feet. It was his turn to drop to his knees.

He looked up at me with those eyes like the blue part of a flame, and eased my skirt up over my hips, tugging my panties down around my ankles and helping me out of them. He lifted my right leg, hooked it over his shoulder, and began trailing kisses along my inner thigh above the lacy top of my stocking.

I felt his warm breath caress me intimately a moment before his tongue did, and I gasped and leaned back, feeling the cool concrete press against my skin through the fabric of my blouse. His tongue lapped against my entrance, teasing me, and making me ache for him to fill me up. I whimpered and grabbed his hair, pressing myself harder against that silky mouth. The strokes he made grew broader, as he inched higher and higher. My muscles felt as tight as piano wire, while I waited with anticipation for the explosion of pleasure that I knew was seconds away.

The sounds of my rasping breath, and my low moans, echoed off the walls. He was still moving higher, getting so close, almost there. I was starting to shake, and then the velvety wet heat of his tongue rolled over my throbbing clit, and the leg supporting me gave out. He held me up in place with a steel grip at my waist, never even pausing, as he continued to drive me out of mind with his talented mouth. The ache grew so intense that I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to feel him inside me.

“Braden, please. Oh God, please Braden,” I begged in desperation, my voice rising in pitch. He knew what I wanted.

“Shh,” he warned and I felt him smile against me. He eased my leg down, stood up, and took me into his arms, guiding me toward the center of the room. “Do you think you can be quiet?” he whispered in my ear and I nodded mutely. I tended to be a rather noisy lover, but I had gotten better over time. “Bend over the desk, I’m going to take you from behind,” he instructed firmly, and I almost swooned.

I nodded again and leaned across the desk, feeling him ease my skirt up higher and caress my bottom. His fingers slid between my legs, stroking me, and testing to make sure I was ready for him. Mother Nature had blessed Braden abundantly, and he was always careful not to hurt me. His fingers withdrew and I felt his hard length slide up against my wet heat. I braced myself.

“I’m ready,” I mumbled thickly, and he positioned himself to enter me, grabbed my hips, and slid home. I softly sobbed with pleasure and held onto the edge of the desk. “Yes.” I gasped. “More.” He rubbed my back with one hand and started talking to me in a low, seductive voice, while he pulled back and pushed into me harder.

“Baby you’re so sexy, so confident. I love watching you.” He pulled back again and thrust forward, filling me completely. I bit my lip so I wouldn’t cry out. “Love how strong you are, so beautiful. You get me so hard.” He started building his rhythm while he told me how much I excited him. God, I loved it when he talked to me like that while he took me. Braden and I knew just what to do to make each other feel good.

I got lost in sensation, somehow feeling every inch of my body, while at the same time, so intensely focused on the pleasure that flowed from between my legs, where he was pounding into me, up into my belly. I was dizzy with it, floating on a wave of bliss, and then I felt the delicious pressure begin to build and my tummy got tighter. I started to climb quickly, losing control of my body, half out my mind with ecstasy.

“Oh God. Oh God. Braden. Oh God!” My legs stiffened and I went over the edge as my inner muscles contracted forcefully. He knew I was coming, and he started pumping his hips harder and faster. The waves of heat crashed over me and I clenched against him over and over, shivering and moaning with orgasmic delight.

He slammed into me one final time and I felt his fingers dig into my skin as ground out “Gabrielle,” groaned, and went still. A few seconds passed with only the sound of us breathing heavily before he pulled back and eased me up, turning me around and pulling me into his arms as he leaned on the desk. We stood there holding each other while we recovered.

He looked down into my eyes. “It’s not just in court. I love watching you.” He paused and began to stroke my hair. “I love you.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat.

“I love you too, Braden. I can’t even express how much.”

“Let’s get pregnant,” he said, watching my reaction carefully.

“I think our half hour’s almost up,” I joked.

“Not now.” He laughed. “Even though I’ve always loved these sexy courthouse trysts of ours, I don’t want our child to be conceived in Night Court. Why don’t you make an appointment with your doctor? We’ll find out the healthy way to have you off the pill.”

“You’re serious,” I said, feeling a tingling down my spine and a nervous flutter in my tummy.

“Yeah, I’m serious. We’ve been happily married for a year. Adam and Lily are already trying,” he said, reminding me that two of our closest friends had decided that they wanted to start a family.

“But, what about our practice? We’ll be short two lawyers if both Lily and I are out on maternity leave.”

“Drew will be graduating in May,” he said, mentioning his younger brother who was in his last year of law school. “We can afford to take on more staff.”

“Do you think we’re ready to be parents?”

“We’ve done a great job with Bruno.”

“Braden, Bruno is a Chihuahua.”

“He’s very well grounded for a Chihuahua. It’s a high-strung breed.”

“Okay.” I smiled.

“Okay? You mean …”

“Okay, let’s get pregnant.” I smiled. “Just not in Night Court on Halloween.” He smiled back and pulled me into a tight embrace. I hated to let go of him, but I knew we didn’t have a choice. I also knew that I would be falling asleep in his arms that night, and waking up with him the next morning. As we tidied ourselves up, I looked at him, feeling love warm me. He had that look of sleepy post-coital euphoria that I adored.

“You look like you need a nap,” I teased as I pulled my panties back on and pulled my skirt down over my hips.

“Yeah. I hope the rest of this night goes quickly,” he said as he refastened his trousers.

“Get ready for round three,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Chapter Three

When we got back into the courtroom, Mr. Brenner informed me that an agent from the Immigration and Naturalization Service had finally shown up, and that, as an added bonus, he had brought an agent from the Department of Homeland Security with him. He pointed out a bland-looking guy in a blue suit, who stood next to a bland-looking woman a blue suit, who stood next to a stack of papers that they must have brought in with a wheelbarrow. I took a deep breath and the two of us went over to brief Uncle Sam.

“Hello, I’m Matt Brenner, from the Philadelphia District Attorney’s Office. This is Gabrielle Pierce, who represents Mr. Smith.”

“Mike Fisher from INS. This is Susan Brooks from the Department of Homeland Security. We understand you have a foreign national here charged with a crime.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s a foreign national, more an interplanetary visitor.” I smiled.

Mr. Fisher looked at Ms. Brooks. Then both of them looked at Mr. Brenner. I had a feeling they didn’t have much in way of a sense of humor, or possibly a pulse.

“He’s in need of a psychiatric evaluation,” Mr. Brenner explained slowly, in case the words were too big for the Stepford agents, “But apparently, the fact that he claims to be from another planet, is enough to trigger a federal investigation.”

“Well, he’s going to have to fill out some paperwork,” Ms. Brooks offered in a monotone voice. Interestingly, I noted that she actually kind of resembled the paperwork piled next to her, at least in personality.

I decided to give it a try, “Folks, what Mr. Brenner is saying, is that Mr. Smith isn’t really from another planet; he’s mentally ill. He needs to go to a hospital.”

“He’s still going to have to fill out the paperwork,” Mr. Fisher replied and I sighed. Okay, they wanted Captain Kirk to fill out paperwork, that was fine with me. I went off in search of Mr. Smith. I found him in the vending machine room, talking to a beverage dispenser, and I led him back to meet Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber.

When I got back to the courtroom, it was immediately clear that there was some kind of situation going on. A group of deputies were meeting with the Spirit Hunters Team. Burt was gesturing wildly and the rest of them were nodding. I didn’t see Ernie anywhere, though. I led Mr. Smith over to the government think tank, and tracked down Braden to ask him what was going on.

“Is there some sort of crisis in the spirit realm?” I asked.

“Ernie is missing.”

“Missing?” I raised an eyebrow, inquisitively.

“Missing. He went off to retrieve some equipment and he never came back. I’m thinking that maybe he’s with Mr. Marley, who is also still MIA.”

“Oh hey, that reminds me, Edna Manson said something weird.”

“That’s not really surprising. Edna Manson’s pretty weird in general, Gabrielle.”

“Yeah, she is kind of creepy,” I agreed, “but listen to this, she claims that Mr. Marley’s case is just supposed to be administrative, because Mr. Marley died of a heart attack before it could be resolved.”

“What?” he asked turning to look at me. “He was sitting right over there, in the vortex area. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Wait, it gets better. This fatal heart attack happened in, you guessed it, 1905, in this very courtroom.”

“Yeah, right,” Braden replied skeptically. “What is this a horror movie?”

Suddenly, as if on cue, the lights went out, leaving us in total darkness. There was a second of silence, and the room filled with sounds of chairs scraping and falling over as people started yelling. The lights immediately came back on. Everyone froze and stopped yelling. The lights went back off. They started moving and yelling again. They came back on! Back off! Back on! That happened three more times, until finally everyone just shut up, and they came back on and stayed on, illuminating a bunch of bored, pissed off looking people. At that moment, the courtroom doors flew open and there was a sudden explosion of color. It was Delores Crowley. She was running up the aisle toward the bench.

“He’s here and he wants justice!” she cried, waving her arms like she was trying to land a 747.

“Who wants justice?” Judge Epstein asked with a scowl. There wouldn’t be any justice in her courtroom, dammit.

“The one who died,” Ms. Crowley answered. “I need an empty vessel.”

“Have you met Ms. Brooks and Mr. Fisher from the federal government?” I asked helpfully. Suddenly a blast of cold air came shooting down from the ceiling, blowing their enormous stack of papers all over the courtroom. Coincidence?

“The EMF meter is going off the scale!” one of the Spirit Hunters called out.

“Three point five, three point six, point seven, point eight,” another chimed in, looking at his own little light up box.

“This place is crawling with abnormal energy!” Burt informed us.

“It’s like that every night,” Mr. Brenner noted.

“His soul is disturbed,” Delores went on in a deep raspy voice, her eyes rolling back in her head. I had news for her, that wasn’t all that was disturbed. From somewhere out in the hall, came a horrible sound, not unlike the wail of a Banshee.

“Sid! It’s my Sid! I knew it! He wants justice!” Apparently, Gladys Peterman had not left the building. She came tearing into the courtroom like a bat out of hell, or more accurately, like a bat into hell, in this case I suppose.

“If he wants anything, Gladys, he wants you to shut up already,” her brother-in-law Irv said, coming in after her. “The poor guy can’t even get away from you by dying.” A loud clanging noise sounded from somewhere in the building. I guess Sid agreed.

“I need something to contain it!” Delores cried. “An empty vessel of some sort.” She looked around frantically. A guy who looked like a biker stood up and dumped a bottle of vitamin water onto the floor, handing it over to Delores.

“Fifty dollar fine!” Judge Epstein yelled out with a bang of her gavel.

“Ask Sid if that pervert violated him!” Gladys demanded.

“Tell him it’s about time he got some,” Irv muttered.

“What’s going on in here?” Edna Manson asked, joining the party a bit late … from the jury room? Mr. Bates came out behind her, pulling up his fly. Okay, that was something I really didn’t need to see. I glanced at Braden.

“Don’t think about it,” he said grimly.

“There’s a ghost in the room, and he’s pissed off, because somebody screwed him … or didn’t screw him,” a woman who looked like a working girl answered.

“Is it Mr. Marley? If so, I have that case,” Edna said, heading over to the prosecution table and digging through a pile of files. Braden rolled his eyes.

“It’s my Sid!” Gladys insisted.

“How do you know?” Edna shot back. She wasn’t going to let Mr. Marley off the hook just because he died in 1905.

“Because she said that the spirit wanted justice and he was disturbed!” Gladys seethed. A Spirit Hunter approached her with his Light Bright and she swung at him with her purse.

“I think this one might be a demon,” the Spirit Hunter said, ducking just in time.

“You’re just figuring that out now?” Irv Peterman asked.

“Enough of this!” Judge Epstein shouted, banging her gavel so hard that she broke it. “Everybody shut up!” There was silence as we all waited expectantly. “You, in the shit shirt, you first. What’s going on in here?” She glared at Bert malevolently.

He cleared his throat and launched into his explanation. “Well, Judge, my partner Ernie went to retrieve some equipment and seems to have gone missing. Our equipment is indicating that there is paranormal activity going on in this room at the moment.”

“Okay, and you, dressed in the rummage sale, Ms. Crowley, what’s your problem?” she asked Delores.

“I’m hearing voices from beyond demanding justice and I’m prepared to perform an exorcism … for a reasonable fee.”

“Uh huh. And you, Mrs. Peterman, you think this is your husband.”

“It’s because the narcoleptic violated him!”

“But you, Ms. Manson, think it’s a different ghost?”

“Yeah, I think it’s a guy named Marley, who died in 1905. He’s charged with trespassing, and if he doesn’t make an appearance,” she shouted at nobody in particular, “I’m gonna request a bench warrant!”

“I made an appearance two hours ago,” a voice answered from the back of the room. “This place moves like a glacier.” Everyone turned to look at Mr. Marley, who had reappeared, or materialized, depending on what you believed.

“You’re Marley?” Judge Epstein asked. “And you’re not dead?”

“Yeah, I’m Marley, and I’m as alive as he is,” he said glancing over at Mr. Fisher from the INS. We all took a second to try to figure out what that meant.

“Your Honor, we straightened out that trespassing case,” the judge’s clerk said, coming in through a side door. “The 1905 case was Commonwealth vs. Morely. This is Commonwealth vs. Marley,” he said laying a file on her bench and looking up. He seemed a bit perplexed at what exactly was going on.

“So, it looks like Mr. Marley is among the living. Does the Commonwealth have an offer?” Judge Epstein asked Ms. Manson with a smile.

“Yeah, we’ll come up with something,” Edna replied, looking disappointed.

“Your Honor, I apologize for the problems with the power,” another voice announced from the back of courtroom. Once again, everyone turned to look. It was Ernie, looking sheepish.

“You were responsible for that?”

“Uh, yeah,” he shuffled his feet. “I got a little carried away with the EMF meter. Wound up causing an electrical surge so powerful I knocked myself out for a few. All better now, though.”

“So, nobody is missing. Nobody is dead. And there’s an explanation for why the lights went out and the air conditioner went wild.” She tossed her broken gavel down on her bench.

“I still think there’s paranormal activity here,” Ernie answered.

“Me too!” Delores agreed. The two of them gazed at each other and you almost hear the violins and see the little cherubs floating above their heads.

“I still think it’s Sid,” Gladys grumbled.

“Somebody get her out of here so we can wrap this nightmare session up,” Judge Epstein grumbled back and a deputy escorted Gladys out of the courtroom. Braden went off to negotiate a plea bargain, for the very much alive, Mr. Marley, and I went over to talk to Mr. Fisher, Ms. Brooks and Mr. Brenner.

“We’ve determined that you’re correct, and Mr. Smith is not actually in the country illegally,” Mr. Fisher informed us.

“There are some people from Mental Health who are coming to pick him up,” Ms. Brooks added. “It seems that our work here is done.”

“Thanks.” I smiled. The two federal employees gathered their things and left.

“Happy Halloween, Mrs. Pierce,” Mr. Brenner said, turning to leave.

“Happy Halloween!” I called after him.

A half an hour later, Braden and I finally walked wearily out of the front doors of the criminal courts building and headed for our car. It was too late for Jess’s party, but we were exhausted anyway.

“So, that was definitely an interesting experience,” I said to my husband.

“Yeah, no more Night Court.” He stopped walking and stood staring at something in the sky. I followed his gaze.

“What is that?” I asked, puzzled by the cigar-shaped object with the blinking lights. Suddenly, with what looked like a burst of energy, it disappeared.

“It’s gone. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“You don’t suppose …” The two of us looked at each other.

“Nah, couldn’t be,” he answered and we walked on hand in hand. We had bigger things to think about anyway, like the baby we were planning to make.

The End

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About The Author

N.M. Silber is an attorney, turned full-time author, who survived the Philadelphia criminal court system, largely by having a sarcastic sense of humor. She used her experiences there as a starting place to build her humorous cast of characters and sexy story lines, and she uses her knowledge of legal practice, courtroom procedure, and how lawyers really think, in every one of her novels.

She has been a USA Today Bestselling author and #1 Bestselling author in Romantic Comedy on Amazon. She was voted an Amazon Reader's Choice Best New Author for 2013, and has been ranked as a Top 100 author there overall. She has stated that her goal is to write books that make readers laugh, blush, swoon, and genuinely feel good.

She is represented by Kimberly Brower of Rebecca Friedman Literary Agency.

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One Little Bite

by C.C. Wood

Even the big bad wolf can fall in love

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Copyright Crystal W. Wilson 2014

Chapter One- Ricki

“You’re not wearing that.”

I glanced in the full-length mirror in front of me, my eyes locking onto my friend Donna’s intense stare. “What?”

As though I were a slightly addled nitwit, she stared at me, unblinking, and repeated slowly. “You. Are. Not. Wearing. That.”

I smoothed my hands down the snug bustier that caged my torso in leather and boning. It lifted my already impressive assets to new heights and made me question how corsets ever fell out of fashion to begin with. Then I tried to take a deep breath and understood. No wonder women suffered vapors back in the day, they probably passed out due to oxygen deprivation.

“I’m not sure who exactly you think you are, Donna, but, newsflash, you’re not my mother and I can wear whatever in the hell I want,” I murmured.

“What?”

I turned my head and glared at her over my shoulder. “You heard me.”

She threw her hands up and fell back on the bed. “Fine. Fine! Just don’t come whining to me when one of the werewolves actually does hump your leg like a dog. Those guys can’t control themselves, especially around boobs. I swear their brains must be more canine than human.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d met several werewolves since the day that they helped rescue my friends and me from the clutches of evil vampires. I know, it sounds like a bad movie script, but those fuckers planned to chop us up and send us back to Donna and Conner piece by piece. It didn’t seem much like a B movie at the time.

Anyway, all the werewolves I’d met were great. Sure, they were usually a little more aggressive than the average guy, but, if I was being completely honest, it gave me a tingle in all my naughty places.

“Donna, just shut up and tell me if I look wenchy enough,” I said, turning around with my arms held out.

Under my leather bustier, I wore a sheer white shirt with billowing sleeves, tight breeches, and knee high boots. My hair was styled in a wild tangle of curls. All I needed now was my low-riding leather belt that held a scabbard for my cutlass. I was supposed to be a pirate wench, a la Cutthroat Island. I loved Geena Davis’ character in that movie. I also liked the saucy feeling the outfit gave me.

Donna looked me over, sighed, and rolled to her feet. “If you looked any more wenchy, I’d have to lock you up to keep you out of trouble.” Face serious, she walked over to me and rested her hands on my shoulders. “Look, I want you to have fun tonight, but you need to be careful who you flirt with. Everyone that was invited tonight is a friend and will be nice to you, but the dynamic among the species is different here. Flirtation can be misconstrued.” She paused. “Also, I’m serious, watch out for the wolves. They will literally screw anything that moves. I’ve seen them hook up with two, three, even four women at these parties.”

I nodded. I wasn’t here to flirt. Okay, maybe a little. I honestly wasn’t interested in dating a werewolf because their attitude toward monogamy sounded a little too much like my dad’s and my ex’s, but I wasn’t averse to a mild, casual flirtation with a vampire. Maybe even a kiss or two that would make me weak in the knees. Even though I was twenty-eight, I wasn’t exactly ready to settle down, especially with someone who’s dick was like a divining rod for easy pussy.

“I understand,” I said. “Don’t hook up with werewolves. I’ll write that on my hand so I don’t forget, Mama Donna. Hey, that rhymes!”

Donna ignored the comment and studied me closely, the expression on her face skeptical.

“I understand!” I repeated.

She shook her head and replied, “Just call my name when things go wrong and I’ll ride to the rescue.”

I glared at her, not appreciating her lack of faith in me, even if she did have a point. “Whatever.”

I was saved from further conversation by the peal of the doorbell. Donna released me and headed out of the bedroom. Before she walked out the door, she turned and pointed a finger at me. “Best behavior, got it?”

Without waiting for my response, she whirled and headed down the hall. Unable to resist, I made a face at the open door.

Donna’s voice floated into the room from the hallway. “I know what you just did!”

Groaning, I grabbed my belt and scabbard from the bed and cinched it around my hips. After one last quick check in the mirror, I hurried out of the room. I’d come over early to help Donna with the set up. Conner had a party planner he preferred to use, but I knew that Donna wasn’t overly fond of the woman’s flirty and aggressive attitude. As a result, the party had been planned by my friend. I helped her as much as possible, but Donna was a bit of a control freak and it was difficult for her to loosen her grip.

Satisfied that I looked okay, I picked up the cutlass from the bed and slid it into the sheath hanging from my belt. Then I walked downstairs to help Donna finish setting up for the party.

* * *

Two hours later, the party was heading into full swing. Donna had released me from hostess duties and Conner had dragged her out onto the dance floor of the ballroom. I snaked my way through the crowd to the bar and ordered a vodka tonic. Donna insisted that all her friends either stay the night or use a car service to get home. I’d opted for a car service. I drove my ancient compact over this afternoon and Donna promised she would have one of Conner’s lackeys bring it by the next day so I could drink and enjoy myself.

Though I loved spending time with my girlfriends, I could not handle all the loud sex that seemed to occur on a regular basis at Donna’s. There was some things I didn’t need to know about my bestie and the fact that she was a screamer was one of them. I really didn’t want to know that, much less experience it.

I saw Shannon standing at the bar, deep in conversation with a tall, handsome vampire with jet black hair and Native American features. He was dressed in black and had an earbud in one ear. I realized he was one of the vamps on security duty. Since Shannon worked in administration for a personal security company, I figured they were talking business.

She glanced at me as I slid by and I winked at her. Shannon didn’t even pause, merely gave me a finger wave, and continued to talk to the vampire who seemed to be completely enthralled with her. It seemed even vampires weren’t immune to her good looks and general badassery.

Shaking my head, I sipped my drink and watched a group of handsome men diversely dressed in everything from sharp suits to ragged jeans and I decided that I should introduce myself. Ignoring the echo of Donna’s overprotective spiel in my mind, I squared my shoulders and moved toward them. As I strolled across the room, I felt as though I were being watched. Surreptitiously, I glanced around.

At first, I didn’t see anyone openly staring, but, on my second sweep of the crowd, my eyes were caught by two brilliant green gems shimmering in the shadows. I blinked several times, wondering how I hadn’t noticed a jeweled statue in the ballroom before. The crowd between us shifted, parting slightly, and I realized I wasn’t staring at a statue, but at a flesh and blood man with the most incredible eyes I had ever seen. That was saying something, considering Conner had a pair of blue eyes that seemed to see straight into your soul and his friend Finn’s eyes were such a deep purple you could barely stand to meet his gaze. Was it vampire law that they could only change gorgeous men with unearthly eyes? If so, I definitely approved.

I sucked in a shaky breath as my eyes ran down the man’s taut, athletic frame. He wasn’t as tall as most of the men in the party, but his very presence seemed to expand, making him seem larger than he truly was. He wore a pair of dark, ragged jeans and a black oxford shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. While he didn’t seem bulky, I could see the definition in his forearms from twenty feet away.

I swallowed hard and realized my throat was dry as dust. I managed to tear my eyes away from the beautiful man and lift my drink with a shaky hand. After a quick sip, I forced myself not to look back to that corner and continued on my way to the group of gorgeous vampires that were now watching me with blatant appreciation.

I was here for some fun and maybe a little flirting. One look into those intense green eyes and I knew that anything I might have with that beautiful man wouldn’t be fun or light. It would be intense, overwhelming, and likely rough. Those things sounded very appealing, except for the fact that he was almost certainly not human and I knew I wasn’t ready for a ride that wild.

Unable to stop myself, I quickly glanced back toward where I’d seen the man. When I saw the corner was empty, I forced my body to relax and told myself I wasn’t disappointed in the least that he was gone. I figured I’d believe it by midnight if I kept repeating it to myself.

Chapter Two- Calder

I inhaled deeply as I watched her continue across the room. Even from twenty feet away, I could smell her. When our eyes met moments ago, I knew she didn’t know who I was. Seeing as we’d never actually met, it was unrealistic for me to expect her recognition. After the pack helped Conner and Lex rescue Ricki and her friends from the Faction months ago, I would remember her scent until the day I died.

A low growl emerged from my throat and I quickly swallowed it as the wolves around me began to step away. Shit. Even in human form, the wolf within me saw her and he staked his claim. When the animal inside wanted something, he was difficult to control.

I clenched my fist and shifted further back into the shadows, struggling to control the urge to charge across the ballroom and drag Ricki back to my room.

Mine.

I breathed slowly as the wolf snarled inside me. Usually, we got along fine. I rarely denied the animal half of myself, but, in this instance, I had to. Conner and Lex had both warned me to stay away from Donna’s friends. At first, I thought that promise would be easy to keep, until I saw her, smelled her, and realized what she was to me.

MINE.

I backed into the wall, pressing the base of my skull hard into the unforgiving surface. Over all the chatter, I heard the rich, sensual sound of her laughter and the internal war I waged ended abruptly. Warnings and promises be damned. That was my woman. I inhaled again, relishing her scent, knowing I would be able to pick her out of a crowd of thousands of people.

The people around me shifted out of the way as I surged forward. I strode toward the group of vampires Ricki had been speaking to, only one thought in my mind.

Mine.

I paused when I realized she was no longer there. From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of wild brown waves and I turned just as she vanished. Closing my eyes, I let my nose tell me which way to go. As the beta for my pack, I was one of the best trackers.

I moved slowly through the crowd, using both my vision and sense of smell to tell me which way Ricki had gone. Now that I was following his wishes, the wolf inside me was once again calm and patient. We would find her together and make her ours.

Twenty minutes later, I was no longer as calm or patient as my wolf. My skin felt hot and tight as I continued to track Ricki through the large house. I decided I would kick Conner’s ass the next time I saw him. If he didn’t have such a monstrosity of a home, I would have cornered my prey by now.

I’d weaved my way throughout the entire ballroom, into the kitchen, upstairs to a bathroom, and back down to the hallway that led to the library. In each room, I smelled her, but had yet to lay eyes on Ricki.

I kept my footsteps silent as I walked down the hall toward the library. A small sound caught my ear and I paused, listening. I heard the click of heels and smelled both woman and leather. It was her. After another quick sniff to determine whether or not she was alone, I smiled wickedly. My prey was within reach and she was by herself.

Keeping my feet light and quiet, I entered the library and paused in the doorway, appreciating the view. I leaned my shoulder against the door jam and watched as Ricki bent over, reaching into the back of the small liquor cabinet.

“Freaking picky ass vampires. Scotch aged 12 years isn’t good enough, huh? Well maybe these fucking knee high boots jammed up your ass will change your mind.”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing at the low diatribe flowing from within the cabinet.

“Gotcha, you little bastard!” she said, backing out of the cabinet and straightening, a bottle of very old and very expensive Scotch in her hand. She turned and shrieked when she saw me, hugging the bottle to her chest. “Sweet Jesus!”

I wanted to laugh, but all the blood drained from my skull straight into the crotch of my jeans. In the ballroom, I’d been too distracted by her scent and the sound of her voice to realize exactly how sexy she looked in the tight brown leather corset and pants. Now I couldn’t take my eyes off her incredible tits.

I blinked when a small hand appeared in my face, fingers snapping rapidly.

“Hey, they’re attached to a person, douche canoe, and the rest of me is right here.”

I lifted my gaze to hers, which was worse, because her gorgeous brown eyes were snapping with fire and indignation and it was sexy as hell. Anger was like foreplay for wolves. We liked to rile up the female, then persuade her to channel that rage into something a whole lot more enjoyable for us both. I shifted slightly, hoping to alleviate the pressure behind my zipper.

“Sorry,” I answered.

She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “No, you’re not.”

It took every ounce of control I could muster not to let my eyes wander down to the cleavage she flaunted with the change in her stance. Staring into her eyes without blinking, I answered, “Okay, I’m not. You put it on display, darlin’, and I’m just admiring the view.”

She snorted. “Just what every girl dreams of hearing.” She tilted her head to the side, her dark eyes skeptical and searching. “Who are you?”

I smiled slowly. “I’m Calder. And I already know you’re Ricki.”

She scowled at me then paused. “Okay, what are you?”

Admiring her guts, I rested a hip on the table next to me, my smile growing wider. I felt my fangs lengthen slightly. “I’m the Big Bad Wolf, baby, and I’m hungry.”

I had a moment’s satisfaction when her eyes widened in shock. Then she wrapped her arms around her middle and began laughing uncontrollably. Not exactly the reaction I’d expected.

Chapter Three- Ricki

I gasped for breath as I giggled. Holy shit, this guy was too much. His golden good looks seemed to house the same douchey attitude I’d seen time and again from handsome men. I bent over, trying to stifle the laughter that poured out of me. It was a lost cause. With shaking hands, I set the very expensive bottle of scotch on the cabinet next to me. At this rate, I would drop it and owe Donna more money than I had in my bank account.

Finally, I was able to control myself long enough to catch my breath. This damn corset was going to kill me. Between the laughing and snorting, the lack of oxygen was making me light-headed so I focused on getting air into my lungs. After a few minutes, I straightened and wiped tears from my cheeks.

“Oh, you’re funny,” I managed to choke out, fanning my face. Donna had been correct, the werewolves were a horny bunch.

His expression incredulous, he muttered, “I can’t believe this.”

Amusement fled at his tone and I cocked my hip, resting my hand on it. It was the classic you’re-about-to-get-an-earful stance. “Look, I’m sure that super sexy smoldering look and Big Bad Wolf line work on all the other ladies, but I don’t keep my brain cells in my breasts. I know a line when I hear one.”

He eyed me cautiously. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“Should I be?” I fired back.

Suddenly, he was no longer several feet away, but practically on top of me. Literally, in the blink of an eye, he moved across the room. I squeaked and tripped on my stilettos as I tried to back up. The one day I needed to be light on my feet, I would decide to wear hooker shoes. Shit.

Calder grasped my elbows and tugged me into his body. Heat poured off him in waves and I found myself leaning toward him like a flower toward the sun. When I realized what I was doing, I brought my hands up and shoved at his chest. I tried to disguise my shudder when he didn’t budge even an inch.

He lowered his face, pressing his nose against the delicate skin beneath my ear. I shook my head, trying to pull away.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.

I heard him inhale deeply before he released a hot stream of air against my throat. I squirmed slightly as my nipples hardened. I blinked and tried to focus, but my body was suddenly very aware of exactly how wonderful Calder smelled and how even better his hard, muscular frame felt against mine.

Hello? Arrogant werewolf sniffing you? Where’s your indignance?

Those thoughts broke the spell. I arched my back in an effort to put space between us. “Get off me!” When I heard him inhale yet again, I asked, “Are you freaking sniffing me like a dog?”

That got his attention. Calder froze, his face still pressed into the crook of my neck. I jumped when sharp teeth nipped my skin.

“Hey!” The slight sting jarred me out of my hormone haze, well, sort of. Maybe I was crazy, but the bite made my thighs tingle.

“You’re not afraid,” he murmured into my ear, “you’re turned on.”

When his teeth sank lightly into my earlobe, my eyes nearly rolled back into my head. I’d definitely lost the upper hand in this encounter. At the realization, my lids popped open and I reached up, shoving my hand into the back of Calder’s thick golden brown hair and giving it a hard yank.

“Ouch!” he yelped.

I swallowed a smile at the distinctly canine sound. Calder lifted his head and glared down at me, lifting a hand to rub the back of his head.

“What was that for?” he growled.

I blinked up at him, batting my eyelashes. “I told you to let me go. Since you weren’t listening to my words, I decided to get your attention another way.”

Smiling ruefully, he released me and stepped away. “Sorry. Your mouth may have said no, but all I could smell was-“

I poked him in the chest with my finger hard enough to make him flinch. “That’s enough of that,” I stated firmly.

He shrugged, no longer the sensual, dangerous man from a few moments before. Instead he looked like a mischievous little boy. Okay, so maybe more like a horny teenager.

My heart was still pounding and, even though I knew I should be angry and storm away, I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay and talk to him. This particular impulsive behavior might have been why Donna had told me to stay out of trouble. Ignoring the little voice that told me I was playing with fire, I moved away and hopped up on top of a nearby desk, letting my feet swing. “So, how did you know my name?”

He prowled over to the table and propped a hip against it. We were so close our shoulders touched. Reaching out a long arm, Calder snagged the Scotch from the top of the liquor cabinet and opened it. I watched incredulously as he took a swig straight from the bottle. I knew for a fact that the bottle he was drinking from cost over $1,000 and it was a struggle not to snatch it out of his hands.

He offered me the bottle and I shook my head. With a sigh, he said, “I’ll answer your question if you take a drink.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “So it’s like that, is it?”

His waggling the bottle was my only answer.

Glaring at him, I grabbed the bottle and took a small sip. Calder merely shook his head and gestured for me to take another. Grunting, I took a deeper drink, feeling the trail of warmth from the excellent Scotch as it slid down my throat. I handed the bottle back to him.

“I was there the day Donna and Conner rescued you and your friends.”

I blinked at him. “I don’t remember you.”

He took another pull from the bottle before handing it back to me. It wasn’t until I drank that he replied, “We didn’t meet that day.”

Perplexed, I passed the bottle and asked, “Then how do you know me?” He paused, as though weighing his answer. “Just tell me the truth, Calder.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure you’ll understand my answer.” He sipped the Scotch.

I didn’t hesitate to drink when he handed the liquid back to me. “Try me.”

After another pause, he finally continued, “You understand that wolves have a highly developed sense of smell, right?”

Rolling my eyes, I nodded.

“Hey, just checking,” he said defensively. “Anyway, the day we tracked you down and rescued you, I could smell you. It wasn’t the same as it usually is when I’m tracking. Your scent seemed to….call out to me. I could smell your anger, your fear, and it enraged me. I’ve never felt that way during a hunt before.” He turned his green eyes to me once again. “It was as if your very essence was imprinted in my soul.”

I wasn’t sure if the trembling that ran through my limbs came from his confession or the liquor I’d so rapidly consumed. Either way, I couldn’t control it.

When he continued, the warmth created by the Scotch transformed into a different sort of heat. “I think I would recognize your scent fifty years from now, even if I never saw you again. It’s as if a part of you lives inside me now.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Calder’s as he set the bottle aside and reached for me. Slowly, as though he didn’t want to frighten me, he rose from the table and moved to stand in front of me. I stopped breathing as his hand lifted and he slid his fingers along my cheekbone, below my ear, and to the back of my neck. His touch was light, but confident, and it left tiny sparks dancing along my skin.

Completely entranced, I watched as his face came closer. I knew he was going to kiss me, but what surprised me the most was how badly I wanted it. He was a walking sensual promise and I wanted a taste. In fact, I wanted the whole fucking banquet.

Chapter Four- Calder

My body tightened to the point of breaking when Ricki sighed against my lips. Jesus, this woman managed to push every single button I had. First, she was feisty and now acquiescent. It was as if she knew exactly what to do and when to do it in order to make me crazy with lust.

I wanted to wrap her long, wild hair around my fist, yank her head back, and devour her mouth the way I wanted to devour her pussy. Somehow, I held back. Ricki was a human woman, not some bitch in heat. It had been a long time since I’d fucked a human, probably not since college. Vaguely, I remembered that the last human girl I’d been with liked slow, soft kisses and gentle touches. She complained if I was too rough or demanding, saying it frightened her.

As I took Ricki’s mouth for the first time, I focused on keeping the kiss light, almost chaste, rather than ravenous the way my body demanded. However, the urge to take remained, bubbling relentlessly beneath my skin.

When her tongue darted out to swipe my bottom lip, I couldn’t hold back the low growl that crawled up my throat before I opened my mouth over hers and plunged my tongue inside. Her whimper brought me back to myself and I pulled back slightly.

We were both panting as we stared into each other’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Ricki asked breathlessly.

I shook my head and lowered my mouth to her neck, kissing the soft skin beneath her ear and down her throat. Once again, she grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled hard. My head snapped up and I bit back a snarl, not of anger, but of enjoyment. I loved it when my partners played rough.

“What?”

Ricki studied me with narrowed eyes. “Why are you holding back?” she demanded.

“What?” I asked. I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Earlier, you bit me hard enough to leave a mark, but now it’s almost as though you’re afraid you’ll break me. What’s going on here?”

“I thought human women liked their partners to be gentle,” I answered defensively. Why in the hell were we having this conversation? I lowered my face to her collarbone and licked. When she shivered in my arms, it took everything I had not to yank her hips against mine and grind my aching cock over her pussy.

The damned woman yanked my hair again, this time even harder. Before I realized what I was doing, I growled and pinned her flat on her back on top of the table. When I saw her wide eyes, I felt disgust with myself.

To my complete shock, she smiled smugly and stated, “That’s more like it.”

Certain I was hearing things, I asked, “What?”

My spine arched as her hand moved from my hair to beneath the hem of my t-shirt and she dragged her nails down the skin of my back. I knew there would be marks, but she didn’t press quite hard enough to break the skin. I was going to go out of my fucking mind if she didn’t stop touching me like that.

“You’re not going to break me, Calder.”

I shook my head, trying to focus so I could explain that I could, in fact, break her. I could seriously injure her if I lost all control. “You don’t understand-”

She made a frustrated sound as she interrupted, “No, you don’t understand. I like a little pain with my pleasure, Calder. In fact, sometimes I like a lot of pain.”

I lifted my head and said the first thing that came to mind. “Like BDSM?”

Ricki shook her head. “Not exactly. I mean, I don’t get off on the idea of someone whipping me and I’d probably swat your nose with a newspaper if you tried to boss me around. But I like it when my partner is rough or gives me love bites. I like looking in the mirror the next day and seeing finger imprints bruised on my wrists or thighs. It turns me on.”

What she described was how wolves fucked. Wild, rough, and intense. I wanted to do each and every one of those things to her and a hell of a lot more. I had to close my eyes when her nails dug into my lower back again. If she kept it up, I would lose what little control I had left.

I blew out a breath. “I understand what you’re saying.” I opened my eyes to find Ricki staring up at me, an uncertain expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“You think I’m a freak, don’t you?”

I shook my head. “Hell no.”

“Then why are you staring at me like that instead of kissing me?”

“Because, if I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop until I’ve fucked you raw.”

Chapter Five- Ricki

At Calder’s bold statement, I felt as though the blood in my veins had turned molten. My entire body was burning. My hips moved restlessly beneath his and I moaned as he ground his erection against my clit. I couldn’t believe I’d said all those things to him. I had confessed my deepest desires to someone I’d only met minutes ago.

This was insane. I didn’t even know this man but my body was begging for him to do exactly what he threatened to do; fuck me raw. I wanted it and, if I closed my eyes, I could see it. His naked body stretched over mine, sweat gleaming on his golden skin, as he drove into my body hard and deep.

Green eyes intent on my mouth, Calder began to lower his head. My heart was beating so hard and fast, I felt as though I were seconds away from passing out.

Just before his lips touched mine, I whispered, “Wait.” I could swear I heard him whine, but he stopped, our mouths less than an inch apart. Calder tilted his head so our foreheads touched. I sucked in a shaky breath. “This is happening too fast. I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing.”

As though it hurt to move, he moved off the table, his hands grasping mine and pulling me up into a sitting position. I managed to get to my feet and stagger to the bottle of Scotch Calder had set aside earlier. Even though my head was spinning from a combination of liquor and lust already, I took a huge drink, coughing as the amber liquid seared my throat and stomach.

My knees gave out and I grabbed onto the table to catch myself. Putting the bottle on the table before I dropped it, I waved Calder away when he moved toward me. “No, please. Don’t touch me right now. I can’t think straight when you’re touching me.” I rolled my eyes at his satisfied smile. I needed to think before I opened my mouth. That wolf already had a healthy ego, it would be a bad idea to continue feeding it.

I moved to the wall, leaning back against it, still taking quick, shallow breaths because my lungs were so constricted by the corset. I really wanted to loosen the laces, but it would have to wait. I was fairly certain that the leather bustier would end up on the floor if I untied the knot in the front right now. Calder’s eyes were still hot with lust and his face was flushed.

Talking mostly to myself, I asked, “What just happened?”

Though I hadn’t expected him to, Calder answered, “I think it’s called lust.”

I shot him a narrow-eyed look to let him know that his flippant remark wasn’t appreciated. “I know that. I never, and I mean never, behave like that. I’ve known you, what? Five minutes? The most contact I have with people I’ve known for minutes is a handshake.”

Calder laughed softly. “Took you by surprise, huh?”

I nodded.

He crossed the room and stood in front of me, his eyes studying my face intently. He lifted a hand and wrapped a curl of my hair around his finger. “We can go back to the party. You can drive me crazy by rubbing that incredible body all over me on the dance floor and we’ll get to know each other.”

Shocked, I stared up at him. “Huh?”

It was his turn to look off balance. “Yeah. Why do you seem surprised?”

“Well, uh, most men would be a little upset if I put on the brakes just as things were getting intense.”

Calder’s mouth quirked slightly in a small smile. “I’m not most men, darlin’.” He tugged the curl he’d wrapped around his finger and released it. “So, you wanna go back to the party?”

I decided to take a risk. “Not really.” When his brows rose, I continued. “It was nice sitting in here and talking to you. If we go back to the party, it will be loud and crowded.”

I watched as Calder went to the table and grabbed the bottle we’d been drinking from, then he went to the liquor cabinet and picked up two glasses.

Gesturing to a small sofa, he said, “Then why don’t we sit here, drink, and talk?”

Smiling, I straightened from the wall. “Sounds good, but I’d rather have vodka than Scotch.”

“Then I’ll drink the whiskey and you get the vodka.”

I went to the liquor cabinet and poured a good amount of vodka into a glass. I would have preferred some sort of mixer or at least some ice, but I could tolerate it if I took slow sips.

As though he read my mind, Calder pointed to the end of the cabinet. “Conner had a small ice machine installed a few months ago. Thought it was a stupid idea until now.”

I smiled gratefully and opened the door he’d pointed out. After I added a couple of ice cubes to my glass, I joined him on the sofa. When I realized that he’d chosen the smallest couch in the library, I shook my head.

“What?” he asked innocently.

I settled into the cushions, my body brushing his with each movement. “I’m onto you,” I muttered.

I choked on my drink when he quipped, “I’d rather you be on me.” He patted my back, laughing as I coughed. “Are you okay?”

“Are you trying to kill me?” I wheezed.

His shoulders shook as he tried to hold back his laughter. “No, of course not.”

I found myself smiling at him, despite the fact that my eyes were watering and my throat was raw. “Then maybe tone it down on the suggestive comments before I choke to death.” Finally, I felt as though I could breathe. Glancing over at Calder, I asked him a question I’d been wanting to ask one of Donna’s friends since I found out that supernatural beings existed, “So, what’s it like to be a werewolf?”

“What?”

I nudged him with my elbow. “I’m curious. What’s it like to be a werewolf? Do you change whenever the light of the full moon hits you? Do you run through the forest, howling? Are you an actual wolf when you change or do you become a sort of wolfman hybrid?”

Calder lifted a hand. “Whoa, slow down, woman. You just asked me four questions without pausing for an answer.”

I shrugged, my nice buzz preventing embarrassment from rising. “I’ve been dying to ask these questions for months. This is the first time I’ve had a chance without the risk of offending someone.”

“How do you know you aren’t offending me?” he asked teasingly.

“Well, you want to have sex with me, right?”

I stopped when he shook his head, but laughed when he said, “Having sex is not how I would describe what I want to do to you. Making you come so hard you scream would be a good start.”

I shifted in my seat as those words caused heat to streak through my body. Damn, this man was going to bring me to orgasm with sweet talk alone.

I sipped my vodka to wet my suddenly dry throat. “I just thought that you’d be more open to answering my questions since you’re interested in spending naked time with me.” I giggled at the expression on his face.

“Naked time? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Kids? Just how old are you, Grandpa?” I asked, heavy on the sarcasm.

“I’m forty-seven.”

I felt my eyes widen. “What? You’re joking, right?”

Calder smirked and shook his head. “No. I’ll be forty-eight in a couple of months.”

“Okay, now I’m not sure if I’m okay with lusting after a man that’s almost twenty years older than me or grossed out.”

Calder stared at me as though a third eyeball had popped out of my forehead. I managed to hide my giggle behind my glass as I sipped my vodka.

“Wolves age more slowly than humans.” His voice was a tad defensive and he actually looked a little miffed.

Deciding I’d teased him enough for the time being, I asked, “What’s the typical lifespan of a werewolf?”

Eyeing me warily, Calder sat back on the couch and propped his feet on the ottoman in front of us. “Usually five or six hundred years. So, by wolf standards, I’m practically still a pup.”

Unable to resist, I asked, “So, in werewolf years, you’re, what, 16?” He growled at me, but I only laughed. This was too much fun.

“No,” he answered, his voice gravelly. “I would be considered to be in my prime. Would you like a demonstration?”

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I shook my head.

He finally relaxed into the cushions, his arm coming around me and pulling me tight against his side. “Tease,” he grumbled.

Letting my weight rest against him, I wondered how I could be more comfortable around Calder, a person I’d met less than an hour ago, than I was around people I’d known for years.

Chapter Six- Calder

I couldn’t believe that this little human woman was so blunt and unafraid. The fact that I could kill her without breaking a sweat didn’t seem to faze her in the least. Most humans, male or female, would give me a wide berth, never mind tease me about acting like a horny teenager.

She nudged me with her elbow again. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

Her tone was annoyed when she responded. “What’s it like?”

“Well, I wake up in the morning and go find a fire hydrant to piss on, then I eat and scratch myself before I take a nap. Unfortunately, I can’t lick my own balls unless I’m in wolf form.” Ricki smirked, but I could tell that she was disappointed with my cavalier answer to her question.

“What about fleas?” she asked. Though her words were flippant, her tone was flat, devoid of humor or even curiosity.

Unable to deal with her crestfallen expression and the loss of her exuberant attitude, I poured more Scotch into my glass and took a healthy swallow. “Do you want the honest answer?”

Ricki rolled her eyes, tossing her tangled curls over her shoulder. “No, I want you to make it all up. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want the truth.”

I placed my glass on the table next to the sofa and leaned back into the soft cushions. Since humans were rarely invited into the shifter world, I’d never had this conversation before. I wanted to laugh at the fact that I was nearly fifty years old and I hadn’t given much thought to what being a wolf truly meant or what it felt like. I simply existed.

“Being a shifter is like….” I paused, weighing my words carefully, “it’s like having another being inside your body and mind. When I’m in human form, I’m mainly in control. Though, I’ve learned the hard way not to ignore the other part of myself. One moment of inattention or slip in my willpower, and he can take over when he wants something badly enough.”

She opened her mouth as though she wanted to say something, then shut it quickly.

“Did you want to ask me something?”

“What do you mean take over?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Well, if I ignore the needs of my animal side or fight my instincts too hard, I’ll shift and I won’t be able to stop it or control it.”

“Who’s in control when you’re in your, uh, wolf form?” The question was hesitant, as though she was concerned that she was offending me.

“I still have control, just not as much. When a shifter changes, their animal instincts become almost undeniable, especially predators. The urge to hunt becomes especially strong. That’s why you never, ever run from a supernatural being, whether vampire or shifter. Especially a shifter in animal form. We’re predators. Anything that flees immediately becomes prey.”

Ricki nodded. “So, what kind of things do you and your wolf disagree upon?”

Tracking her thought processes was a little like hunting jack rabbits. All over the place and hard to follow. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

She gestured with her free hand. “Well, you said that you might change if your wolf wanted something badly and you denied that part of yourself. Are we talking about craving a Big Mac or chewing on body parts?”

Where in the hell did she get these macabre ideas? Probably TV and movies and other lore fueled by misinformation.

“No, it’s not like that,” I hedged.

Beginning to sound exasperated, she asked “Then what is it like? Give me a specific example.”

As she spoke, my eyes wandered down to her mouth, then her breasts. The wolf stretched inside me, growling, because he liked what he saw and he liked it a lot. Normally, he didn’t give a damn about humans unless he was hungry, but, for some reason, that part of me lusted after this woman. She smelled different. She was different.

She. Is. Mine.

“Right now?” I questioned. When she nodded, I shifted forward, sitting so close to her that I could feel the heat rising off her skin. Her pupils expanded at the whisper of contact. “Right now, my wolf wants to see if you taste as good as you smell.” I let my gaze travel down the rest of her body. “Especially the flavor between your thighs.”

The scent of female arousal spiked around me and I had to close my eyes. Once again, I was dangerously close to losing control. Our bodies brushed as her muscles coiled. Shit, I pushed too far and she was going to run.

When she sprang to her feet, I stood with her, unable to stop myself. My hand grasped the nape of her neck firmly, holding her in place. She gasped, wide brown eyes staring up at me in surprise.

“Don’t move. Please, don’t move.” My voice sounded guttural and harsh and her scent changed. Instead of desire, I smelled something almost as tempting and sweet; fear. Even as the predatory part of my nature demanded that I take down my prey, I despised my reaction. I hated that I was scaring her. I took an unsteady breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m not trying to scare you. Just remember what I said; don’t run from a shifter or a vamp. If you run from me, I will chase you. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

Her eyes remained huge as she nodded. “I understand,” she murmured.

Chapter Seven- Ricki

Shit just got real.

As I stared into Calder’s eyes, my heart pounded into my sternum in a ragged rhythm. For the first time since we began our conversation, he looked like the Big Bad Wolf. I wondered if that made me Red Riding Hood.

The crazy thing was that, while I was a little scared, I was also turned on. He was staring at me as though he wanted to gobble me up.

A couple of years ago, I’d had a boyfriend who was into bedroom mind games. Actually, he was into a lot more than that. Being young and curious, I was willing to try something new, but soon realized that I wasn’t suited for the life of a submissive. I didn’t respond well to my boyfriend’s attempts to keep me on that edge between fear and desire or having to call him Sir with a straight face. Apparently, I was being mindfucked by the wrong man.

A wicked thought flitted through my brain and I took a slow step back. I knew this wasn’t a game, but I liked this adrenaline rush. No, I freaking loved it. I just hoped it didn’t backfire.

Calder’s face hardened when he asked, “What are you doing, Ricki?”

I took another step back. This time, he moved with me, following me as though I had the lead in this strange sexual dance we’d been enacting the last hour. I backed up once again, pausing at the low growl that emerged from Calder’s throat.

“I’m trying to put a little space between us, that’s all,” I answered breathlessly. This was a complete lie. Donna had definitely been correct in assuming I wouldn’t be able to resist trouble.

As I retreated across the room, he stalked me, brilliant green eyes glittering like gems. I felt a shiver run down my spine as something ruthless and wild swirled in their depths.

“I told you not to run.” His voice was deep and gravelly as he continued to stalk after me.

I shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not. I’m walking.”

This time the low, rumbling growl that emerged from his throat shot straight to my groin. The less-than-human sounds he made weren’t as frightening now that I’d spent a little time talking to him.

Without looking behind me, I knew I was getting close to the wall. By the time my back hit the silk wallpaper, my legs were so weak I needed the wall to support my weight. I gasped when Calder crowded into me, his hands gripping my hips. My body jerked as his thumbs massaged the muscles around my hipbones. I had no idea how sensitive I could be there.

“What game are you playing here, Ricki?” he asked, his hands squeezing my pelvis.

I shook my head. “Games are for children.”

“You realize there’s no turning back now, don’t you?”

Oh God. I felt as though an electrical shock surged through my body. What had I gotten myself into? What began as a casual flirtation was now rapidly morphing into something so overwhelming that it almost frightened me. I didn’t have a chance to fully comprehend what he meant because he used his grip on my hips to lift me so that we were eye-to-eye. I gasped and clutched his shoulders at the unexpected movement.

Within seconds, my upper back was pressed against the wall, my legs were wrapped around his waist, and I had a long, hard werewolf erection exactly where I needed it. Well, it would have been exactly where I needed it if we were both naked.

Calder tangled his left hand in my hair, tugging my head back. I expected him to kiss me, but he didn’t. Instead, he lowered his face to my neck, nibbling and sucking at the skin a few inches below my ear. My earlier words echoed in my ears. I loved it when my partners marked me and it seemed he was the type of man who listened. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all.

I felt a slight tug at the front of my corset and looked down to see Calder’s fingers slowly pulling the laces free of the loopy bow I’d tied earlier. Since the bustier could be worn either way, I’d chosen to put the fastening in the front so I could tie it myself. Nothing more annoying than having to ask for help dressing myself, as though I were four years old.

My breath hitched as he slid a finger behind the criss-cross pattern of the leather cord that held the garment together. Considering how demanding his mouth had been earlier, it shocked me that he took his sweet time tugging each lace free. The sensation of his finger brushing my sternum and the inner swells of my breasts made my nipples tighten further. By the time he reached the halfway point, I was ready to demand he tear the fucking thing off me.

As though he read my mind, he finished pulling the strips free with a few sharp jerks. No longer tied together, the leather fell from my torso to the floor with a thud and I took my first deep breath since I’d put it on hours ago. The shirt I was wearing beneath it was so sheer it was practically transparent.

“Fuck me,” Calder muttered, his eyes glued to my breasts. “Your tits are incredible.”

His dirty mouth only amplified the heat that gathered between my thighs. I usually hated crude words but, coming from his lips and in that rich, Southern-accented voice, I wanted him to keep talking.

Instead of yanking the shirt from my body as I expected him to do, Calder lifted his hands and pulled the material taut across my breasts, revealing exactly how tight my nipples had become. His thumbs stroked over the areolas through the material, which only intensified the sensation. I began to pant as Calder lowered his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth.

“Oh my God.” The words left my throat on a moan. Whatever he was doing with his mouth felt fan-fucking-tastic.

I squirmed restlessly as he switched his attentions to my other breast. When he lifted his head, my shirt clung to my skin, the damp fabric revealing every detail.

Dropping to his knees, Calder slowly unzipped my boots and tugged them off. His hands traveled over my snug suede pants from ankle to hip. When he reached the tops of my thighs, his thumbs met directly over my center.

“I can feel how hot you are through the fabric,” he growled. “Are you wet?”

I stared down my body at his fierce expression and did something I never do; I let all those naughty words I usually held back spill from my lips. I spread my legs, planting my feet shoulder-width apart. “Feel for yourself.”

His reaction was immediate and aggressive. Calder snarled and yanked so forcefully on the buttons of my pants that more than one popped off and rolled across the room. I almost lost my balance as he roughly peeled the tight material down my legs, leaving me in only my long shirt and black g-string panties. My body jerked when he tore the tiny panties from my body.

His hard, callused hands shoved my thighs apart, sliding behind me to cup my ass, both lifting me from my feet and holding me open for his perusal. He moved forward so that my legs hooked over his shoulders. I couldn’t believe how strong he was and it ramped up my arousal.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re bare.” He sounded surprised. Apparently, she-wolves didn’t like to go Brazilian.

Before I could formulate any sort of verbal response, he set about devouring me. That was the only way to describe the single-minded way he licked, sucked, and kissed my pussy. I knew I was moaning loudly, but couldn’t bring myself to stop. Instead, I buried my hands in his thick, golden brown hair and held on for dear life as the climax swelled within me, threatening to overtake me.

His talented tongue found exactly the right spot and my back arched away from the wall, pressing me closer to his face. He growled and continued to attack that sensitive area with his tongue. In less than a minute, one of the most intense, toe-curling orgasms of my life detonated inside me.

My entire body bucked and shuddered as wave after wave of pleasure washed through me. Calder’s mouth gentled, slowly bringing me down from a release so sharp it hurt. Somehow, despite my wild movements, he’d managed to keep his grip on me.

Calder nuzzled my inner thigh, nipping the skin hard enough to leave a mark. Still hyper-sensitive from my orgasm, I whimpered and tried to pull away. He moved his arms, letting my legs slide off his shoulders. Gradually, he lowered me until my feet touched the floor, then he stood.

His eyes shimmered with heat as he stared down at me, licking his lips. “You taste like sugar.”

With those four words, the desire that had just been sated roared back to life. Judging by his wicked smile, Calder knew it too.

It seemed my night had just gotten started.

Chapter Eight- Calder

I looked down at Ricki, trying to decide what I wanted to do first; pin her back against the wall and fuck her or drag her over to the sofa, bend her over, and ride her until she screamed.

While I was trying to decide, she reached out, grabbed two handfuls of my shirt, and literally tore it open, scattering buttons across the floor. Fuck it, the couch was too far away and the wall was right here. I shrugged out of the material as her hands smoothed down my chest and abdomen to my belt buckle. When she struggled to unbutton my pants, I brushed her hands away and took over the task. Vaguely, I heard the denim rip, but I didn’t give a shit. All that mattered was that I get inside all that sweet, wet heat between her thighs as soon as possible.

She shoved the jeans down my legs, kneeling as she did, then she laughed. Not exactly the reaction a man hoped for when a woman saw his dick for the first time.

Brown eyes sparkling, Ricki looked up at me. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”

I shrugged. I had no fucking clue how to respond to that. Most shifters didn’t bother with underwear, even the females. One less thing to remove before we changed.

Her expression grew sultry. “It’s sexy.” Her voice had deepened and her mouth was so close to my hard cock that I could feel the heat of her breath and the vibration of her words on the tip.

Unable to control it, my dick twitched at her words. I was no longer thinking straight because I said something I never would have said to a she-wolf. “Use your mouth on me,” I commanded, grasping my erection and pointing straight at her.

When she only stared at me, one eyebrow cocked, I had a moment of panic. Oh shit. I hoped human women were a little less….bloodthirsty than she-wolves. Demanding oral sex from a female shifter was like asking to be neutered. Without anesthesia.

Before I could stammer an excuse or an apology or something, Ricki leaned forward. My heart stopped as her hot mouth closed around the tip of my dick. When she took me all the way to the back of her throat, I slapped a hand against the wall in front of me to keep from falling over.

“Oh shit.” I nearly choked on the words.

Taking her time, Ricki tightened her lips around me, increasing the suction. She wrapped her hand around the base, gripping me firmly, exactly how I liked it. As her hand stroked my cock in time with her mouth, she added a slight twist of her wrist with each motion and hummed in the back of her throat. My body went rigid as I found myself on the verge of coming in her mouth like a randy teenage boy.

“Oh shit.”

As much as I liked what she was doing, we would, without a doubt, have to revisit that later. Right now, I wanted my cock balls deep in another part of her body so I could play with her fucking gorgeous breasts and use my mouth and teeth to leave marks that would take days to fade. I wanted her to look in the mirror and remember who fucked her, who she belonged to.

Mine.

The possessive whisper from the wolf inside me echoed in my brain. Somehow I managed to be gentle as I cupped the back of her head and guided her mouth away from me. What happened next wasn’t gentle.

I pulled her up, lifting her off her feet, and shoved her back against the wall. The new position put her heavy breasts even with my face, a temptation I couldn’t resist. I sucked one hard nipple into my mouth, laving it with my tongue. Ricki released a throat moan and thrashed in my arms. I angled a hand between us, sliding my fingers across her clit and straight into her pussy. Her legs tightened around my hips. When I moved my mouth to the inner curve of her breast and bit her hard enough to leave a mark, her muscles gripped my finger tightly and, though I hadn’t thought it possible, she grew wetter.

“Calder.”

Goddamn but I loved the way she said my name. Pressing my mouth to her sternum and licking a line between her breasts, I demanded, “Say my name again.” When she didn’t, I crooked my fingers inside her and rubbed firmly. I didn’t have to tell her again.

“Calder!”

Her entire body tensed and her muscles clamped down hard on my fingers. I knew she was close, but I wanted to be deep inside her when she came again. I wanted to feel her squeeze my cock like she squeezed my fingers just now.

I removed my hand and she shook her head. “Don’t stop,” she moaned. Her eyes widened when I lined up our bodies and began to slide inside her. “Stop!”

What the hell? I paused. Did she seriously expect me to put her down without fucking her blind?

“Condom,” she panted.

Oh thank Christ. I nipped at her nipples, relishing in the tremors that shook her entire body. “No need, darlin’. Shifters can’t get diseases.”

Her expression turned fierce. “Yeah, but I’m sure they can knock people up.”

“Only if those people are ovulating,” I retorted, “which you are not.” I couldn’t believe she was able to speak, much less think rationally.

She scowled at me and shook her head again. Shit, why the fuck was I arguing about this when I could be inside her? I managed not to drop her as I shifted her weight to one hand and reached down for my fucking pants with the other. I was pretty sure I had a single rubber in my wallet. I never needed them except when the she-wolf I was fucking was in heat.

Growling under my breath, I snagged the condom and let the leather wallet drop to the floor. Tearing the foil packet open with my teeth, I rolled it on with one hand. I hated the feeling. I wanted to be inside Ricki, nothing between us. She was mine. I shouldn’t have to wear a goddamn rubber.

Still, I couldn’t deal with the alternative, so I would wear it and take everything I could get from her.

Her hands gripped my shoulders, nails digging into my skin hard. I fucking loved it. I shifted her weight again and pressed my cock against her pussy. This time, her lids lowered and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip. As I lowered her slowly, only giving her an inch at a time, her head lolled back against the wall, a long, low moan escaping from her mouth. I knew she didn’t realize what she’d done, but by presenting her neck to me, she was showing me submission. In fact, she-wolves never exposed their throat to a male unless they wanted to be marked and mated.

Despite knowing that Ricki had no idea what she was offering me, instinct took over. I felt my teeth lengthen in my mouth, preparing to sink into that smooth flesh, to mark her as mine. Wedging her body against the wall, I fucked her slow and hard, angling my hips to slide my cock over her clit with each thrust.

I knew she was close when her body tightened around me almost to the point of pain and her nails drew blood as she raked them down my shoulders and arms. I slammed my hips into hers, grinding, then repeating.

“Oh God,” she groaned.

“Go ahead, darlin’. Come on my cock. I want it.” I reached up with one hand and tugged on one of her nipples firmly, twisting slightly.

That’s all it took. It seemed she hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she liked a little pain with her pleasure. Throwing her head back, Ricki arched and thrashed in my arms, crying out.

As her body clenched around my dick, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold off. I was going to come hard. The pulse in Ricki’s neck seemed to be pounding inside my own body. I could feel her in my blood.

“Mine,” I snarled.

Without speaking, Ricki’s head tilted to the side, an invitation I couldn’t refuse. As my own orgasm hit me like a runaway train, I clamped my teeth on the curve where her neck and shoulder met. When a few drops of blood hit my tongue, I realized I’d broken the skin.

I felt her go rigid against me, a wail tearing from her throat, and regret tore through me. Goddammit, I hadn’t meant to hurt her. I swiped the wound with my tongue, knowing my saliva would ease the sting. It wasn’t until Ricki sank her teeth into my pectoral that I realized she hadn’t cried out in pain, but from another climax.

Finally, she went limp against me, both of us wrung dry. My legs gave out under me and we collapsed to the floor.

Her eyes were heavy lidded and her cheeks flushed as she rolled off me onto her side. “Holy shit,” she muttered. “I can’t feel my legs. Do I still have legs?”

Smirking, I licked my lips, tasting the faint tang of her blood, and felt my dick twitch. I closed my eyes, too exhausted to even deal with the condom. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t blind.”

When she giggled, I gathered her against my chest, tucking her forehead against my neck. Now that I’d had her, tasted her, and marked her, I didn’t think I could let her go.

I was so fucked.

Chapter Nine- Ricki

I couldn’t move. It seemed Calder had done exactly as he threatened. I was definitely going to feel him in the morning. I let my body mould to his side, my leg curling around his. I studied his torso as I traced a finger across his chest. Now that I wasn’t blinded by lust, I could see little white scars etched in random patterns all over his body. It appeared as though someone had clawed and bitten him everywhere.

What truly caught my attention was the bright red bite mark on the firm curve of his pectoral. Propping myself up on an elbow, I leaned forward to get a closer look.

“Did I do that?” I asked.

He smiled, his eyes still closed. “Oh yeah.” Still, he flinched slightly when I ran my finger over the perfect imprint of my teeth.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. I’d never done anything like that before during sex.

His lids opened slowly and he watched me with languid green eyes as an expression of satisfaction settled on his face. “I’m not. It was hot as fuck.” He lifted a hand and put a finger on the side of my neck. When I sucked in a sharp breath at the sting of his touch, he winced. “I marked you.”

He rolled so we were chest-to-chest, tucking his face against my neck. At the first hot, wet swipe of his tongue on my throat, I jumped. Calder continued to lick my skin with slow, long strokes of his tongue. It felt weird.

“What are you doing?”

He paused and I felt his lips form a smile against my throat. “Licking you. I broke the skin in a couple of places and my saliva will help it heal faster and dull the soreness.”

“Uh, ok. Apparently, there’s a lot I didn’t know about werewolves.”

He chuckled against my throat, causing me to jump for a different reason. How could I be feeling the first stirrings of desire after two mind-altering orgasms? Calder cupped my ass and pulled me closer. My eyes widened when I realized that he was already getting hard again.

Noticing my reaction, he rolled his hips against mine. “There’s one other thing you should know about shifters, darlin’, we can go all night without a break.”

My body stiffened when I heard the muffled sounds of people passing outside the library door. Shit, it wasn’t locked. I didn’t take another breath until the voices and footsteps faded.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Calder suggested.

I felt my heart drop. An echo of Donna’s warning about the nature of werewolves and their tendency to screw anything that had a vagina.

“Conner gave me one of the guest rooms for the night.”

The rush of relief I felt at his words alarmed me. I’d only wanted to flirt a little and somehow I’d ended up having the best sex of my life with a man I barely knew.

He said you’re imprinted on his soul.

I flipped off the little voice whispering in the back of my mind and told her to shut the fuck up. Thoughts like that would only result in one possible outcome; me, broken-hearted.

Calder was watching me intently with serious eyes when I emerged from my frantic thoughts. He rolled to his feet, using a tissue to wrap up the condom and dump it in the trash basket. Without speaking, he bent down and picked up his shirt. I felt my heart sink again as he pulled up his jeans, which we hadn’t bothered to remove. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, without a clue as to what that might be. When I realized there was nothing I could say, I sat up and started gathering my scattered clothing.

He scooped me up from the floor and I squeaked, clutching my clothes to my chest. I stared at his jaw, watching as it tightened as though he were gritting his teeth. Carrying me as though I weighed nothing, Calder headed toward the door to the library.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice shrill.

“Taking you to my room,” he answered abruptly.

I started struggling then. “You can’t just carry me through the house NAKED!”

With a low growl, he set me on my feet and wrapped his shirt around me, tucking my arms through the too-long sleeves as though I were a child. Since most of the buttons were now scattered all over the library floor, I clutched the material together over my breasts with one hand and cradled my clothes with the other.

“Look, I think I should just go-“ I murmured.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Surely I heard him incorrectly.

“No. You’re not leaving.”

I scowled up at him. “Listen, I can do whatever I want and right now I want to leave.”

He stared down at me, something working behind those beautiful green eyes. Then, without another word, he leaned down, planted his shoulder in my belly, and straightened. The world tilted as he settled me over his shoulders like he was carrying a sack of flour.

“Put me down!” I hissed.

“No.”

I tried to kick him, but he just tightened his grip on the back of my legs. Balling up my fists, I aimed for his kidneys and hammered him on the back as hard as I could. All he did was grunt and continue out of the library.

“Put me down,” I demanded, “or I’ll scream for help.”

His answer to my threat was to smack my bare ass sharply. “Hush.”

I’ll be damned if his high-handed behavior didn’t make me wet. It didn’t matter. He had no right to treat me like this.

“Calder,” I said, warning heavy in my voice.

I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were going. I heard a door open, he stepped into a guest room, and shut and locked the door behind him. I began to squirm, trying to figure out a way to get out of this situation, when his hand connected with the other cheek of my ass with a sharp crack.

That was it. I sucked in a huge breath to scream, but it left me in a quiet whoosh when he threw me down on a massive bed. My clothes went flying and his shirt fell open so that I lay on the bed, completely exposed.

“I want to leave,” I stated firmly.

“Liar.”

I pounded on the bed with my closed fists. “Stop giving me one word responses.” I sat up and tried to scoot to the opposite side of the bed. When he grabbed my ankle and dragged me back, I lost it.

I tried to kick him in the balls, which made him smile. The bastard smiled. Then I tried to punch him, which he dodged easily before lunging at me. With very little effort, he pinned my wrists down to the bed and forced my legs apart with his knees. As angry and frustrated as I was, I was also incredibly turned on. How many times had I wanted my partners to take control, to be a little bossy? Maybe I was more submissive than I’d realized, because, as much as I wanted to hate this, I fucking loved it.

Calder stared down at me, our bare chests pressed together. I was panting but he didn’t seem to be exerted in the least. “Do you really want to leave?” he asked me quietly. “Tell me the truth.”

Abruptly, all the fight went out of my body and I melted beneath him. “No. I want to stay.”

He nodded and lowered his head, running his lips across my collarbone. “Good, because I wasn’t planning to let you go anytime soon.”

I lost my ability to think or respond when his mouth closed over my nipple and he began to do wicked things to my body with his hands. If this was my only night with this man, I would make it count.

Chapter Ten- Calder

For the first time since I’d lost my virginity at fifteen, I couldn’t get hard. I literally had nothing left in my body. In the last three hours, I’d fucked Ricki in as many positions, and as many times as possible.

She lay on her stomach next to me, her hair tangled around her head and her face turned away. The sheets were rumpled low around her hips, barely covering her ass. I could see small bruises on her flesh and realized they were from my fingers. The mark I’d left on her shoulder was obvious. I examined it after we finished the second round and realized that she would probably have a scar. The thought filled me with triumph. If she carried scars from my bite, others males would know that she belonged to someone else. To me.

If it hadn’t been for my enhanced hearing, I wouldn’t have heard her mumbled, “Am I dead?”

I didn’t even have the energy to laugh. “I think we killed each other.” My voice came out a dry croak. I needed water, but the nearest source was the fridge discreetly built into the enormous dresser. Conner didn’t do things by half measures, or at least his decorator didn’t. All the guest rooms were richly appointed with the best linens money could buy and a myriad of amenities, such as small refrigerators, single cup coffee makers, and toiletries from the most exclusive spas and stores.

Every time I spent the night here, I felt as though I were staying in a five-star hotel. I’d been threatening to move in since the first night I slept here. I quickly changed my mind. Conner was a control freak of the highest order. Everything in its place and a place for everything. I couldn’t stand how clean and perfect every room in the house seemed. It reminded me too much of things better left forgotten.

Now, I only stayed for a night or two when absolutely necessary. Tonight was a necessity. The Pack and The Council were discussing mutual enemies. For the first time in decades, weres and vamps were getting along. Still, it was a fragile truce, poised to go either way. Years of bad blood stood between the species. Personally, I had no problem with vamps, witches, or humans, but there were many members of our pack who didn’t share my tolerance.

At the moment I was feeling more than tolerant toward one particular human. Especially when she rolled to face me. I catalogued the marks on her body. When I realized how hot it made her, I didn’t hold back. Small red patches decorated her upper chest and breasts where my stubble had rubbed her skin. I’d also left a hickey on the inside of one breast and another on the flare of her hip. In addition to the mark I’d left at the base of her neck, there were several other love bites on her torso.

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. She said she enjoyed looking in the mirror and seeing the marks her lover left on her body, remembering the pleasure. Well, I made damn sure that she wouldn’t forget me any time soon.

“God, I’m thirsty.” Her voice was husky.

“Hang on.” Somehow, I managed to roll off the bed and stand up without falling. I went to the dresser and opened the mini fridge door, pulling out two bottles of cold water.

When I handed one to her, she smiled and said, “My hero.”

She sat up in bed, not bothering to pull the sheet up. I liked how comfortable she seemed with her nudity. The few humans I’d been around were modest, especially the women. Ricki wore her skin the same way a female shifter would, confidently and casually.

I cracked open my bottle and settled next to her on the bed, leaning against the padded headboard. We drank our water in silence.

This was a new experience for me. Usually, after fucking, female and male wolves would dress and go their separate ways. Females going into heat would sometimes have multiple partners in one night. It was the only way to keep them from going feral. While in heat they craved sex, needed it. Without it, their hunger would shift from a sexual one to the need to feed. Females denied sex would shift and hunt any and all prey that crossed their path, including the human kind.

Finally, I broke the silence. “I want to see you again, Ricki.”

She fidgeted with her half-empty bottle. “See me, as in have sex, or see me as in a date?”

I may not have had a lot of experience with human women, but I recognized when I should watch my words carefully. “Both. Either. I don’t care as long as I can see you again.”

Shit, I was fucking this up. Running a hand through my hair, I turned toward her, trying to figure out what I should say. Instead of looking pissed off or upset, she was smiling at me.

“Really?” she asked. “You just want to see me again? I could tell you I wanted to go to a yoga class, no sex, and you’d go?”

While yoga wasn’t how I liked to get my exercise, only a dumbass would refuse to go. Women in tight or skimpy clothing, bending over and twisting themselves into elaborate poses? It sounded fucking hot.

I nodded. “Absolutely. Though I’d probably drag you out of there after the first downward facing dog and fuck you in the closest bathroom.”

She snorted with laughter. “Okay, so yoga’s out.” Eyeing me speculatively, she asked, “But you would still want to see me, even if we weren’t going to have sex?”

I met her gaze levelly. “Yes.”

Her smile widened. She opened her mouth as though she were going to say something, but someone with a death wish chose that exact moment to pound on the door. I saw the knob jiggle and jumped up, shoving my legs into my jeans, and leaving them unbuttoned.

“If you open that door, I will rip your throat out!” I yelled.

There was a moment of silence, then, “We have trouble.”

Shit. Fuck. Shit. I should have known this would happen. The first time in years that weres and vamps were together, something was bound to go wrong.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Ricki shrugging into my shirt. It covered her from neck to mid-thigh and I knew her skin would smell like me for the rest of the night. I liked that idea.

Whoever was outside chose that moment to knock again.

“Ricki, do you mind going into the bathroom for a few minutes?” A hurt look crossed her face and made me feel like a complete ass. “Do you want to stay in here with a strange man, wearing only my shirt?”

Her eyes grew big and she shook her head. “I, uh, I’ll just…” she trailed off and scurried into the bathroom.

Goddammit. I would have to talk to her later, make her understand that I didn’t want her gone, I just didn’t want my packmates leering at her.

Jerking open the door, I snarled, “This better be fucking important.”

Brian, one of the younger pack members, stared at me with wide, frightened eyes. There was a bruise on his cheek and blood rimming one of his nostrils.

“Kyle got into it with a wolf from the Austin pack,” he said quickly. “I can’t find Lachlan or Conner and things are getting nasty.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Kyle was hot-tempered and slow-witted, not a good combination. I’d noticed him throwing back the booze earlier, but had gotten too distracted by Ricki to tell him to lay off or head home.

I looked at Brian. “Call Lachlan. Text him. Leave a fucking message, I don’t care. Just be sure you do everything in your power to get in touch with him. I have a good idea where Conner is, so I’ll grab him and meet you downstairs. Do the best you can to keep the pack members calm. Tell them to stand down or they’ll deal with me.”

Orders shot out of my mouth as I went to my duffel bag and yanked out a t-shirt. I pulled it over my head and noticed Brian was still standing in the doorway.

“Go. I’m right behind you.”

He nodded once and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

I went to the bathroom door and knocked lightly. It opened immediately, a sign Ricki had been listening to whatever was being said.

“I have to go. There’s trouble and our alpha has disappeared, which means I’m in charge.”

Her expression gave away nothing of her thoughts. “I understand.”

I needed to hurry, so I decided to go the blunt route. Stepping into her space, I used her hair to tug her head back so that she looked into my eyes. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I want you here when I come back.”

Something flashed in her eyes, a mixture of defiance and an emotion I didn’t recognize. “You can’t-”

I kissed her hard then, nipping her bottom lip sharply. When I lifted my head, she didn’t try to speak. “Please.”

Her only response was a nod.

Releasing her, I moved to the edge of the bed and pulled socks and boots onto my feet. Her eyes stayed on me the entire time. I went to the door, opened it, and paused. Facing her, I said, “Try to sleep, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I didn’t wait for her response. I stepped out, shutting the door behind me, and took off down the hall toward the staircase. If I had known what I would find when I returned later, I wouldn’t have left that fucking room, even if the house was burning down around me.

Chapter Eleven- Ricki

After Calder left, I took a long, hot bath in the huge tub. As I dried off, I glanced in the mirror and froze, my mouth falling open. I knew Calder had been rough with me, in fact, I’d gloried in it, climaxed because of it. However, I wasn’t prepared for the marks that covered my body. I had beard burn, love bites, a few small bruises, and TWO hickeys. I turned slightly to see if there were many more and giggled when I saw ten little bruises where his fingertips had dug into my ass.

A thrill ran through me. He was the first man I’d been so open with about what I wanted and needed. It surprised me how comfortable I was with Calder though I barely knew him. Somehow, we just seemed to be in sync.

My lips twitched when my thoughts about syncing led to me hearing Bye Bye Bye on a loop in my head. Feeling silly, I wrapped the huge bath sheet around my body, dried my hair, and went back into the bedroom. I felt tired and deliciously sore. I decided to take Calder at his word and sleep in his bed.

I hesitated at the dresser, not wanting to invade his privacy, but also not wanting to sleep naked in case someone came looking for him in the middle of the night. The house was full of vamps, weres, and witches and I really didn’t want to be in my birthday suit if someone showed up.

Deciding that I’d rather be clothed and risk annoying Calder than flashing an unsuspecting stranger, I yanked open a couple of drawers until I found a neatly folded stack of t-shirts. I shook one out and pulled it over my head.

A wave of fatigue hit me hard enough to have me swaying on my feet. A glance at the clock told me it was nearly two a.m., well past my usual bedtime. I flicked on the bedside lamp and switched off the overhead lights. I drank a little water and tried to keep my eyes open while waited for Calder, but it was a lost cause. Within minutes, I drifted off.

Something jarred me from sleep. I lay still for a few minutes, trying to figure out what woke me. Down the hall a door slammed, followed by another. That was probably it. Blinking to clear my vision, I glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost six a.m.

Rolling over, I reached out, thinking maybe Calder had returned without waking me. The other side of the bed was cold and empty. He’d never come back. Crazy thoughts assaulted my mind, worries that he was hurt or in trouble. Heart pounding, I climbed out of bed and yanked on my snug leather pants. Without the aid of the baby powder I’d used earlier, it was tricky, but I managed it.

Slowly, I opened the door to the hall and peeked out. I wasn’t sure why I was trying to be so quiet. I was an invited guest, a friend of Donna’s. Then again, all that partying the night before might have made some of those vampires hungry. Rolling my eyes at my own wild thoughts, I walked down the hall, my bare feet silent on the carpet. I reached the staircase and took a couple of steps down when I heard the quiet murmur of voices.

Instinctually, I crouched down on the steps, partially hidden by the railing on the stairs. God, I was being silly, acting as though someone was going to chase me down and throw me out if I was seen. I recognized the low rumble of Calder’s voice.

Happy he was back, I smiled and was about to push to my feet when I heard a woman’s low, flirtatious laugh. I froze. What in the hell? Craning my neck, I watched as Calder walked into view, shirtless and barefoot, his back covered in scratches that looked like….were those fingernail marks? The woman appeared a moment later, wearing only a miniscule pair of lace panties and sheer matching bra.

Oh, shit, shit, SHIT. My stomach twisted painfully as she rose on her toes and pressed a light kiss to Calder’s cheek. The ache faded into numbness as I watched his hands curve around her waist to the small of her back.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying over the roaring in my ears, but their body language said it all. Their attire, the way he was touching her, only a blind fool wouldn’t know what had happened. Considering I’d become adept at reading signals much more subtle than those during my teenage years and, later, when I dated a series of compulsive cheaters, this was like a slap in the face.

When the roaring finally subsided, I heard Calder say, “I need to get upstairs, I have someone waiting for me.”

The woman chuckled. “Lucky girl. Before you go, I do need to give you one more thing.”

Calder didn’t reply verbally, but that wide, wicked grin I’d seen so often last night spread across his face as he followed her out of sight.

Feeling as though I was going to vomit, I crept back up the stairs on my hands and feet. When I reached the top, I stood and swiftly walked back to Calder’s room. Though I just wanted to leave, to get the hell away, I didn’t want him coming after me. I went to the desk in the corner, grabbed a pen and paper and scratched out a quick note. I wanted him to understand that I was gone and I wasn’t coming back.

When I finished, I left the note on the nightstand and grabbed my boots, shirt, and corset. I was back out the door and moving toward the staircase on the opposite end of the house at light speed. I only stopped long enough to snag my purse and keys out of the mudroom off the kitchen where I’d left them. Somehow, I managed not to run until I was out of the house and in the driveway.

My bare feet slapped on the cement as I dashed to my car, unlocking it with shaking hands. As quickly as possible, I shoved my key into the ignition. I didn’t even clasp my seatbelt until the car was rolling toward the front gate. The guards at Conner’s were well-acquainted with me and my sporty little Mustang, so they merely waved at me and opened the gate.

As I drove home, Donna’s words about staying away from the werewolves echoed in my mind. I had barely given them a thought last night while I’d been naked against the library wall or in his bed, but now, they were all I could focus on. She tried to warn me, but, as usual, I acted impulsively. I’d actually thought that Calder wanted more than a one-night stand. He seemed interested in me and not just for the sex. I enjoyed our verbal sparring and his smart-ass remarks. His request that I wait in his room for him, sleep in his bed, it seemed so sincere. Just like all the things my father said to my mother and my lying, cheating exes had said to me.

It seemed that, even after years of experience with men like Calder, I still hadn’t learned my goddamn lesson.

I held it together until I reached my townhouse. Incredibly grateful I lived in a unit with a single car garage, I pulled inside. I shut off the car and then closed the overhead door before I climbed out. Though it was fairly early on a Saturday, people were already out of their homes, jogging or doing yard work.

Still barefoot, I went inside my townhouse and straight upstairs to my bedroom. As soon as I passed the open doorway, I began shucking my clothes, leaving them in a haphazard trail behind me. Though I’d bathed a few hours before, I felt an uncontrollable urge to take a long, steaming hot shower. Since I’d spent the night in his shirt and his bed, I could still smell the warm tang of Calder’s scent on my skin and in my hair. I needed to eradicate all traces of him from my body and mind.

I turned on the shower, making the water as hot as I could stand, when my naked reflection in the mirror caught my eye. Suddenly, all the marks I’d been cataloging earlier seemed to mock me.

Stepping under the scalding water, I finally allowed myself to cry.

Chapter Twelve- Calder

“I appreciate your help, Chloe.”

She glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “No problem. If I had known that Shane was going to bait your pack members like that, I would have kicked his ass and left him at home.”

Chloe MacArthur was the enforcer for the pack from Austin. They had come in for the weekend to meet with Conner and the Council, as well as my pack’s alpha, Lachlan. At first glance, I’d rolled my eyes at the idea of a female enforcer, because, well, she was a girl. I know, I know, completely sexist and narrow-minded. I guess I’d forgotten how vicious and bloodthirsty a she-wolf could be. Most of the females in our pack were fairly laidback.

By laidback, I mean they would only maim a male for misbehaving rather than outright killing him.

Chloe was not that sort. I’d seen her take on male wolves twice her size and make it look easy when she won. In order to reach beta in my pack, I’d had to fight my way through the ranks and I hoped to God Chloe never asked to join our pack because, as good as I was, she was better. I wasn’t too prideful to think that I wouldn’t get my ass kicked into next year if I ever went toe-to-toe with her.

In fact, after seeing the way she handled her wayward pack member, Shane, this morning, I knew I would get my ass kicked. The confrontation had begun between Shane and one of my pack members, Kyle, while they were at the party. As was often the case among wolves, the disagreement was taken outside and punches were thrown. Chloe and I had tried to break it up, but Shane shifted and almost ripped Kyle’s throat out.

In order to hunt the dumbass down, Chloe and I had shifted as well. I didn’t know what she had planned for him and I really didn’t care. We chased him to ground and she incapacitated him.

With all the fists and claws flying, my shirt had been ripped to shreds as well as parts of my back. The deep scratches burned and throbbed. I knew they would heal in a day or so, faster if I slept for a few hours.

Since she still had a few streaks of blood on her skin, Chloe hadn’t bothered to dress again. She’d muttered something about not wanting to ruin her designer dress with bloodstains. Then she’d kicked Shane in the ribs. Apparently, her fancy clothes meant a lot to her.

As shifters, we were accustomed to nudity. Modesty was an unfamiliar concept to most werewolves. Considering we often stripped, shifted, and hunted together, most wolves weren’t shy, so no one batted an eye when Chloe walked around in her underwear. Even if it had been a big deal, I doubt any of the wolves in either pack would have had the guts to risk pissing her off.

“Here,” she said as she handed me a card. “This is my number. As things progress with the packs and the Council, we’ll need to keep in touch.”

She leaned forward, highlighting all the gorgeous curves and firm muscle on her body. Just a few days ago, faced with that barely there lingerie, I would have been all over her. In fact, in the past, we had blown off steam together. Now, she was just a beautiful woman that inspired my admiration rather than lust.

When she noticed my lack of response, her brows raised. “That lucky girl waiting on you must be pretty special.”

Ricki was. She was mine and I was hers. My mind stuttered at the thought. Awareness snapped through my brain. Fuck me, she was my mate. How had I not recognized it? My attraction to her scent, my possessiveness bordering on obsession, and the driving, uncontrollable urge to mark her as mine. These were the classic signs of a male who’d found his mate.

I cleared my throat, which had all but closed up at my epiphany. “She’s my mate,” I choked out. Feeling weaker than a newborn pup, I staggered back and collapsed on the sofa in Conner’s office. “Holy shit, she’s my mate.” I rubbed my aching chest, realizing that it hurt because I was holding my breath. I sucked in air and released it so quickly, I thought I was going to pass out. I glared at Chloe as she giggled and clapped her hands.

“Oh my God!” she squealed. “I never thought I’d see the day. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!”

With her wide smile and high-pitched giggles, she looked nothing like the deadly she-bitch I knew her to be. Knowing it would wipe that smug look off her face, I replied, “You know, you’re acting like a girlie girl.”

Sure enough, she scowled at me. “Shut up.”

I shrugged. “Call’em like I see’em.”

Chloe studied me with narrowed eyes for a moment before she smirked. “You’re just pissy because you know your days of sniffing after any bitch in heat are over.”

Actually, I hadn’t given that a second thought. Sex with Ricki was better than anything I’d ever experienced. I didn’t want anyone else if I could have her. The only obstacle was her humanity. It would be almost impossible for her to gain respect within the pack unless I turned her. After our short conversations earlier, I doubted that would be an easy task. Ricki had a mind of her own and she was stubborn. Also, turning a human was difficult and painful and my heart constricted at the idea of causing Ricki any pain. There had to be another solution.

Groaning, I buried my head in my hands. “I can’t wait until you find your mate,” I grumbled. “I’m going to rub this moment in your face.”

“Oh hell no. I have yet to meet a wolf who could take me on and win.”

I lifted my head. “Maybe your mate isn’t a wolf.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Never gonna happen.”

I rose to my feet. “As fun as this has been, I need to get back to my….mate.” I rolled that word over my tongue and discovered I enjoyed not only the sound of it but also the thought.

She swayed over to me and kissed my cheek. “Seriously, Calder. Congratulations. You deserve to be happy.”

I only nodded in response and left Conner’s office. My body had suddenly realized that it was well past dawn and it hadn’t rested for over twenty-four hours. Knowing that Ricki had promised to wait for me gave me the energy to bound up the stairs.

My room was almost completely dark when I entered. Thinking Ricki was still sleeping, I didn’t bother with the light. I stripped off my jeans and boots, wincing as the motion pulled at the fresh scratches on my back.

It wasn’t until I pulled back the blankets that I realized the bed was empty. Frowning, I went into the bathroom, hoping to find her there. Empty. Fighting my rising panic, I sniffed the air and realized that Ricki’s scent was fading. Considering how strong it had been when I entered the room, she must have just left.

When I went back to the bed to pull my jeans on and go in search of her, I noticed a piece of paper on the nightstand. Snatching it up, I switched on the lamp and read the words scrawled on the page.

I can’t do this. Last night was a mistake.

— R-

I crumpled the note in my hand, anger, and what felt suspiciously like hurt, warring within me. She’d left me. I finally found my mate and she thought it was a mistake. The wolf within me howled in rage. I didn’t know what to do. She was human and didn’t understand how shifter society worked. Should I let her go? Try to explain? When a male marked a female the way I’d marked her, when he asked her to stay with him, it was the same as proposing marriage in the Pack.

MINE!

The growl escaped my throat before I could swallow it. Letting her go was no longer an option. She belonged to me. I would let her run, for now. After all, I’d warned her last night, never run from a wolf unless you want to be chased. I intended to chase her until she no longer had the will to flee.

Ricki belonged to me. It was only a matter of time before she knew it too.

The End

About C.C.

A native Texan, C.C. grew up either reading or playing the piano. Years later, she’s still not grown up and doing the same things. Since the voices in her head never shut up, C.C. decided to try and profit from their crazy stories and started writing books.

Now that she has a baby girl at home, C.C.’s non-writing time is usually spent cleaning up poopy diapers or feeding the poop machine. Sometimes she teaches piano, cooks, or spends time bugging her hubby and two beagles.

Contact C.C.

C.C. loves to hear from her readers!

Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorccwood

Twitter: @cc_wood

Website: www.ccwood.net

Titles by C.C. Wood

Novellas:

Girl Next Door Series:

Friends with Benefits

Frenemies

Drive Me Crazy

Girl Next Door-The Complete Series

Kiss Series:

A Kiss for Christmas

Kiss Me

Novels:

Seasons of Sorrow

NSFW Series:

In Love With Lucy

Earning Yancy

Paranormal Romance:

Bitten Series

Bite Me

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Content

SHIVER
Thirteen Sexy Tales of Humor & Horror

Better The Devil You Know by Belle Aurora

Prologue

The Story

The Conflict

More of the Story

Lights Out by Jodie Beau

Part One — Cora

Part Two — Ben

Cora

Spandex is for Superheroes by Ruth Clampett

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Macabre Magic by L.H. Cosway

Part One: The Bet

Part Two: The Tease

Part Three: The Ruse

Part Four: The Trick

Candy, Dentures, and Way Too Much Spandex by R.S. Grey

Mystery, Matzo Balls and Moxie by Z.B. Heller

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

A Halloween Hook-Up by Jennie Marts

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Peckers by Liv Morris

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Bewitched by Daisy Prescott

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Red Rum by Ashley Pullo

Double Dare by Penny Reid

Part 1: The Tale of Two Twins — Jessica~

Part 2: Kiss Then Tell

Part 3: Bump in the Night

Part 4: Double Dare — Duane~

Nightmare in Night Court by N.M. Silber

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

One Little Bite by C.C. Wood

Chapter One- Ricki

Chapter Two- Calder

Chapter Three- Ricki

Chapter Four- Calder

Chapter Five- Ricki

Chapter Six- Calder

Chapter Seven- Ricki

Chapter Eight- Calder

Chapter Nine- Ricki

Chapter Ten- Calder

Chapter Eleven- Ricki

Chapter Twelve- Calder