Текст книги "Shiver : 13 Sexy Tales of Humor and Horror"

Автор книги: Belle Aurora

Соавторы: Penny Reid,Ruth Clampett
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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 39 страниц)

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

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Daisy_Prescott

Instagram: http://instagram.com/daisyprescott

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7060289.Daisy_Prescott

Email: [email protected]

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.