I head over to the ice chests that sit against the wall, rooting around in one until I find a fresh bottle of water. I crack the lid off and take a long drink, extra thirsty after eating the brownies. The music still pounds from the living room, so loud I can hardly think and a girl wearing a sexy witch costume goes dashing by, giggling uncontrollably as she passes me and heads out into the backyard.
Running my free hand over my hair, I glance down at my skirt, noting how short it is. I’d been all about attracting guys last year. This year, not so much. I’m trying to be low key and this costume is the farthest thing from low key with its dipping neckline and thigh skimming hem. I saw plenty of guys checking me out earlier, no doubt intrigued by the virginal white dress and feathery angel wings. I almost look like I could’ve strutted right off the Victoria’s Secret catwalk.
Almost. I’m not so vain as to think I could be a VS model. Besides, my boobs are pretty small…
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
I freeze at the sound of the masculine voice coming from behind me. Great. Male attention I was trying to avoid, though I’m an idiot to think I could’ve avoided it with this costume on. One wrong move and my ass would be hanging out.
Slowly I turn to find a tall guy standing before me, and it takes everything I have not to roll my eyes.
Most of the dudes at this Halloween party tonight are beyond obnoxious, either wearing the most ridiculous costumes ever or behaving like assholes. Something about a mask and drinking too much booze on the spookiest night of the year brings out the worst in them.
This guy, in his sleazy pimp costume, is no exception. And wasn’t his costume played out already years ago? Made out of cheap crushed purple velvet trimmed in leopard print, with wide collars and bell bottom pants, topped by a matching purple velvet and leopard trimmed hat. He’s wearing mirrored sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes, which makes me think he’s kind of shady. The grin on his face is huge, in that giant, shit-eating way good looking guys smile.
Because he so is. Good looking. He knows it too.
Oh, and he has a cane. That he’s pointing right at me at about mid-thigh.
Like he’s trying to lift the hem of my skirt.
I take a step away from him and send him my most evil glare. “You look ridiculous.”
“You look hot as fuck.” He lowers the cane and takes a step toward me, that confident grin he’s wearing perfectly matching his horrific costume. He looks like a greedy pimp. Or what we regular people think a greedy pimp must look like.
“Eloquent,” I tell him, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I ignore the little fizz of pleasure his comment gives me. I should not like that he called me hot as fuck. How crude. He’s a pig.
His head tilts down and he actually reaches up to push his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose so he can…what? Get a better look at me? He’s got a lot of nerve. “Nice cleavage, angel.”
I don’t have what constitutes as much cleavage yet somehow, he makes me feel dirty for wearing a costume with a low neckline. Must be his tone of voice. Or more likely the lecherous way he’s checking me out. Do girls really find his behavior attractive? Granted, he’s good looking from what I can tell but his attitude is shit.
“Do you come by the sleazy comments naturally? Or are you powered by the costume?” I bat my eyelashes like I’m as innocent as my halo implies I am.
He pushes his sunglasses back up, covering suddenly thunderous blue eyes. He’d seemed infinitely amused with himself, with the situation only a moment ago and I’m surprised at the sudden shift. “My flirting skills are in the toilet with this costume tonight, I swear to fucking God,” he mutters.
His blunt honesty makes me laugh and he smiles slowly in return. “Newsflash. Girls don’t find pimps that attractive. We’re taught from a young age to run in the opposite direction when we spot one.”
“I’ve discovered that.” He rubs his chin, cupping it with his thumb and index finger and I watch those fingers move in barely contained fascination. He has nice hands. Wide palms, long fingers…
“You run into many pimps?”
His deep voice breaks through my thoughts and I give a slight shake of my head. “You’re my first.”
The faintly leering grin is back, just like that. Inside I grow cold. He’s too cocky for me. Too sure of himself. I’ve dealt with enough of these types to last me a lifetime. “Well, let me introduce myself—”
“Tristan! Keep away from her.” Jade miraculously materializes by my side. I didn’t even hear her enter the kitchen. “Seriously, she’s a nice girl. I refuse to let you mess around with one of my friends.”
I barely know Jade and I’m relieved that she’d rush to my defense so quickly. I almost want to hug her but I keep myself in check.
Tristan—the name doesn’t fit but I think the pimp costume is blocking me mentally—takes a step back, holding his hands up in front of him as if he were defending himself. “No harm, no foul, Jade. Seriously.” He flees the kitchen before we can say anything else.
“Well. That was interesting,” I say after I take another long drink from my water bottle.
Jade sets the empty plate on the counter and turns to look at me. “You don’t want to with that guy.”
I raise a brow. “Want to what?”
“Anything,” she stresses, shaking her head. “He’s the player to end all players. He’s only become worse since Gabe started dating Lucy. It’s like he’s trying to make up for Gabe and Shep being off the market by banging every chick he meets.” She sighs. “He’s Shep’s cousin and an okay guy for the most part but when it comes to women? Forget it. I wouldn’t wish him on my worst enemy.”
I wince. “I wasn’t about to let him bang me. Did you see his costume?”
Jade bursts out laughing. “I knew we’d get along fine. But definitely avoid him. He’s fun to flirt with, but that’s about it.”
“I’ll remember that,” I murmur as I watch her buzz around the kitchen. I’m totally hiding out. I used to live for parties, but not anymore. I only agreed because Kelli really wanted me to go and I don’t even know where she’s at.
Considering I’d like to leave before this party gets too out of hand, I need to find her.
Soon.
“Who’s the angel?” I ask, yelling in Shep’s ear.
We’re standing on the edge of the makeshift dance floor, the music so loud I can barely hear myself think. Not that I’m thinking much, since my brain is numb from too much alcohol consumption.
Shep frowns at me. “Which one are you talking about? There are at least five angels in this room alone.”
I glance around, surprised to see he’s right. Funny, how I only noticed one. The tall, thin girl with small tits and shiny blonde hair. Jade’s friend.
A shudder runs through me at the reminder. Jade and I, we either get along or we don’t. And most of the time, we don’t. Oh, we’re polite to each other. Sometimes we laugh and have a good time. Other times, she’s shooting me dirty looks and steering Shep away from me. She thinks I’m a bad influence.
She would be correct.
“That one.” I point when I spot her exiting the kitchen. She has the face of a model—or let’s be more apt, an angel. All elegant cheekbones and pouty pink lips, perfectly shaped nose and icy blue eyes, she’s beautiful. I normally like them bubbly and cute, a girl who thinks my jokes are funny while hanging onto every word I say. While talking to this particular girl though, I got the distinct feeling she thought I was the joke. My costume didn’t help but still.
Needless to say, she intrigues me.
“Ah,” Shep nods, “I met her earlier. Seems nice. She’s a friend of Kelli’s.”
Ugh. Kelli. I may have made out with her once by accident a few months ago. We were both drunk and she also may have shoved me off of her after about five minutes of awkward, sloppy drunken kissing. Not one of my finer moments. “What’s her name?”