The doorbell rings, and my heart pounds, and not in a good way.
“I know!” I wave my hand to prevent her from answering. “I can go as a schoolteacher. I can toss on a turtleneck and a pencil skirt and call it a day.”
Sienna shakes her head as she charges out of the bathroom, presumably for the door. “It’s not a costume if you wear it to work!”
I stare at the stranger in the mirror, a little awed I don’t even look like myself. I guess that’s my answer. No one will even recognize me, so what’s the harm?
If I had to guess what most people thought I was tonight, I’d definitely have to go with French prostitute.
I ignore the catcalls I get as I pump gas for Jason, who’s inside paying.
It’s freaking freezing, and this sad excuse for a shawl does nothing to help me stay warm. We’ve been hopping from one Halloween party to the next where I don’t know anyone. Jason’s having a great time, though. At least one of us is. My feet are killing me, my nipples are so cold I could carve my name in the windshield, and I have a headache from hell.
“Ooof.”
“Dude, why’d you stop?”
“Oh. Damnnn.”
I turn around and stare at five zombie football players. Who are actually football players.
See, Sienna. I totally could’ve been a teacher tonight!
I squint at the guy in the back whose familiar scowl I recognize. “Ben?”
He does that thing with his chin that’s supposed to pass for a greeting.
I’m really tired of how my brother’s turned into a raging asshole. Our parents would be so disappointed by his lack of manners.
“How’s it going, Gabs?”
My heart drops at the sound of that voice.
Rider Kingston. Of fucking course.
Because being on a second date means I have to run into this man.
My attention goes straight to those criminally beautiful gray eyes fringed with dark lashes. Even with zombie makeup, the man is ridiculously handsome.
I want to punch him in his pretty face.
Before I can say anything, a gaggle of women swarm around them because these guys travel in an entourage like they’re the Kardashians.
Some girl—a new one this time—wraps her arms around Rider and giggles into his ear.
If this is the universe’s idea of a joke, it sucks.
I roll my eyes and open the door to Jason’s SUV.
One of the other zombie football players coughs. “Since none of us knew Gabby was your sister, Ben, we should totally be able to call dibs. Fuck! Stop hitting me.”
I’m not sure who smacked him, because some of my Marie Antoinette extensions get in my eyes, but by the time I peel them off my face, Jason is back and draping his arm—the one not holding a tray of gas station nachos—over my shoulders.
“Hey, guys! Great game today!”
Irritation crawls over my skin, but he doesn’t notice my lack of enthusiasm. He just keeps rolling with the ass-kissing extravaganza.
“That forty-yard pass you drilled into the end zone in the fourth? What a play, Kingston. I’m still freaking out about that.”
“Thanks, man.”
A deep sigh escapes me.
Rider was amazing today. I can’t even pretend I didn’t catch part of the game, but I’m not about to gush over him and let his head get any bigger.
“I’m going to let you guys chat, but I’m freezing.” I yank the door open again and crawl in, trying my best to not flash my ass to the football team.
A full ten minutes later, Jason joins me. “We’re in luck. The next party is across the street from you.”
Jason’s only twenty-three, but that qualifies as a full-grown man, right? Why does he still want to party with college kids?
“I’m going to pass. I have a terrible headache.” One hundred percent true. “And I have an early morning.” I have to get to Rise ’N Grind by six to make a boatload of empanadas.
“Aww, babe. Really?”
Something about this “babe” nickname makes me cringe, and now that I’m facing the prospect of him dropping me off, I can’t help but wonder if he’s going to try to kiss me goodnight. He didn’t last time, thank God.
And shouldn’t I want to kiss a guy I’m interested in?
The fact that I don’t tells me everything I need to know.
There was a time I lived for the possibility of kissing Rider. Sad as that sounds.
Thankfully, Jason’s so psyched to hang out with the football team, he barely gives me a second glance when we pull up to my house and I mention he doesn’t need to walk me in. He has to find parking anyway, and there are ten million cars on our street with a stream of people headed toward the Stallion Station.
It’s still early, only eleven, so I’m not surprised when I find my house empty. Ramona hasn’t been around lately, and Sienna was hanging out with friends.
I’m suddenly exhausted, probably from shivering for the last several hours, so I don’t bother taking off my costume before I pull on my fluffy white robe and toss back two Advil. I’m in bed sixty seconds later, ready to cleanse myself of this day.
Except there’s a steady beat of music coming from across the street that seems to get louder when I close my eyes. My room is in the front of the house, unfortunately, and I hear all of the noise on the street.
An hour goes by.
Two.
Three.
The revelers traipse through my yard. Puke in the bushes. Pee in the street. I know this because there’s always a drunk sidekick who yells out a play-by-play. Like, “Dude, are you really peeing against the fire hydrant?” Insert loud hiccup. Or, “Don’t yak through your nose next time. It’ll hurt less.”
My head is throbbing so hard, I wanna stay curled in this ball and cry.
At four in the morning, I snap.
“This is fucking bullshit!” I slip my feet into my fluffy slippers, pull my robe closed, and march across the street.
As I bang on the front door, it flings open. There are at least a half-dozen naked women traipsing across the room, gyrating on beefy athletes and doing God knows what.
My eyes dart to the sound system, and since I’ve given into my inner psycho, I head straight to it and yank the plug out of the wall.
The silence makes everyone look up, and I realize I’m staring at my brother, who looks horrified to see me. And then I realize why and turn away before I hurl. Because the girl down on her knees in front of him is obviously not praying.
Jesus, I’m gonna need so much therapy one day.
I clear my throat and address the crowd at large. “Some people have to work tomorrow, assholes. Can you keep it the fuck down? Stop terrorizing this neighborhood. The world does not revolve around you and your dumb football games!”
I’m screeching. I can’t help it. I’m half-asleep and so hungry I’m nauseous. My eyelids flutter.
God, I feel woozy.
It’s almost like…
Almost like… that time I passed out.
Oh, shit. Am I going to pass out again?
I can’t remember the last time I ate. Jason and I were supposed to get dinner, which turned into soggy nachos from the gas station, which I passed on.
I blink. And blink again.
Everything feels fuzzy, like it’s wrapped in film. I don’t even care that Jason is here, and he’s missing clothes.