“I'm hosting a party!”
“Party” was a woefully inadequate way to describe the extravaganza I threw every year. I tended to be extra in pretty much everything I did, but I took my birthday seriously, and the fact that it fell on a holiday only added to the madness. I’d deck out my garage, have Brie help me whip up an impressive array of snacks and treats, and force all my friends and family into dressing up.
It was also a given that I’d have the best costume. I had a list in my phone of costumes I’d used in previous years and ones I hadn’t yet. This year’s might be my favorite yet—an old-fashioned madam. I’d found my dress from a company thatspecialized in historical dress recreations—and paid a pretty penny to have it custom made and shipped from California. I’d only tried it on once when it arrived to be sure it fit correctly, but I couldn’t wait to spend an entire night in it. The details of the dress were so painstakingly crafted that I felt like I was wearing a piece of history. I’d never worn so much clothing—the heavy skirts and full bodice covering me from chest down—yet felt so…sexy. Maybe it was the act of sliding into a different skin, of imagining myself as the type of woman who would’ve worn such an outfit, who made her living overseeing a brothel.
With a start, I realized we were less than two weeks away from the big event. My instantaneous shock and worry must’ve been evident on my face, because my sister smiled and said, “I’ll be over after I help Ez clean up for a planning session.”
I moved to her side and pressed a smacking kiss to her cheek.
“You’re the best sister ever.”
“I know.” I shot her a wink as I strode for the door. “And as your best sister ever,” she called after me, “I should tell you that if you don’t invite Owen, I will.”
That little shit.
Still, her words stuck with me as I drove home, and by the time I’d pulled into my garage, I’d worked myself into a bit of a state, knowing if I didn’t call Owen then and invite him, I never would.
Blessedly, the phone rang through to voicemail—and I refused to consider he was blowing me off—and I left a long, rambling message before hanging up in horror and studiously ignoring my phone the rest of the day.
“Hey, QB. It’s me.Listen, I’m not sure what you’re up to next weekend, and you’re probably going to be holed up at the club like you are every Saturday but if you’re miraculously free or whatever, I’m having a birthday slash Halloween party at my house and it’d be really cool if you stopped by. I mean, everyone would love to see you. But also totally fine if you can’t make it. Okay I’m going to go now. See you at our meeting on Wednesday. Bye!”
I listened to Delia’s rambling voicemail no fewer than ten times, my grin growing wider with each one. Despite my horrible overreaction to her touching my mouth, shewantedme at her party. Truthfully, it wasn’t even the touch that sent me over the edge. It was the way she’d shoved that thumb in her mouth and sucked it clean, heat flaring in eyes that never left mine. That was dangerous territory, to allow ourselves to remember we were a man and a woman with urges and not strictly business partners who needed to keep our southern regions far away from eachother.
But the fact that she was pushing past the awkwardness from earlier—and my rude and abrupt departure—to invite me meant something to me. It meant she really wanted me there, and if she wanted me there, I’d be there. No questions asked. The club could handle itself for a night. That was, after all, why I paid my men so handsomely.
My first order of business was to pull together a costume. I wanted to make this special for Delia, to really put an effort into dressing up and not half-ass it like normal.
So I called my inside source for ideas.
“What’s your sister wearing to her party next week?” I asked unceremoniously when Amara answered.
“Hello to you too, Owen,” she said. “How are you? Business good? How’s that big ass family of yours?”
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I’m good. Business is great. Family is happy and healthy.”
“That’s good,” Amara said. “Now what can I do for you?”
“You can help me figure out what to wear to Delia’s party next weekend. What are you and Cal dressing up as?”
“Bella and Edward,” Amara said, the names proudly leaving her lips like I was supposed to know what they meant.
“I have no idea what that means.”
“I didn’t either!” Cal shouted from the background, and I laughed.
“They’re fictional characters. Ever heard ofTwilight?”
“Only in passing,” I said. Aria had been obsessed with it when she was in high school and talked my ear off about it every time I’d called home for three months straight.
“Okay well in the final book, Edward, the vampire, gets Bella, the human, pregnant. So that’s what we’re going as. Edward and pregnant Bella.”
I chuckled again. Leave it to Amara to base an entire costume around the baby growing in her womb.
“That’s great, Mar,” I said sarcastically, and I heard Cal snort in the back. “Can we get back to the matter at hand?”
“Which is?”
“What is your sister dressing up as?”
