“Your bff, Jules is coming with her new dick on a stick from the art department.”
Jesus, really? My heart can’t take much more of this.
“Heath,” she purrs, batting her extra-long store-bought eyelashes at him, “don’t you agree that Jane should go to the costume ball?” She bites her Botoxed bottom lip to help make the question somehow more enticing to him. God, I despise her and her phoniness. Everything about her is fake; I bet if you turn her upside down and read the tag in the crack of her ass it would say “Made in China.”The woman needs to be slapped with a dick.
“Yeah, definitely,” he says, turning his gaze on me again. His eyes are the lightest brown, almost amber and mesmerizing. “You have to come. We’ll have a blast.”
“We will?” I softly ask.
“Yeah, of course we will. You definitely need to come,” he says, making my mouth water—because just listening to him, I definitely need to come. I bet he can get my mind off Nate being with Julia and not me. Maybe Heath and me and Mr. Perfect and Julia could double date and then Nate could get madly insanely jealous and—
Yeah, I need to get over Nate real quick, this is not healthy at all.
Chapter 9
The soft flickering glow of small candles fall across the room and the scent of cinnamon, pine, and other unnamable spices hang in the air. Digital booths are placed in dark corners to take pictures in, circular tables are set up with fancy drinks stacked in pyramids, and there’s even a booth where thousands of dollar bills fly around for party guests to try and catch. Inside is a glittery fairy with sparling wings that smash up against the glass sides of the enclosure. She, or it could very well be a he, jumps around flailing their arms trying to grab as much as they can.
Outside the game, a unicorn and a large bird cheer the fairy on.
It’s the most bizarre experience.
I sit at a small table decorated with seasonal debris, surrounded by my office colleagues; none of which are in any way recognizable, dressed in their over-the-top costumes. Next to me, a woman leans close to my ear and giggles, “Gail really outdid herself this year, huh?” She smells like cherry lip gloss and tequila.
I try looking into her eyes as her mask of beads twinkles at me, but I have no idea who she might be. “Yes, she definitely did,” I agree, beginning to feel a little bit giddy about being in disguise. The reality of it hits me swift and hard. No one knows it’s me. In theory, this night could be epic.
For one night, I don’t have to be regular old Plain Jane.
“When Gail said she was picking out everyone’s costume, I was a little skeptical, you know?” the woman says, shrugging her massively feathered shoulders. “And keeping it a secret was hard. But I get it now; it’s exciting and mysterious.”
“And the costumes are gorgeous,” I whisper, looking down at my designer ensemble. I can’t even explain what I’m supposed to be dressed as, but it’s a stunning piece of gothic fashion. Black organza and silk wrap around my body, making me look sculpted and curvaceous. A tight corset covers my torso decorated with small delicate gears that actually move. A mixture of steampunk and an eighteenth-century prostitute. “My costume is probably worth more than my car.” I feel sexy and alive and sensual and brimming with lustful thoughts.
Julia told me nothing about her costume, only a quick text that it was easy to screw Nate in on the elevator of our apartment building. That made me want to vomit. But I can’t think of them now, I can’t think of them at all. I’m here to help get over Nate Cross and to prove to myself he isn’t my Mr. Perfect. He’s Julia’s, not mine, and I have to deal with it.
I look around for signs of Heath. I want to drown in him to forget anything related to amazing stadium kisses and missed chances and secrets.
Everyone who walks by stares at my breasts.Both men and women, which oddly excites me more. Even my eyes linger on the round swells of them pushing out from my corset each time my eyes dart to one of the mirrored walls. It’s a weird feeling, sitting in a costume like this. I feel freer, prettier, like nothing can stop me.
A monkey with wings screeches past and grabs onto the waist of a dainty little thing dressed as a flower who belts out a scream. I bet the dumbass monkey is Dex, but I can’t tell who the woman is. Whoever she is, she’s chasing the monkey and it’s adorably cute.
A man, dressed in a red tuxedo and a devilish mask pulls out the chair across from me, and greets us with a familiar baritone voice, “Good evening, ladies, you’re both looking stunning tonight.” Through his mask, I see his eyes linger on me and they’re the color of fine whiskey.
His body is a solid, thick mass the red silky costume clings to. A wave of warmth flutters in my stomach. His mask is terrifying and beautiful at the same time, menacing and sexual.
“That is such a striking costume,” the woman next to me says. “Gail dressed you like the devil himself, didn’t she?”
This elicits a deep chuckle as his answer, and he reaches over the table and takes the bottle of red wine to pour himself a glass.
Heath. It has to be him. There is no one in the whole of our office building that is shaped like him, and his voice—his voice is sinful and unforgettable.
My hands shake as I lift my wine to my lips. The dark fruity liquid sloshes over the rim of my glass, dripping down my fingers and splashing drops across my face. I sit there like an idiot, with my trembling fingers practically convulsing and clutching onto the stem of the glass.Why is it still in my damn hand?The horned devil across from me watches, the corner of his masked lips lifting into a slow, sexy smile.
The moment is somehow electric. Sparks of fire rush up my chest and climb the slope of my neck, making my skin burn scarlet. His eyes follow the trail of blush and his tongue darts out a smidge to lick over his devilish lips.
I keep catching him watching me.
People at our table talk to one another in friendly, overly excited tones.How mysterious this all is. How stimulating.
Heath pulls his fork up to his lips and pops a cherry tomato into his mouth. I have never wanted to be a vegetable until this very moment. Both of us eat in silence, watching each other’s every move. The slow rise of his hand, the dab of his napkin against his painted lips. Each move he makes is somehow erotic and full of heat. I bet Gail has pure pheromones blowing in from all the vents in the room.
