"Well," she says, raising her can slightly, "you're committed to the bit."
The voice inside the Tree is muffled enough that she can't recognize it.
I nod dramatically.
Someone in the crowd shouts, "Give her a dance, Tree!"
Bad idea.
I do it anyway.
I throw my fake leafy arms up and start dancing like an absolute idiot.
The crowd explodes.
Someone blasts music from a speaker.
"STELLA GETTING A LAP DANCE FROM THE TREE!" someone yells.
Her face turns bright red — all the way down to that bare shoulder.
"Oh my God," she groans, covering her face with one hand.
But she's laughing.
Really laughing.
I exaggerate the moves just to make her giggle harder. Just to watch her shoulders shake. Just to see her eyes crinkle at the corners like that.
Worth every ounce of humiliation.
I press a finger to where my lips are inside the costume.
Shhh.
Then I beckon.
Come with me.
She hesitates — just long enough for me to feel it in my ribs.
Then curiosity wins.
"Fine," she mutters. "But if you murder me in the woods this will be very embarrassing for everyone involved."
The crowd hoots.
"STELLA'S LEAVING WITH THE TREE!"
"Didn't go for a man so she went for a furry!"
"NEW FETISH UNLOCKED!"
She flips them off over her shoulder without even looking back.
I guide her toward the darker edge of the property where the trees thicken and the party noise fades into distant bass.
The night air is cooler here. Softer.
