Wish me luck? I’m up to my neck in hot glue and spray paint right now.
Three dots appeared on my screen. I waited for Xander’s reply, but it never came. The bubble vanished, but I couldn’t spare another moment to consider what that meant. I buckled down, forgetting our conversation, and when a car door slammed in the driveway an hour later, I was so engrossed in my work that my ears didn’t register the sound.
“Hey,” someone shouted over my music.
With a backward jerk and what was most likely an unattractive squawk, I dropped the scissors I’d been using to thin a brunette wig. “Jesus,” I exclaimed, clutching a hand to my chest. Xander stood at the edge of the garage door, awash with early afternoon sun. Flashing me a bright smile, he twirled a set of car keys around his finger before disappearing them into his jeans.
“Sorry,” he said. He wore a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses instead of his usual frames, which made it impossible for me to see the look in his eyes, but there was a note of amusement in his voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, turning down the music.
Back at Zap Zone, we’d decided it would be easier for me to dothe boys’ makeup here at the house instead of lugging my supplies to another location, and I’d given Xander the address so he could make travel arrangements with the rest of the band. But he wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow morning.
“It sounded like you need help, so I, ah…came.” Jamming both hands into his pockets, Xander glanced away from me before adding, “Is that okay?”
The gratitude I felt for him in that moment was so overwhelming, I could barely manage a response. “Oh.”
His gaze darted back to mine. “Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad one?”
“A good one,” I reassured him, my composure snapping back into place. “And it’s definitely okay. I’m in serious need of a second pair of hands.”
Xander visibly relaxed at my answer; the tension in his shoulders melted, and he crossed the garage to join me at my workbench. “Is that all I am to you? A pair of hands?” Grinning, he wiggled his fingers at me. They were long, slender, and dusted with freckles.
For a single, breathless second, I imagined how they would feel against my skin. Then a burning surge of mortification tackled my hormones into submission.
With a cough, I turned away so he couldn’t see the blush on my cheeks. “Of course not.”
Hell, I thought, running a hand over my hair.I probably look like the world’s hottest mess right now.My blond mane was piled on top of my head in an arrangement that more closely resembled a bird’s nest than a bun, and I was covered from head to toe in spray paint, glitter, and glue. My outfit wasn’t much better—an old pairof athletic shorts and an oversize T-shirt my dad received for running a marathon, clothes I didn’t care about getting dirty.
“Because I’m also your laser tag shield and favorite model?”
I spun back around and pointed a finger at him. “Hey, I didn’t use you as a shield. You jumped in front of me of your own volition, like some kind of obnoxious, self-sacrificing knight in shining armor.”
Xander pressed a hand over his heart. “Are you calling me your hero?”
“You wish.”
Laughing, he pulled off his sunglasses and hooked them on the collar of an olive-green T-shirt. The color made his eyes pop. “So aren’t you supposed to be at school?” he asked as he took in the tornado that was my workspace.
“Technically, yes, but I’m channeling my inner Ferris Bueller today. Skipping is good for the soul.”
“Pretty sure Bueller didn’t spend his day off working,” Xander pointed out, still surveying my mess. He looked like he was about to add something else, but then his gaze landed on the row of finished prosthetics. Frowning, he picked up the one on the end. “What’s this for?”
Last Saturday, Xander and Felicity had watched as I sketched out potential appliance designs. At the time, there had only been four. I didn’t need a prosthetic to turn Xander into Jack Sparrow, just makeup, facial hair, and a wig. But when I came home and googled reference pictures for each character, a new idea came to me.
“It’s for you,” I told him.
His frown deepened. “This looks like a skull.” I nodded and waited for him to understand. “Ohhh!” he said after another moment, a mixture of realization and excitement spreading across his face. “Cursed Jack Sparrow? From the first movie?”
“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it would be more in the spirit of Halloween and a nod to your classic monsters concept. If you don’t like the idea, I can stick to the original plan.” It would certainly be less work but not as fun.
“No, Iloveit. It’s way more badass.” He gently set the prosthetic back in place and grinned at me. “So what do you need me to do, boss?”
“I just started on your wig,” I said, gesturing to the one in front of me. “Wanna help?”
He hesitated. “I don’t need any actual skills for this, do I? I don’t want to ruin anything.”
“Nope. Just a willingness to get your hands dirty.”
