Oh, shit. Oh, shit. What had Piers done?
He lay across his bed, where he’d been since freaking out and running home while Wycke slept.
Sure, small things happened in the past, but nothing of this magnitude. Flying during sex? Really? Had Wycke noticed? How could he not? Then again, he’d not reacted. Maybe the whole thing had been a hallucination.
Jess wasn’t home when Piers finally gave up on spending the rest of his life hiding in his bedroom. Her illegible note on the coffee table might have said, “Gone shopping” or “kidnapped by aliens. Please help.”
Of course, the aliens would be the ones pleading for help.
As much as he loved her, he wasn’t ready to face anyone else.
Something flickered at the corner of Piers’ eye. He turned his head. A tiny spark winked out. Strange. The sun must’ve reflected off something.
Rubbing his eyes, Piers stumbled into the kitchen and placed his hand against the coffee urn. Still warm. Full, so Jess must’ve brewed a new pot for him. He should’ve been up an hour ago. So much for staying out late on a work night.
Work. Would Wycke come back tonight? Dance with him again? Take him back to the decadent hotel room?
How could he face Wycke now? Either A) they’d flown during sex, or B) Piers had lost his mind. They’d only flown the first time, though.
Still, imagining Wycke kissing him, moving inside his body, made chills race up Piers’ arms and spine.
Sipping coffee restored him to some semblance of life. Once or twice more, one of those winking light thingies happened.
Time to make an eye appointment.
“Must be a costume party somewhere. Or a Comic-Con,” Piers shouted over the din to his coworker.
“What? Why?” Randy paused his obsessive-compulsive arranging glasses, scanning the crowd. “Looks same ole, same ole to me.” He took full advantage of fiery red hair and freckles, preying on those into cute twinks.
What? “Haven’t you noticed all the costumes?” A guy in one hell of a centaur getup pranced by. Piers swore he heard the clip-clop of hooves.
His workmate peered out at the crowd. “I haven’t noticed any costumes unless you’re talking about the guy in a leopard print jumpsuit. Oh, and the twink wearing a panda hoodie. He’s cute enough to pull the look off.”
How could Randy not notice the woman with gossamer wings standing at the bar or the couple dressed as satyrs on the dance floor? Unless he’d suddenly developed a thing for twinks to the exclusion of all else. Or pandas.
They again, no one ever accused Randy of being observant except when a gym junkie sauntered past.
Piers dove into working, trying not to scan the crowd for a head of white-blond hair. Nope. Not gonna let a guy just passing through distract him. “Love the wings,” he told the woman.
She gaped at him. “You… you can see my wings?”
“Of course! They’re beautiful.” Her face glittered in iridescent colors. Jess should be here. She’d have a million questions about the woman’s makeup. And her wings.
“Thank you.” The cosplay fairy fluttered her wings, sprinkling the air with fine dust. “So, you must be a refugee too, huh?” She left a sizable tip on the bar, grabbed her drink, and wandered off. Strange. But, damn at the tip!
She stopped to talk to a couple dressed head to toe in green, faces and arms painted to match. Damned good makeup job. Not a bit of flesh-colored skin showed.
They waved, sliding onto barstools. “Got green beer?”
“Uh, only on St. Patrick’s Day.”
The two shared disappointed frowns. The larger of the two asked, “Got anything green?”
Piers went through a mental list of drinks the club offered. “How about a Green Demon?”
“Where?” Both customers whipped their heads around.
“It’s a drink.” Maybe Green Demon was a comic book character Piers didn’t know about, and they had issues with someone who dressed like one.
