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“Nah. I’m not getting blue balls for a month over bragging rights, Dyl. Make it worth my while.” He squints at the ceiling, those thick eyebrows pinching together. “It’s gotta be something humiliating. Something that really stings.”
“Like what?”
“Like...” His eyes light up. “Okay. Loser spends an entire day as the winner’s personal servant. In a French maid outfit.”
A laugh rips out of me. “What?”
“You heard me.” He cracks a grin. “You break, you’re on your knees with a feather duster and a little black dress. I want that smug look wiped off your face. I’ll even buy it for you.”
“Save the receipt, bro. You’re gonna need it for yourself.” I hold out my fist. “Deal?”
He bumps it. “Deal.”
We stand there grinning at each other like idiots when the kitchen door swings open. A girl stumbles in, giggling. Her tits are spilling out of a slutty nurse costume, fishnet stockings climbing up thick thighs. We both clock her at the same time. Any other night, I’d be elbowing him out of the way. But tonight, I’m happy to let her zero in on Brandon. Her whole face changes when she sees him.
“Oh, hey.”
Brandon’s already locked in. That lazy grin, chin tipped up. “Hey. Sara, right?”
She tosses her blonde hair over one shoulder. “It’s Megan, actually.”
“Right. Megan. My bad.” He leans back against the counter. “You having fun out there?”
“Eh.” She shrugs, then lets her eyes drag down the full length of him. Six-five, starting linebacker, two hundred and forty pounds of muscle—Brandon gets a lot of looks. I’ve watched girls undress him with their eyes more times than I can count, but this one isn’t even pretending. “Better now.”
I clear my throat.
“What?” Brandon winks at me. “It’s not midnight yet.”
“What happens at midnight?” Megan asks, stepping closer.
“Oh, you know.” Brandon’s got that glint in his eye. “I turn back into a pumpkin.”
Megan throws her head back and cackles like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard, then reaches out and trails a finger down the center of his chest. Black nail polish with little white skulls. She drags it slowly from the hollow of his throat to the waistband of his costume. “I like pumpkins.”
“Yeah?” Brandon’s throat bobs. His jaw is tight.
“Mm-hm.” She leans in closer, holding eye contact. Her tits are practically falling out of that costume at this angle. “I like to carve them up. Get my hands all dirty.”
Brandon’s grip tightens on the counter. “You always this forward, Megan?”
“Only with gladiators who look like they know how to handle a sword.” She bites her lip.
I check my phone and grin. Midnight.
“Happy November, Bran.”
Brandon’s face goes through all five stages of grief. “Fuck. Already?”
Megan frowns, looking between us. “What’s November got to do with anything?”
“Nothing,” Brandon says. “He’s just—”
“My boy here just made a very sacred vow.” I clap him on the shoulder. “A spiritual commitment. The whole month. Very serious stuff.”
“Dyl. Shut up.”
Megan pulls her hand back. “You guys are weird.”
