The guy in the Tyrannosaurus costume had me frowning over the paltry effort I’d put into my “sexy fairy” outfit. The foam getup I glimpsed from across my co-worker Greg’s living room included a top hat, monocle, and waistcoat a la the good ol’ days. Getting into the guy’s seven-and-a-half-foot monstrosity likely took team-lifting and a spotter. All I’d done before I’d left the apartment was toss on a liberal amount of glitter all over myself to match my sparkly wings and glowing wand.
I huffed out an irritated breath, sending up a cloud of multicolor dust which landed on the party participants. A guy to my left sneezed into his red solo cup, and then shot me a dark look that would have left a stain on white pants. The person sporting a putrid-fleshed zombie mask beside him turned as well, glaring out of one milky eye. I flushed hot and shimmied across the stained, mustard-colored carpet to a quieter spot where I’d glitter snot-fewer people—if such a place existed.
Unable to hear myself think over the music, I used my other senses. Greg and his college buddy roommates needed to invest in a crate of Febreeze because their living room smelled of old socks, cheap beer, and body odor. The furniture had that found-on-the-side-of-the-road look. No doubt that fact explained part of the odor and why I kept my body from brushing anything. Every decorative item—from the wall coverings to the bric-a-brac—had been made using alcohol bottles, caps or kegs, accounting for one of the other odor notes. A perfect house if Greg were still twenty instead of over thirty-five.
Sighing, I hovered near a rare bit of bare wall. This Halloween party wasn’t worth the thigh highs I’d pilfered out of the hope chest my grandmother had given me. At nearly thirty years old with no interest in another super-needy steady boyfriend, marriage wasn’t in the cards.
Still, who was I to snort at Greg? I couldn’t claim to be any more of a grown-up. Fortunately, my relatives hadn’t lived to witness me in this state.
“Heeyyyy, Shellllll-beeee.” Greg slurred from across the room, voice loud over the Dave Matthews Band playlist.
I hadn’t been there long, but I’d already heard Crash Into Me three times.
The evening’s host slapped his lifted hand onto the closest person’s back, knocking half their beer to the floor. The person—a woman with thick eighties era make-up a la Siouxsie Sioux—glared at him. Greg ambled my way, heedless of his guest’s irritation. “You’re looking…” His gaze traveled down my legs, pausing on the naked part between my pink petticoat and the lace tops of my white thigh highs. “Gooooood.”
“Hi, Greg.” I leaned so I could see around him and get away from his overpowering cologne and stale alcohol scent.
He pulled back his head and scanned the space around me. “Where’s Karrrrr-ennnn? Aren’t you two attached at the…tit?”
Rolling my eyes, I put yet more space between us. “Karen had to do a family thing. Is Raymond here?”
“Ray-mon-duh?” Greg laughed at his butchered pronunciation. He blinked blearily in the vicinity of my face. “Ray who?”
“The boss’s son.” I slowed my delivery so he’d be sure to understand me even in his inebriated state. “The one you said would be here tonight?”
“Oh. Yup boy. Yuppieeee boy. Yes boyyyyeeeee.” Greg did an interesting combination of a hiccup, laugh, and burp. The stale alcohol scent eclipsed his cologne for one disgusting second. “He was here. And then,” Greg waved his hand in a nonsense gesture, “he wasn’t.”
I stared, waiting for a better answer than that.
“Bayyyyy-leeeee.” Greg garbled a different girl’s name even as he weaved around me.
Watching him go, I felt the muscles in my shoulders tightening one group at a time. I calculated my blood alcohol level, trying to decide if I could drive home now or if I’d have to use Uber. The math would have been easier if I’d remembered whether the cup in my hand was beer number three or four.
“What are you supposed to be?” The baritone voice on my left had an unassuming drawl that made me want to hear it singing Disney tunes. “A prostitute’s fairy godmother?”
I whirled toward the sound, certain whoever had asked the question couldn’t have meant me. A seven-and-a-half-foot dinosaur blocked my view. The green foam featured a human face incongruously sticking out of its neck—a beautiful human face that might have been considered androgynous if it weren’t for a bit of facial hair frosting its softly rounded chin. Eyes the color of my tobacco-stained bedroom furniture fixed on me—the human eyes rather than the giant plastic disks a foot above.
Wow . The fancy T. Rex guy had more than just a kick ass costume going for him.
He flicked his black hair out of one eye and scanned the top of my outfit. The chain on his giant monocle jingled jauntily, and a much nicer aroma of pear chased away Greg’s lingering funk. The guy’s mouth slipped into a smirk. That expression reminded me of why I’d turned toward the voice in a tizzy in the first place.
A prostitute’s fairy godmother? Why that Jur-ass-ic jerk!
“I’m a…fairy,” I said. Sharing the costume’s actual name wouldn’t have done me any favors. “Just a fairy.”
“Fairies don’t wear stilettos and lace thigh highs.” He cast a speculative look at my legs. “And their skirts at least cover their asses.”
“Have you ever seen a fairy to know for sure?”
“I’ve seen that Tinker bell chick.” He snorted, gesturing a very human arm at my front while his fake dino arms stuck out to either side. “You look like Tinker Bell’s glitter addicted—” His full mouth formed an O-shape, but the only thing that came out was an H-sound. “Loose sister,” he finished.
I rolled onto my heels, trying to figure out what he’d actually meant to say. And then it hit me. Whore. He’d almost said I looked like a whore—Tinker Bell’s whore sister to be exact.
What a first-rate asshole.
Prying open my lips, I managed a question between a clenched jaw. “Did you come over here just to complain about my costume?”
“Complain?” He sent me a bright grin full of straight teeth. “Who’s complaining?”
Either Greg’s beer had gone sour in my stomach or this guy sickened me. “You’ve called me a prostitute and loose. I think those count as complaints.”
“I have nothing against prostitutes. I’ve just never needed to use one.”
I folded my arms across my chest, and then thought better of it as my ample breasts threaten to spill out of my stupid pink corset. Too late to stop the motion, I let my arms sit where they were, spill threat and all. “Because you like loose women?”
His lips broadened. Wrinkles cut into his cheeks and highlighted a set of high cheekbones. “Now you’re getting the picture.”
Dropping my hands back to my sides, I let my chin rise. “I’m sorry to inform you that just because a woman wears a short skirt doesn’t mean she’s loose or for hire.”
So maybe part of the reason I’d attended had been for no-strings-attached sex, but my costume wasn’t that bad. Besides, one lover at a time didn’t make me loose. And was it my fault guys got clingy, forcing me to move on to the next one? I pushed all that aside and focused on the male in front of me.
Dark eyes glimmering, he and his smirk were either disturbingly sexy or a prelude to a felony. “Are you really sorry?” he asked, voice too smooth given how much of an ass he was.
“Fuck no,” I said.
His smirk faded, and he shook himself. The costume’s stumpy arms flapped with his movement. “Whoa. I never thought I’d hear Tinker Bell curse.”
My wand looked like a mighty fine option for ending this conversation. But I didn’t relish the thought of going to jail for assault with a sparkly weapon.
“I’m not fucking Tinker Bell,” I said.
“Too bad. I bet that would be hot.” His monocle chain jangled as he winked at me.
Tossing up my hands in defeat, I accidentally dropped the stupid wand. I cursed under my breath and bent to get it. A low whistle meant someone enjoyed the show of my petticoats lifting—someone who managed to make a low whistle sound good. I snatched up the wand and didn’t dare look back as I stalked toward the exit as fast as my hot pink heels would allow.
“Awww, don’t be like that, Tink.” Jurassic-jerk’s smooth drawl floated after me as if he followed. “That was a compliment.”
For two seconds I thought my righteous indignation explained why the crowd glanced at me, widened their eyes, and then scampered out of the way. I soon realized their gazes had gone quite a bit higher than my wings could account for. No, Jurassic-jerk was following me.
I stomped faster. Two feet from freedom, I boomeranged as a human hand grabbed my naked shoulder and whirled me, wings and all. As I’d feared, the foam Tyrannosaurus hovered within arm’s length, top hat teetering from the recent rush.
Jurassic-jerk leered as he held out one palm. “You might need this.”
The scrap of silk dangling from his pinky finger made the liquid souring in my stomach slosh. I recognized the purple fabric and that petite yellow bow. My mouth formed a horrified gape, words nearly spilling out.
Oh. My. God.
How in the fuck had my special occasional thong panties ended up in this guy’s possession? My shock faded beneath his waggling eyebrows. A toxic combination of mortification and anger sizzled through my organs.
I managed to curl my fingers beneath my skirt for a discreet check. Yes, I still had on the undergarment I’d slipped into before I’d left the house. He hadn’t done any voodoo lingerie swiping trick. This must have been some sort of cosmic joke of static-cling in the worst damn way.
Oh no, what if those had been stuck to my skirt the entire time I’d been tossing back cheap beer and sneering at the revelers? How epically embarrassing.
I snatched the purple fabric off his fingers. The elastic snapped into my thumb, making me swallow yet another curse Tinker Bell never would have uttered.
The guy made a woo-woo gesture, chortling as he danced away from what no doubt was my evil eye. “Don’t I get a thanks?” He darted a few inches to the left. “At least a butterfly, fairy kiss?” He shuffled to the right as if engaged in a boxing match. “Or if you’re feeling particularly appreciative, one with tongue.”
My wand hit him upside the human nose before I could flip my bitch switch to off. The costume accessory bounced off his foam dino leg, and then clattered to the floor. A cloud of glitter exploded in front of his eyes. He sneezed three times in a row. Too bad I hadn’t shoved the pointed end of the wand up his nostril instead.
“What was that for?” He sneezed again, sending glitter into my hair. “I helped you, woman. I brought you your unmentionables and didn’t even mention them.”
His next chortle snapped the bitch switch toggle, leaving it in permanent oh-no-you-di’n’t mode. I lifted the last weapon at my disposal, my solo cup of alcohol, and tossed the amber contents into Jurassic-jerk’s beautiful face. A gust of air from beside us sent yet more glitter floating in the air. He sputtered and said a very bad word no woman should ever have to hear. I pulled back a fist to teach him a real lesson—
“Ma’am.”
Freezing in mid-pummel at the serious voice, I cut a guilty look to my right. My stomach bottomed out at the boy in blue watching me.
Dear Lord, please let the uniformed gentleman be late for the party.
But the identically clad pudgy guy behind him hinted they weren’t here as guests. Their metal badges had official looking markings I doubted someone would go to the effort of recreating.
Slowly I brought down my fist.
Jurassic-jerk grabbed hold of my hips, whirled me around, and proceeded to dry-hump my ass. Chortling for the umpteenth time, he said, “Once you go dino you’ll never need gyno.”
Metal ratcheted and someone cleared their throat. The asshole behind me froze and cursed. He released my hips. Foam legs stumbled behind me.
Thirty seconds later my special occasion thong panties were tangled in the silver cuffs cinched around my wrists, and the pudgy officer led me to the police cruiser parked in front of Greg’s house. My only consolation was that Jurassic-jerk’s wrists sported similar hardware.
There was just one problem—only one police car awaited us.