As we approach the entrance to the Tucker Mansion, the men who looked from afar like bodyguards and servants dressed in nice tuxedos turn out to be vampires. One of them is standing so still against a column that he nearly scares me to death when he comes alive and says "I want to suck your blood!" as I'm handing our tickets to the girl at the door.

I jump, and Larson puts a strong arm around my shoulder.

Whew.

"Well, they've really got this whole haunted house thing down," I joke. "Very realistic."

But I lean up against him, grateful he's here because I was honestly scared. And it feels nice to have his hand on me too. I want him to stay close to me all night for multiple reasons.

As we start to enter the mansion, two people dressed as clowns run out and knock over the vampire who just scared me.

"Out of the way, Dracula!" one shouts, his face a twisted, creepy mess of distorted clown makeup. But the makeup isn't typical clown makeup and is instead more gothic: black and white and morbid looking, and offset by wigs containing bright and varied colors. "There are new villains in town who are scarier than you."

The other clown laughs a sadistic, manic chuckle.

"And we aim to do our job well."

They both get up close in our face and laugh some more before running inside and hiding behind a curtain just out of view, waiting to scare the next group of people who enter the Tucker Mansion.

"Holy shit," I say, leaning into Larson all over again.

"Wow," Riley says. "That's some freaky shit."

"It's okay, honey," Jensen says, patting her back and hugging her as best as he can in his square, cardboard costume. "It's just a scary prank."

"Yeah, who would have thought that clowns would be scarier than fucking vampires?" Larson proclaims.

I shake my head.

"Orange is the new black and clowns are the new vampires," Riley says, in an obvious attempt at a joke.

But her voice quivers as she delivers it, betraying the fear underneath her humor.

"I know it's just part of the act, but I think it was in poor taste," I say, shaking my head. "I mean, they were just saying on the news that people shouldn't dress in Halloween costumes."

"I heard that Target banned them from the shelves," someone behind us pipes in.

"I'm pretty sure that Target stopped selling all Halloween costumes," someone else in their group says.

"Well, they can't be seen as discriminating against clowns," I say, and everyone laughs.

I'm glad to have made a decent joke, which eases my social anxiety. I hear Larson's deep, almost guttural chuckle and I'm happy to have made him laugh. It also eases my fear a bit.

"We'll have a good time," he says, his hand falling to my hip and lingering briefly before he lets go to open yet another door for me.

"I know," I tell him. "I'm sorry that I've been such a spoilsport. I'm starting to get more into the Halloween spirit."

Having this handsome quarterback at my side sure helps aid that effort, I think.

But I already feel more cheerful. I didn't mean to whine and complain so much, but my job has really got me down. It's nice to be here with my best friend and new fling— at least, I'm hoping that's what this will turn out to be. A night of hot passion that will give me enough of a boost to be able to return to the job I'm starting to get burnt out from.

"This mansion has like eighteen lobbies," Riley jokes. "But I think we're finally inside."

Now that we're finally into the party, the music is loud and everyone's dancing. There are some great costumes here and I feel a little silly for dressing as a cheerleader. But at least I'm in good company— as no one can top the ridiculousness of what Riley and Jensen are wearing— and I'm glad that Larson joined me as a football player.

"This is a great party!" Riley says, squeezing my shoulder so we don't get separated in the crowd. "Thanks so much for inviting us."

"Any time," I tell her, and I'm glad she's here because I'm not much of a people person.

My job involves mainly legal research and writing, not the typical grandstanding stuff people think of when they think of a lawyer. That's more litigation. More like what Riley does.

I always just hung out in the background in law school, keeping my nose in the books, excelling as a writer and editor for the school’s law journal and acing my exams, while Riley was the star of mock trial and great at networking with other lawyers.

She liked to drag me out to a party on Friday nights after class or a Bar Association happy hour, or on Saturday night after a day spent studying for finals. Although I was always shy at first, once I got some liquid courage in me, I usually ended up having a lot of fun.

I was grateful that Riley was able to bring me out of my shell and show me a good time. So I'm happy to finally be able to repay the favor.

This Halloween party is reminiscent of law school and the good old fun times we used to have. I don't think either Riley or I have really let loose since we had our kids. I decide to throw caution to the wind tonight, and relive those days.

As if reading my mind, Larson takes my hand and says, "Can I buy you a free drink, doll?"

I laugh. But I don't let go of his hand. Instead I follow him to the bar.

"Have fun!" Riley says, and winks.

She and Jensen are already cutting up the dance floor. They look like they're trying to remake Dirty Dancing, but failing miserably due to the fact that he's wearing a cardboard box that gets in the way. Clearly, they want some alone time so it's good that Larson and I are unexpectedly getting along so well.

We approach the bar, which has another enormously long wait. But Clay Tucker approaches us, with wristbands.

"Hello my dear," Clay says, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad you could make it to my haunted house Halloween party, all the way from New York City."

"Anything for the firm's favorite client," I tell him, returning the hug. "And thank you for inviting me."

"Of course," he says. "I've been inviting you for years but this is the first time you actually showed up."

I've been a little busy, I want to tell him. Having a kid and raising him. On my own.

But I don't say that. I can't. I have to schmooze. And nobody wants to hear any more of my sad sob stories. Especially not the firm's biggest client and the host of tonight's party.

Larson clears his throat and I nearly jump.

Oh yeah.

"Clay, this is... my friend. Larson."

"Nice to meet you, man," says Larson, shaking Clay's hand. "Great party."

What is Clay going to think? I wonder. Here I am bringing a biker, a known outlaw, to his posh party.

But Clay just smiles and says, "I aim to please."

I guess tonight Larson is just one of many party goers, dressed in costume and blending into the crowd. I feel a pang of guilt for being a bit embarrassed about bringing him.

But to be fair, he's from a completely different world. And he's made it clear that this type of gig isn't really his thing either.

It's good that tonight he and I can just get lost in the spirit of Halloween. We can both be someone different from the person we normally are. And maybe he can show me what a bad boy biker does to a woman.

I blush at the thought. Clay waves one of the bartenders over to us and then hands me a pile of wristbands.

"Take good care of these two," he tells her. "And whoever else they're with."

"You got it, babe." The bartender winks at him. "What'll the guests of honor have?"

"A Corona," I tell her.

"I've gotta make the rounds, and I have some announcements to make, but these wristbands will let you come right up to the front of the line at the bar and drink whatever you want, all night long," Clay whispers into my ear. A little too close into my ear for my liking.

"Thanks!"

"You're welcome. I'm really glad you're here. Whenever I've dropped by the office for a case meeting, you've always caught my eye because you're gorgeous. But you always seem so serious and studious. I hope you have a blast tonight."

I blush again, wondering if people think I'm too reserved and stuck up. I want to tell Clay that I have a kid, that I can't go gallivanting around town getting free drinks at crazy parties all the time.

I already had my party stage, in law school with Riley. Since then I've had to grow up a lot. And I don't regret it because Caleb is my world.

But I know I can't go into all of that right now. Everyone is here to drink and have a fun time. I'd best get on board.

"Happy Halloween," I tell Clay.

"Happy Halloween. Have fun."

Then he looks at me seriously, a line of worry crossing his face.

"But be safe."

What does he mean? I wonder. My mind flashes back to the breaking news report I saw earlier, about the clowns.

"You okay, Dove?" Larson asks me, handing me my beer.

"Yeah. Clay just told me to..."

I'm about to say 'stay safe' but I don't want to dampen the mood, so I decide to try to forget about it.

"...have fun," I finish.

"Well great," Larson says. "I have just the thing that'll help with that."

He slides a small glass full of a small amount of clear liquid over to me. He has one too. And then he passes me a small plastic container that has lime and salt in it.

"Is that..."

"Tequila," he says. "I thought it would go perfectly with your Corona."

"Oh my god, I haven't had tequila since..."

"You've never had tequila like this," he says.

He winks at me, and I get wet for him all over again.

"Oh no?" I ask, accepting the challenge.

"Definitely not. This tequila requires a kiss to quell the burn."

"Oh really?"

My heart is racing. I want this. It doesn't make a lot of sense, but I do.

"Ready?" he asks, holding up his glass.

He sprinkles salt on my wrist and then licks it off. Then he applies more and I lick my own wrist in the spot where his mouth just was. I look up at him, begging for more.

"Ready," I say.

"One, two, three."

We both down the tequila and then he places the lime in my mouth. I suck on it. Begging him again.

He kisses me, soft and slow and perfectly.

He wraps his arms around me and puts his knee in between my legs. I press myself up against him, my body begging him the same way my eyes just were.

I would feel embarrassed by how much I want him, if I didn't also feel so turned on. My attraction to him outweighs my feelings of neediness.

"Let's go to the dance floor," he commands.

I follow him, ready for whatever tonight will bring.

"I'm not much of a dancing guy," he says, "but I need an excuse to be pressed up against you all night long."

No excuses needed, I want to tell him. But I don't say anything at all, because I don't want to ruin the moment, or whatever is about to come next.