I needed to get out more.
Mindi and her friends watched for the guys while I kept an eye out for a clear table.
“Boone!” Claire called, waving at a group of guys across the room. They maneuvered through the crowd toward us, single file, and I took them in, one at a time, as they drew closer.
Boone—not too tall, red-haired, decent build, and wearing a football jersey, with stripes of eye black on his cheekbones. If Ed Sheeran joined the Cowboys, this is how he’d look suited up. I wasn’t in the mood for looking coordinated, and a ginger cheerleader with a ginger football player was too matchy-matchy. Next.
“Hey, Oliver,” Ava said as Boone took orders for our first round.
Oliver came into view—hello, slutty Egyptian prince—and distributed short hugs all around. I normally wouldn’t go for someone who did his winged eyeliner as well as I did, but with his jet-black hair, smooth skin, and mouthwatering body clad only in a black-and-gold shendyt skirt, headdress, and armbands, he was hot. His quick, appreciative scan and “Well, hello” as he pulled me in for a relaxed hug told me he was a contender for Mr. Tonight.
Until I looked at Ava, who observed his response to me and visibly deflated. I’d just met her, but we were squad-for-tonight, so Oliver was out. Dammit.
Kurt was boy-next-door cute with a mop of hair and a goofy, engaging smile. Like a young Jesse Eisenberg—emphasis on young. He was wearing an over-twenty-one wristband, but he looked seventeen. He was also wearing a giant banana costume that had, by the looks of it, been through two or three previous Halloweens without being laundered well enough. If at all.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
I had one more shot to get lucky tonight. Things looked good when the last arrival was a credibly well-built Superman in a tight, non-mild-mannered costume. The muscles, unlike Uncle Hank’s this morning, were not padding. Yum. Bonus, he looked a little older than the others—as in, he looked like a man.
“Erin, this is Rhys,” Mindi said. “Rhys, Erin.”
Well, damn. Because based on the fact that Rhys/Superman had to tear his eyes away from my petite friend to register my existence, I was SOL unless I fancied a banana later on, after copious amounts of alcohol and lots of sweaty dancing, perhaps. I flicked my eyes over to Kurt and he waggled his brows. Nope.
Mindi seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden, and my protective instincts surged.
“Is this the Erin?” Rhys asked, and she nodded. Smiling warmly, he extended a hand. “Great to finally meet you, Erin.”
Mindi chewed her lip and pulled on her wristband, her big green eyes flicking back and forth from his face to mine. Her tiara glinted from the exposed overhead lighting as she watched us.
I took his hand and smiled my sorority recruitment chair smile—friendly, but appraising. His grip was gentleman-firm, meant to reassure, not overawe.
“Great to meet you too, Rhys,” man that I’ve never heard of until one minute ago. Brows raised, I gave Mindi a favorable head tilt and a furtive wink. She smiled back and sighed, relief and joy all over her face.
Clearly, she wanted me to like Superman, and she’d confided enough of our past connection that he knew who I was and was inclined to think well of me.
“I’ll get you a prickly pear margarita?” he asked her, moving slightly closer and just behind her to block some guy dressed as an octopus whose additional appendages were hitting everyone in a five-foot radius every time he moved.
“Boone’s getting it,” she said. She turned to me. “Boone is Rhys’s little brother. Like, his actual brother, not a frat thing.”
“Oh. I guess that’s how you guys met?” If I wasn’t going to get my freak on tonight—I see you, banana, and the answer is no—I would make my mission for the night ascertaining Mindi’s safety and happiness with this Rhys dude. I might not have been her official Big Sis, but we’d bonded just as tightly.
“Yeah. I met Boone my first semester. We have a big, really cool circle of friends. Not even half of us are here because there’s a frat thing—duh, it’s Halloween so of course one of the frats is throwing a huge party—that’s where the rest of them are. Rhys and Boone have an apartment near downtown, so sometimes he hangs out with us.”
“The youngsters let me tag along sometimes is what she means.” He chuckled, looking down at her. “I think they’re afraid I’ll just hole up alone otherwise, and Boone will come home some night and find me dead of boredom with no company but myself.”
Mindi laid her fingers on the big S in the middle of his muscular chest. “You are not old! And you have Isaac for company when you don’t want the rest of us.”
Isaac?
He looked over his shoulder. “Man, he must have had to park blocks away. It’s been at least ten minutes.”
My heart stuttered. There are a lot of Isaacs in the world, I told myself. It’s not him. I was supposed to be watching for people leaving tables so we could pounce on one, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the door.
Boone returned with drinks for the girls. Mindi sipped a bit of hers through the straw—like a lady. “Rhys is an architect. He and Isaac went to college together.”
I pushed my straw aside and gulped a mouthful of salt, tequila, and lime. Lots of other Isaacs have architectural degrees.
“There he is.” Rhys waved on hand over his head. “Isaac!”
I didn’t see anyone except some ripped guy in a near cosplay-level Batman costume. He was suited head to toe except for his chin, which was chiseled, coffee brown, lightly stubbled, and all too familiar.
Batman waved back, his hand stilling when, I assume, he caught sight of me.
“Table!” Madison barked, and we all mobilized to grab the two four-tops, already pushed together, before someone else did.
Boone went back to the bar for the rest of the drinks, and Rhys said, “I see a small table clearing in the back—Kurt, come haul the chairs over here so we’ll have enough room for ten.”
Mindi pulled me to her side of the table and I followed, unable to think coherently or look at Isaac. We were not at work. This was outside work hours and far from everyone we worked with. I felt like I’d spotted an endangered mountain lion. I was equal parts thrilled and scared shitless.
Rhys hoisted the table over his head to get it through the crush of people, delts and biceps bulging through the stretchy blue fabric, cape wafting in the breeze from the open patio doors. Kurt dragged two chairs in his wake. A couple of on-their-way-to-hammered guys cheered, thinking Superman and Batman—Isaac, who’d just pulled out the chair at the head of the table, next to me—were about to throw down and enact a fight scene from an upcoming movie.
Isaac put up a palm and in a low, gravelly voice told them, “Not tonight, guys. I’m off duty,” and they awww, mannnned but laughed and clapped. Isaac sat. I did not look his way or acknowledge him at all, but I could feel him sitting there as though we were touching.
“Oh Lord,” Claire said. “The geek is strong with this one.”
Boone came back with the guys’ drinks. “Isaac, man, don’t kick my brother’s ass yet. We need some nachos and a couple more rounds first.”
Mindi leaned close. “What do you think of Rhys?”
Cape swirling around his shoulders, Rhys placed the table at the other end of the two we’d seized, then made his way to the empty seat next to her. No one had taken it; everyone in this close-knit group of friends seemed to know he would sit next to Mindi.
“He’s gorgeous. And he seems to like you a lot.”
Her eyes sparkled, so green they almost didn’t look real. “Do you really think so?”
I pinched myself so I wouldn’t laugh at the earnest expression on her heart-shaped face. “Oh honey. I’ve never seen a guy so intoxicated.” I took a sip of my very strong margarita.
“Time to get TURNT!” our banana hollered to amused hoots and cheers from nearby customers, which emboldened him to break into an impromptu Wobble mixed with elements of the Cotton-Eyed Joe wh
en a new song started up—until his sweeping, stuffed tail end tripped a waitress, who was caught by a guy dressed as a pirate.
Kurt sat.
“I stand corrected,” I said to Mindi and heard Isaac’s soft chuckle. My arms erupted in goose bumps, and I fisted my hands on my thighs to stop myself from squirming. I had never had such uncontrollable physical reactions to nonphysical circumstances.
“Dude, save your Wobble for the dance floor,” Madison said to Kurt.
“You’re not my mom!” he said. They stared at each other for a full five seconds before bursting into laughter.
I was confused, but no one else seemed to be.
“They do this all the time,” Mindi said. “It’s an inside joke. None of us are in on it.”
Oliver and Kurt went to get our food when “Banana man, your order is up!” was announced. When they returned to the table with heaping platters of nachos and quesadillas, Oliver looked us all over and said, “Aww man, I just realized we only got eight tickets for the haunted house.”
There were ten of us. I wondered who had crashed this party besides me.
“Shit. We could get two more at the door?” Madison said. “We have to go. It’s the one in that old meatpacking plant in Hell’s Half Acre. Scary as fuuuuuck.”
“I got the ones with the speed pass. I don’t even know if they cash sell those at the door. Ten bucks extra but you jump the line—which will be insane tonight. Like, hours long.”
“Oh—that’s okay,” I said, bummed. “You guys didn’t know I was coming tonight. I don’t have to go. I’ll just…” What the hell was I going to do in the middle of Fort Worth, by myself, on Halloween? I’d only had one margarita. If I was going to have to drive home, I couldn’t have another.
“I’ll stay with Erin. I don’t really like haunted houses.” Mindi grabbed my hand under the table. I’d been through a haunted house once and could understand why she wouldn’t want to go. At some you had to sign a waiver that made physical contact permissible. For Mindi, that could trigger a panic attack.
Rhys leaned up to speak around her. “Erin, you go. I have an optic nerve thing—strobe lights are a problem for me. I probably shouldn’t risk it. I’ll stay with Mindi. We’ll go watch a band at Capital Bar or hang out at the apartment, and you guys can swing by and get us on the way back to 7th.”
I looked at Mindi and she gave my hand a squeeze, a coy smile on her face.
“You sure?” I asked her, and she gave one quick nod, her cheeks flushed pink. Girlfriend wanted to be alone with Rhys. Bad. “Cool, thanks Rhys. Who do I owe for the ticket? Crap, I’ve only got my credit card.”
“That would be me.” Oliver finished his beer and grabbed another from an ice bucket. Elbows on the table, he leaned forward and flexed deliberately like one of those birds that puffs up during mating efforts. Next to him, Ava sighed at his display, but he didn’t notice. “’Bout fifty bucks. But walk through the house with me and show me your best private cheer later on, and we’ll call it even.” He winked.
If Ava weren’t pining over him, I might have considered his offer—except for the fact that it was a complete fucking asshole proposition to make.
Two fifties landed in front of Oliver.
“For both of us,” Isaac said. “You can settle up with me when you get a chance, Erin. No unwarranted stipulations apply.”
“Man, Isaac—that’s cold, bro.” Oliver chuckled as he stuffed the bills into his wallet.
“No, King Tut, that’s being a man, bro.”
“Schooled by the Batman, a very special Halloween event,” Kurt said and then wedged an entire steak quesadilla triangle in his mouth. Oliver scowled, unable to respond without doubling down on being a dick.
“Thanks,” I said to Isaac.
Isaac’s mask concealed every trace of emotional expression but his eyes, which spoke protective volumes. “No problem.”
“I didn’t mean to— Uh, I’m sorry, but,” Oliver murmured, hands spread, embarrassed but defensive. “I just thought—”
“Thanks,” I interrupted. I’m sorry but was such a non-apology. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to make my acceptance of the ticket conditional on anything inappropriate.”
“No.” His tone wasn’t exactly contrite, but I hoped he had learned the difference between initiating a suggestive but no-strings negotiation and being a presumptuous fuckbag.
Boone was glaring at him and Rhys looked like he wanted to punch him. So did Madison. I was long done ignoring offhand sexism. Excusing minor asshattery too often led to more deliberate misogyny and sometimes the kind of abuse Mindi and Jacqueline had suffered.
I stood, hoping to counteract the awkwardness and salvage the night for everyone else. Cheerleader Erin to the rescue. “My turn to buy a round! Who wants what, and who’s gonna help carry?”
To my surprise, Oliver stood. “I’ll help.” We gave our order at the back counter after standing in a short line. “I really am sorry. I just wanted to get to know you better, and it came out wrong, that’s all.”
I rolled my eyes and took a help-me-Jesus breath. “That ‘it came out wrong’ or ‘I’m sorry but’ bullshit negates an apology. Be real. Did you actually think asking me to give you a private show later in exchange for fifty bucks was romantic?”
He stared at his feet. “You’re right. I’ll do better.” I’d expected continued petulance. This was a welcome change of pace. “I really am sorry,” he added.
Kurt’s voice rose above the din—no mean feat—and we looked back at the table. Our banana was doing a freestyle version of raising the roof like an out-of-control inflatable waving tube man. The bartender slid the drinks across the counter.
“Apology accepted.” I picked up the bucket of beers and pointed at the four margaritas. “Now grab those and let’s—in the words of that whackadoodle banana—get turnt!”
chapter
Eighteen
“Everything good?” Isaac asked, voice low, when I returned to the table.
I handed off mixed drinks to Mindi, Claire, and Rhys before I slid into my seat and looked at my boss, weighing the fact that in a few hours, after a few more drinks, we were going to be walking through a very dark haunted house. That shouldn’t have left me turned on, but I couldn’t get Oliver’s stupid proposition out of my head – because it didn’t feel so stupid when applied to a man I wanted to take those liberties. Maybe it was my voluntary months-long dry spell. Maybe it was the cheerleader outfit. But I felt like I was sixteen, and all I wanted was his hands on my skin or his mouth on mine.
“Yes, Isaac. Everything is good.”
He turned to take a beer from Oliver.
“Hey Erin, where do you go to school?” Kurt asked. “If you’re a Horned Frog, Mindi needs to invite you out more. I’m like ninety percent sure we haven’t met before.”
I froze and so did Isaac, but we didn’t look at each other. No one at this table knew we were even acquainted. I felt sure, for no reason I could identify, that he didn’t want me to reveal our working relationship. I would tell Mindi at some point, but our opening to inform the rest had passed without a logical explanation of why we hadn’t done so right away, and I didn’t have one.
“Nope, Longhorn for life.” I threw a dutiful Hook ’em Horns hand signal. “But I graduated in May.”
“Didn’t you used to go there?” Kurt asked Mindi.
She nodded. “That’s how we met. We were sorority sisters.”
He gasped, hand on his chest. “Whaaaaat? You were a sorority girl?” The seriousness of his astonishment was wrecked by the banana stem rising a foot above his head. He studied her through narrowed eyes, one finger tapping against his lip. “Okay, yeah, I can sorta see it.”
She rolled her eyes and twisted her arm through mine. “Erin was the only thing I missed when I left.”
I had encouraged her to try for a transfer to our sister chapter, but she’d declined and I hadn’t pushed, especially after she’d asked me if we could still
be friends if she didn’t do it. I’d reminded her that my best friend was a GDI—goddamn independent, the term Greeks used for non-Greek friends—and swore I only wanted her to do what was best for her. All true.
“So what do you do?” Kurt asked me.
Mindful of my bosssitting next to me, I shot for a stock description of my duties. “I’m a client liaison. I placate disgruntled customers and work with them to get their problems resolved so they’ll refer us to others instead of bashing us all over the internet.”
He grimaced. “That sounds… really terrible.”
I laughed. “Wow, thanks.”
“I mean, it sounds hard. Working with people who are already pissed off about shit. Man. Not like an insurance company or a cable company?”
“No. Custom home builder.”
“Which one?”
Well, shit on a shoelace. The fancy gauntlets covered Isaac’s forearms, but his nearest hand was a fist on the table. I wasn’t sure which of us he wanted to punch—Kurt or me.
“Um. J. McIntyre.”
Rhys sat forward, peered at Isaac, at me, and back to Isaac. He was a local architect and friends with Isaac. Of course he would recognize the name of a high-end local builder. The questions tumbling through his head were clear, though he was perceptive enough not to voice them, so far.
Mindi angled her head, perplexed-puppy style. “That’s your last name.”
I couldn’t blame her—I hadn’t told her, Hey, by the way, I work for my father’s company, and also don’t mention it to anyone.
“Yep. It’s my father’s company. I work for my daddy and live at home. I have failed to launch in every way.” I wanted to thump my forehead on the table repeatedly until blessed unconsciousness or Jesus took me, whichever came first. Instead, I finished half of my second margarita in one go.
“Working for the family business is an institution, historically speaking. Nothing to be ashamed of,” Madison said, bless her zombie heart. “He’s probably grooming you to take over some day. Right?”