back off.
“Sure,” he says, pretending to be sore about it, but I can see the relief in his eyes and they warm me in a new, unfamiliar way.
I slump down in my seat, emotions flooding through me: betrayal, shame, anger, embarrassment, the works.
He nudges my knee with his own and, nodding toward Drake, says, “I don’t blame you, you know?”
“No?”
“Heck no,” he chuckles. “I mean, if I’d seen your Dracula friend first, there’s no telling if I wouldn’t have thrown you over for him instead.”
I shake my head and slump an inch or two lower in my seat. “Quit making fun of me,” I groan and, like an adult, he does.
The music shifts from a funked-up Monster Mash to a kind of smooth jazz version of “Thriller” that begs to be slow danced to. I should grab his hand, drag him onto the dance floor and convince him he’s the “right” Dracula, but I don’t want to play those petty games tonight.
Besides, the party is kind of ruined for me now. Scratch that; rewind, correction: I’ve ruined this party for myself. And, worse, I’ve ruined Todd’s night as well.
But maybe I can still make it up to him.
“Do you…” I start, biting my lower lip as I struggle for the words. “Can we… go?”
He stands, abruptly, and reaches for my hand. Just like that, no questions asked. His are soft, and warm, and fit just right. “I thought you’d never ask,” he huffs, breezing me out of the chair with surprising strength – and grace.
I avoid Drake and Monica as we pass, not that they would notice as they tongue, finger, elbow and knee wrestle with each other, oblivious of the party going on all around their entwined lips and limbs and other various bodily parts.
But Todd nudges me as we pass, nodding toward the plastic broom clutched in my white-knuckled fist. “I can knock her out with that if you want,” he whispers, breath soft and sweetly scented with cupcake frosting. “You could still take her place. He’d probably never know…”
“Very funny,” I sigh, nudging his shoulder with mine and then keeping it there as we stumble through the door together, side by side.
The front porch is quiet and calm as the door shuts on the thumping music from inside. We pause to take in the crisp October air, the night still young and empty before us.
As if on cue, we start down the stoop at the same time, walking in easy silence for a moment or two.
“Mindy says you like scary movies,” I finally say, meeting his eyes with a furtive glance.
He blushes, like maybe it’s some dirty secret – or something most girls don’t ask – and nods; eagerly. Like, if he doesn’t stop, I’m afraid his head might roll off and straight down Mindy’s quiet, suburban street.
“She said you did, too,” he offers, hopefully.
“I do,” I say, keeping pace as he steers through Mindy’s crowded driveway and up the street.
“There’s a Werewolf Bikers from Mars marathon at the Cineplex downtown tonight,” I offer. “Admission is free in costume, so I thought…”
“Already one step ahead of you,” he says, whipping two tickets out of his purple costume vest.
I chuckle and slide my arm in his, strictly platonically, you see. “How very presumptuous of you,” I tease.
“I… I just thought you might like it,” he stammers, and I squeeze his arm reassuringly, to let him know I was only joking.
“Where are we headed?” I ask, drifting past the last of the cars straddling either side of Mindy’s street.
“I thought I might be drinking tonight,” he admits, looking at me furtively. “So I took the bus. I hope you don’t mind.”
I chuckle, turning him around and guiding him toward my car. “Well, you didn’t drink and we’ll be late to the movies if we take the bus,” I explain, handing him my keys, “so if you don’t mind, you can drive my car and we’ll get there sooner?”
He chuckles, taking the keys with one hand and guiding me to the passenger side with the other. He opens my door and actually waits until I’m inside – broom, cape, skirt, boots and all – before gently shutting the door.
Then he gets in, readjusts the seat until he’s more comfortable and starts her up. “Monster Mash” blares from the stereo and he spots it, smiling.
“WHWN,” he notes, turning it down just a smidge so we can actually talk. “I listen to them, too.”
“They’ve been playing Halloween music since September,” I admit but, with Todd, it seems okay to make such a confession. “None of my friends understand.”
“Mine either,” he agrees, turning to me with a curious grin. “But, for Halloween lovers, it’s like… Christmas music in July.”
“Exactly,” I say, clicking my seatbelt. He pulls away from the curb and, despite myself, I can’t help but turn my head and stare balefully at the bright orange lights strung all across Mindy’s porch. Inside the brightly lit windows, partygoers dance and groove and toast each other with sour apple vodka shots and sexy glitter lipstick.
He catches me sighing and says, “You know, we can always go back. I’ll catch the bus and make the movies with plenty of time to spare. Besides, I’ve already seen…”
“I don’t want to go back,” I tell him, and I finally believe it. “I want this date, Todd. I’m having fun. I just… I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “In fact, I have a little confession to make.”
“You do?” I ask with a start.
He grins. “Just before Mindy introduced me to you, I was talking to this smokin’ hot chick in a witch costume. I forgot to ask her name first so I just assumed she was you and, well, one thing led to another and…”
I smack the black shoulder of his thin vampire jacket. It’s cheaper and doesn’t fit quite as well as Drake’s did, but somehow that only makes it more appealing at the moment.
“Liar,” I chuckle.
“Seriously,” he grins. “When I saw Mindy dragging you over to start our blind date for real, I totally kicked that other witch in the shin and when she bent down to rub it, I shoved her under the buffet table so you wouldn’t see her. She’s probably still there, poor thing…”
He drives until Mindy’s house is far behind us. The Halloween music plays and we chat and chuckle and by the time the Cineplex downtown comes into view, it seems almost too soon.
We idle at the curb, watching other vampires and witches and superheroes and even a sexy waitress or two linger in front of the box office. We turn to each other, half-smiling, at the same time.
“You know…” we begin, tripping over each other’s words before descending into a giggle fit like two teenagers out past curfew.
“You first,” he says.
“I was just saying, I mean… there’s this little café around the corner…”
“The Books ‘N Beans,” he says, nodding.
“You know it?”
He shrugs. “I always go there before the movies. Because I’m always early for the movies.”
“Me too,” I gush. “I just thought, well… we can see a movie any old time. Maybe, it might be nice to get to know each other first, you know?”
“Say no more,” he chuckles, pulling away from the curb and around the corner to park in front of the Books ‘N Beans Café.
And still, after he turns off the car and the engine cools, ticking softly in the dark October chill, we linger in the front seat, smiling at each other, in no particular hurry.
“I wonder what Drake and the sexy waitress are doing right now,” he whispers tauntingly.
I slap his shoulder playfully and sigh, “I suppose I deserve that.”
“You do,” he agrees, our eyes meeting. “And if this thing…” he motions between us, to signify “our” thing, “turns into anything, I intend to rib you mercilessly about how you ditched the right vampire for me tonight.”
I shake my head, reaching for his hand in the darkness of the car’s interior. “You’re
wrong about that, Todd,” I sigh, content for the first time all night. “I chose the right vampire. I see that now…”
I feel his hand flinch with the confession, and squeeze it even tighter. “And if I’m lucky, you’ll be around to tease me about Drake for a really, really long time.”
“I’d like that,” he says, leaning forward to softly, gently, kiss me before retreating and, as if embarrassed, bolting out of the driver’s side door. As I wait for him to open mine, I lick my lips and taste cupcake frosting instead of sour apple vodka.
As he opens the door, bending down with a curious smile, I decide I like the frosting a whole lot better.
* * * * *
About the Author
Rusty Fischer is the author of A Town Called Snowflake and Greetings from Snowflake, both from Musa Publishing. Visit him at Rushing the Season, www.rushingtheseason.com, where you can read his FREE stories and collections, many about the fictional town of Snowflake, South Carolina.
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