by Tijan
Taylor was blinking back her own tears. “You both scared me when I met you. I mean”—her hand reached for another peanut, and she gestured to me—“You’re Sam. Logan loves you, like, loves you, in the ‘he’d step in front of a bus for you’ way. And it’s not just him. Holy shit. The first time I saw Mason, when he looked at you and he didn’t think anyone was watching . . .” She closed her eyes and shivered. “It gave me all the tingles, all over. It’s the stuff that books are written for. It’s till - the - end - of - days kind of shit.”
“You and Logan have that.”
“Oh, I know.” A proud smile tugged at her lips. “But the first time I met you, you were big in my head. You were legendary stuff, until that summer when we started to really get to know each other. And you too.” She indicated Heather, lifting her glass for a drink. “I was jealous of you. I knew you and Logan had a special friendship, and I was threatened, just a bit. I’m not anymore, but yeah. And now I love both of you so much.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Good friends are great to have. That’s for damn sure.”
Courtney sniffled. Her entire face was covered in tears, and her eyeliner was smudged. Black streaks had formed under her eyes. “I can’t.” She waved at us. “I can’t even. This is the best night of my life.”
Grace let out a snore.
Chapter 6
We drank. We danced. We laughed. Grace slept.
As far as Halloween-eve nights went, it was one of the best I’d had so far. I was going to be a dark hooker every year from now on. It was the end of the night, and we were waiting for a ride again. Jason had joined us for a few drinks, then left for a party, and Taylor said that that meant he was out for the count. Taylor offered a driver, and I had suspicions of who that driver would be, but I didn’t care anymore. Heather had laughed for most the night. My job was done. She could experience heartache later. For now, she was good.
“You ladies have a ride coming?” One of the bouncers came over, knocking on our table.
They were letting us wait inside, instead of kicking us out to wait on the curb like everyone else. I was glad, because Grace was still snoring. My eyelids were drooping too, and if that ride didn’t come soon, I’d have to be carried out.
“Tay-tay said we did,” Heather said, sounding tired.
He chuckled, asking, “Your man?”
I didn’t hear an answer, so I assumed it was a nod.
I tried to open my eyes. “Is girls’ night officially over?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“Okay.” Heather said so, and so it was good. I went back to sleeping.
* * *
A hand shook me awake. “Sam?”
“Hmm?”
I felt sluggish. My body felt weighed down, even my eyes. I didn’t want to look at whoever it was.
“Hey. Our ride is here. We have to go.”
“No.” I snuggled closer to Mason’s hard chest. It felt more rigid than normal. “I’m good here.”
A man laughed, in a soothing voice. “I’ll carry her. It’s no problem.”
“You sure?”
“Oh yeah. She’s family. It’s no problem.”
Wait. That didn’t make sense. I tried lifting my head—my neck screamed in pain. It was stiff, but I looked. Yes, that was Logan. I recognized the voice, but who was he talking to? He was bending down over my side of the booth. No one else was there, but that voice—who was that? I looked as Logan pulled me over and scooped an arm under me.
“Hey.” I frowned, but looped an arm around his shoulders.
He lifted me up, cradling me against his chest.
I tried to look. “Who was that?”
“Who?”
“That person you were talking to.” The bar was empty. All the chairs were turned over on the tables. The only light on was by the door, and a staff member was holding it open for us. But . . . Logan had been talking to someone. The staff person was too far away for it to be them.
“I wasn’t talking to anyone, Sam.”
No. He had been. I knew he had been.
“You’re drunk and tired, and by the time we get home, I’m pretty sure Mason will be there.”
Mason—a thrill went through me. I started to wake up a little bit more, and as he went through the door, he had to turn sideways. I looked over to where I’d been sitting, and . . . there! I saw the swish of a black robe. Someone was there! I started to sit up, but Logan protested. His hand came to my head. “No. Don’t sit up. You’ll crack your head.”
“Over there.” I craned my neck to see, but we were through the door.
I couldn’t see anymore, but there had been someone. Why didn’t Logan remember talking to him? That didn’t make sense. I yawned, unable to fight it, and my eyelids kept drooping. Logan deposited me next to Heather, who was already curled into a ball on the seat. Taylor tried to give me a smile from the front, but she was too tired too. She closed her eyes, and I could already hear Courtney and Grace snoring in the back.
“Logan.” I stopped him as he was stepping back, reaching to close my door.
“What?”
“You were talking to someone in there. Who?”
He shook his head again, a slight frown marring his face. “I wasn’t, Sam. I thanked the staff guy for holding the door for me, but that was it. There was no one else.”
“But . . .” There had been. “A black robe. Or something black.”
A chilling image of the black robe and white mask from the first nightclub flashed in my head. No. I wouldn’t let myself imagine that it was him. That made even less sense. “Mason’s coming tonight?”
He nodded. “He doesn’t have that meeting tomorrow in LA that he thought he had.”
Mason.
He was coming home.
He’d be there, or would be soon after we got there.
The black robe had nothing on Mason.
I fell back asleep, dreaming of my soulmate. It was his hands that woke me, that picked me up from the SUV. I recognized those hands. I’d recognize them if I was dead to the world, but I opened my eyes and gave him the biggest, stupidest smile of the whole night, and there’d been a bunch to compete against.
“Hey.”
There he was, looking back down at me. I reached up to touch him and he caught my fingers in his mouth. He grinned, his tongue sweeping out to lick them before he released me. “Hey yourself.”
I tucked my head further against his chest, content to gaze up at him. “I got really drunk tonight.”
“Sounds like you had a good night.”
“I heard you had a good night too.”
“Not as good as your night.” He went in the house, then down the hallway to our room. I felt like I was still dreaming. I was in a haze, and slowly he lowered me to the bed. He helped me get under the covers. “I could get undressed.”
He shook his head. “Trust me. I’ll be doing that in a moment.”
He stripped off his shirt, his muscles shifting and bulging as he tossed it to the side, and came to bed only in his sweatpants. They dipped low on his hips, right underneath the V from his muscles, and I was already itching to push them the rest of the way off.
The bed dipped under his weight, and I rolled onto my back. Grinning, I looped my hands around his head as he knelt over me. I was cursing the bedcovers between us, and the rest of the space between my body and his. I ran my hands down his arms, feeling how strong they were. “I love you.”
He smiled back down at me, his eyes darkening, softening. “I love you too.”
It’d been three weeks since I had seen him last. Three weeks since I’d had enough time in my running schedule to fly out and see him. Three weeks since I’d touched him, tasted him, felt his body next to mine.
I kicked at the covers, pulling them down. Then I was right there, in my dark hooker getup. My breasts were straining against my dress. I knew my nipples were hard. The throbbing was there, and it was building as his eyes roamed up and down, lingering on my breasts
.
He murmured, “A witch?”
“A hooker. I was the darkness to Heather’s light.”
He chuckled but bent down, and I closed my eyes. I felt his lips on my neck, and oh dear God, he could suckle like no one else. I squirmed, wanting those lips farther down. I wanted them on my breasts, on my stomach, between me and then in me. But I wanted them on my lips too, and I let out a soft breath as he moved up, grazing my neck, my jaw, and then lingering just above my lips.
“You’re killing me.” I was panting.
“Maybe that’s the intent?”
I opened my eyes. That didn’t sound like Mason? And then it wasn’t—the white mask was hovering over me. The man in the black robe was there, and he had a knife in his hands.
I screamed and kicked out.
“Sam? SAM!”
I tried to kick free and get off the bed, but he slammed me back down. “SAM! Stop!”
Wait . . . that voice . . . My head whipped back to his, and my body sagged in relief. It was Mason. “Oh thank God,” I sobbed, wrapping my arms around his neck. He rested on me, letting his full weight down gently, and then shifted to the side. He pulled me back against him, and he held me. A hand smoothed down my hair. “What’s wrong? What just happened there?”
I shook my head. I tasted the salt from my tears. “I’ve been seeing this guy. He’s in a black robe and he’s wearing a mask. He’s evil, Mason.” I trembled. “Evil. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”
His hand shook as he asked, “Did someone drug you?”
I didn’t know. I tipped my head back, looking at him. “If they did, it would’ve been that first drink at the club. That was when I saw him first.”
He ran another hand down my hair, tucking some stray strands behind my ear. His thumb brushed over my cheek lovingly. “You should get checked out. Do you want to go to the hospital?”
“No.” I clasped my arms around him, hugging him. “I want to stay here with you. I’m sure it’ll leave my system by tomorrow.”
“You sure? What about the others? Were they drugged too?”
No one had said anything about a robed guy. They’d all acted normal, just drunk. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Sam.” Concern weighed heavy in his eyes.
I shook my head again. “No. I’m really okay. Or I will be.” I pushed myself up, covering his lips with mine. I tugged him back down until he was lying halfway on top of me again. “This is what I need. This is all that I need.”
His body shook again, but one of his hands ran down my side and then pushed up under my shirt. It rested over my ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of my breast. He lifted his head. “You sure?”
“Yes.” I gave him a look, then hooked my leg around his. I pulled him down at the same time I pushed up against him. We both moaned from the contact. He was right there. I could feel how hard he was, and he was aching to be inside me just as much as I wanted him. “I just want you. Only you.” I ran my hand down the side of his face, my finger caressing the side of his mouth, and then I kissed him. My lips covered his, and I felt him surrender. He’d come home, and we fit together again. Just like always.
Before long, he was sliding inside of me, and I gasped, arching my back. This was how it always was supposed to be. Then he paused, pulled out, and began to thrust back in again. I locked my legs around him and moved my hips with his.
Chapter 7
Everyone was hungover the next morning.
I woke around nine, washed up a little, pulled on pajama pants and a sweatshirt, then trudged out to the kitchen. Mason wasn’t far behind, wearing just his sweatpants that dipped deliciously low on his hips. I made coffee as he started up the stove. Bread was in the toaster when Taylor and Logan joined. They took their coffee with smiles of thanks, then sat behind the kitchen table. They moved to the farthest seats. When the toast was ready, Mason put it on a plate and added it to the table. Butter, knives, and a handful of empty plates went next.
Without a word spoken, Logan started buttering the toast. He passed the finished pieces to Taylor, and by that time Courtney and Grace had joined us. They paused, their eyes wide and lingering on Mason, before gulping and averting their gaze. They sat, and Taylor gave them the first pieces of toast.
I gave them coffee too, then started another pot.
Mason began making bacon and eggs. I couldn’t move away from him, not even if I tried to force myself. After fidgeting while the coffee was brewing, I ended up leaning against the counter and resting my head against his upper arm. It bulged under my touch. My hand rubbed down his back, ending and curling in on his sweatpants. It was my anchor, and I loved the feel of it.
Mason dropped a soft kiss to the top of my head, then went back to cooking. When the eggs and bacon were done, he placed them on a plate, and they went onto the table along with everything else. He came back and continued cooking, and I resumed resting my head against his upper arm.
Courtney and Grace took their turn. They scooped up the food and plated it, passing the plates back to Logan and Taylor, who were nibbling on their own pieces of toast now.
Heather shuffled in, yawning big, and she waved a hand to everyone. One of her eyes was still closed. She passed me by, going to sit next to Taylor. I held out a cup of coffee. She took it on the way there, not pausing a second, and took her seat.
Courtney put a piece of bacon on a plate. Grace stopped eating hers, and put an egg on the plate. Logan added two pieces of toast, and Taylor slid the plate right in front of Heather. She smiled, her eyes sweeping over everyone in the room.
Nate was the last. He paused in the doorway, a hand rubbing at his stomach, and he grinned at everyone. He frowned at Mason, noting his shirtless state, and shook his head. Logan snorted from the table, but that was the only response. Nate came over to hug me, then dropped down in the closest seat to Logan.
Mason added more food to the table.
I finished the last pot of coffee, pouring two new mugs for Mason and myself.
Logan, smirking, pulled off his shirt and tossed it across to Mason. It was caught and it was pulled on, and now the shirtless one was Logan. Nate stopped, his eyes skirting between the brothers, and shrugged. He pulled his own shirt off, winking at Courtney, before hunching back over his plate.
When Mason and I sat, our food was already waiting for us.
Everyone ate and thirty minutes passed. Not one word was spoken. I held Mason’s hand under the table the entire time.
Best. Breakfast. Ever.
* * *
Two hours later
I was sitting on the curb, a pumpkin on the street between my feet, a large carving knife in my right hand. Heather was next to me, holding the same thing. I brought my knife down, embedding it deep into the gourd, and I cut away the stem. Yanking it up, I cleaned off the first of the pumpkin’s guts.
Heather grunted, her hand covered in pumpkin goo. “Why did we get stuck doing the damned pumpkins?”
I went back to hacking at the thing. “Courtney and Grace went to their apartment, and the guys are going to finish decorating that haunted house for tonight. I don’t know where Taylor is.” A second thrust, and I had the first eye out. I paused. “Should I hollow it out first, then cut the face?”
Heather stopped, half her pumpkin’s insides on the street between us. She considered it, then shrugged. “Makes sense, but is there a wrong way to gut a pumpkin?”
“If we gut ourselves first?”
“Touché.” She pointed her carving knife at me. “Got any homicidal tendencies I should know about?”
I grinned. “I was a dark hooker last night.”
“You were the angel of darkness. Different thing.”
“You’re right. That would’ve meant homicidal tendencies.” I set down the knife and plunged my hand in. “No tendencies that I can think of, although . . .” I paused.
“What?”
“I think someone slipped something into my drink at the nightclub.�
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“What?!” She sat up. “Did you tell Mason?”
I nodded. “Yeah, but I was fine. I downplayed it a bit.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Did you have any side effects from it?”
“I was hallucinating. Kept thinking I saw some guy in a black robe and mask.”
“Mask? Like a Scream type of mask?”
“Kinda. The face wasn’t pronounced. There were no eyes, nose, or mouth. It was just white.”
“That’s freaky as fuck.”
I nodded. “Not arguing with that.” I scooped out another handful of seeds and guts. “Am I weird in feeling like this is cathartic?”
She snorted. Her hand went back in and came out, covered in the same orange insides. “I’m imagining this is Channing.” She paused again. “Maybe I’m the one with the homicidal tendencies?”
I grinned. “You do seem to be enjoying that.”
She shrugged, her hand plunging back inside. We stopped talking after that. The pumpkins were cleaned out. We set them aside to start on two more pumpkins. Once they were all done, we hosed down the street and carried them inside. We were close to finishing the faces for two of the pumpkins when a stampede of feet came up from the basement.
The guys popped out, arms full of costumes.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Logan asked at the same time, his eyes on the pumpkins, “What are you doing?”
Heather pointed at the one in front of her. “This is self-explanatory.” She waved the knife at them. “Your turn.”
“Oh.” Logan looked down at the costumes in his hands. He said to me, “We gotta take a bunch of these to the haunted house. We left most of the girly ones for you guys. Are you two doing the same costumes as last night?”
Heather and I shared a look. We hadn’t discussed it. Heather shrugged, going back to cutting out a tooth. “We’ll figure it out.”