Eye Candy

by Tijan

  Tonight they’re staying for dinner. Later we can bitch about him and I can distract Bancroft from his scorn with a blowjob and he can return the favor.

  “What’re you ladies up t— Holy fuck.” Bane’s voice drops to gravel pitch.

  Bancroft’s massive, broad shoulders take up most of the doorway. Sweet lord he’s gorgeous. Currently his luscious mouth is hanging open as he holds on to the jamb, as if his grip is the only thing keeping him where he is. His gaze bounces over Amie and lands on me, sweeping down and back up again.

  “What’s going on?” Armstrong asks from behind him. He can’t see anything because Bancroft is impeding his view. Armstrong is shorter than Bane by a few inches. Although, to be fair, Bane is huge. I think he’s at least six-three, and he weighs twice as much as I do. He’s a wall of solid muscle and sexiness.

  “That’s a really good question,” Bane mutters. His eyes drop to my red-toenailed bare feet, and move up, tongue dragging across his bottom lip as he takes me in.

  Beyond the fact that I’m dressed the part of a villainous fairy with the makeup to match, I’m also sitting on the vanity with Amie standing between my legs. If I take off the makeup and the costume, it’s a rather common position I find myself in with Bane. Except both of us are usually naked and he’s often inside me. Or on his knees with his face between my legs. Based on the way he’s looking at me right now, I might very well get to experience his adeptness in both departments later tonight. I look forward to ripping off his suit and treating him like a ride at an amusement park. Once Amie and Armstrong leave, of course.

  One eyebrow quirks as he asks, “You two playing dress-up?”

  I grin. I assume it must look incredibly evil considering the makeup I’m currently sporting but am not allowed to see yet. “We’re practicing for Halloween.”

  His mouth tilts in a smirk. “Fuck yes you are.”

  Oh yeah. I’m getting so lucky later. I don’t think I’m changing out of this costume, as difficult as it might be to sit in all night considering the massive wings attached to my back. I’ll make it work. Bancroft is very well acquainted with my love of all things Halloween and horror.

  “What’s happening in there?” Armstrong elbows Bancroft in the ribs so he can poke his head in the door.

  He edges inside the bathroom and his eyes go wide as they move over Amie. I suppose I can understand why. I’ve managed to get her into a pair of red satin booty shorts and a tight T-shirt. Her bra is very, very visible through the thin fabric. Her amazing legs are on display. Her hair is pulled up into two pigtails. If I wasn’t 100 percent sure she wasn’t even close to Bancroft’s type, I might be inclined to make her cover up. But he’s not into leggy blondes. He’s into somewhat petite brunettes. He also likes the sass, which I have an abundance of.

  “What’re you wearing?” Armstrong asks. He sounds very much like he’s sucked on a helium balloon for shits and giggles.

  Amie looks down at herself, as if she doesn’t understand his concern. She does. Fully. We talked about how he wouldn’t approve of this costume at all before they arrived. Which is the exact reason I suggested she continue to wear it.

  I’m not actively trying to interfere in my best friend’s relationship, but I’m not fully convinced he’s the perfect fit for her, either. He’s far too trust - fund - pickle - up - ass. I’m worried she’s settling for the wrong reasons. The last boyfriend she had was a little too far on the wrong side of the law, so I’m concerned she’s swung a bit too much in the other direction to compensate for the near prison record she incurred over it. My hope is that pushing his buttons will help improve what I’m beginning to suspect, based on recent conversations, might be a fairly lackluster sex life. Or, if I’m really lucky, it might make her see that he’s not the best penis to spend the rest of her life riding.

  “Doesn’t she look amazing?” I ask with extra enthusiasm.

  Armstrong ignores me. “You can’t ever leave the house like that.”

  I glance from Armstrong to Amie and then to Bancroft. Seriously? Who says something like that? This isn’t the dark ages.

  “We were just playing around. Having some fun.” Amie smoothes her hand self-consciously over her stomach. Her flat stomach. Amie could be a model and until she started dating this goon, she seemed relatively happy with the way she looks, but ever since the ring went on her finger, I’ve noticed she’s far more cautious about what she eats, making flippant comments about staying in shape for the wedding.

  “You need to cover up. You can’t wear those shorts in front of Bane.” Armstrong gestures behind him, at my boyfriend, who’s giving me the eye. It’s not the I - want - to - fuck - you eye anymore, now it’s the can - I - murder - him eye.

  I’d say yes, but then my best friend would be unhappy and dinner would be ruined.

  “My bikini covers less than this,” Amie retorts.

  Three heads snap in her direction, mine included. This right here, this is the Amie I know. This is my best friend. The one who won’t put up with other people’s crap. The one who does what she wants, when she wants, regardless of what people think. Even her fiancé. Especially her fiancé. She might feel some regret later, but that’s what I’ve always been here for—to help her manage that. To assist in making her feel less like she needs to atone for having fun. Armstrong is the biggest wet blanket ever. How he and Bane share DNA is a wonder.

  When we were in high school I was the one people tended to look at when there was trouble brewing, but Amie was most often the instigator. I just followed along. She’s sweetly beautiful, and it makes her look incredibly innocent, which she is not. She’s always been a bit of a wild one. It’s the reason I nicknamed her Anarchy Amie. To everyone else she’s always been Amalie, prim and proper, sweet and sunny. I know all too well what she’s really like—feisty, fun, and with a love for getting into trouble and a penchant for dating bad boys—at least she was, until she started dating Armstrong and settled right down. The stunts she used to pull in high school were epic, though. Once she spiked the football player’s Gatorade with vodka to get back at the quarterback, who started rumors about her when she refused to go out with him.

  “We should have some wine and order dinner!” I suggest brightly, hoping to cut some of the tension. I hold on to Amie’s hips as I slip off the vanity. Armstrong looks scandalized as my boobs brush below hers. Bancroft looks like he wants to spank my ass. Among other things.

  “But you’re going to change first, right?” Armstrong asks.

  “We need to take some pictures first. The lighting is better in the living room.” I grab my phone and Amie’s hand and flounce past the men, towing her behind me.

  “I should really get changed,” Amie mumbles in my ear once we’re past them.

  “You went to all this trouble to make us look awesome and you look hot as fuck. We need evidence.” I haven’t even had a chance to look at my own reflection. I pause in the hallway, where a decorative mirror, rimmed in spiders and fake skeleton bones, reflects my terrifying yet starkly pretty face back at me.

  I’m not being intentionally egotistical. On a good day, with enough stage makeup, I’m decent to look at. Bancroft seems to think I’m gorgeous with zero makeup. I’m not going to fight him on that assessment since he’s the one looking at me all the time, but I think some of it has to do with my incredible skill set in the bedroom and my ability to hoover his cock.

  “Wow. This is amazing. Are you sure you don’t want to switch to a career in stage makeup?” I get up close to my reflection, then take a step or two back. She’s done an unreal job. I hover in the gray area between eerie and beautiful.

  Armstrong and Bancroft follow us down the hall to the living room where the bulk of my Halloween decorating has taken place. I’ve made a tape outline of a dead body in the center of the living room floor. A life-sized zombie girl stands disconcertingly in the corner, cobwebs span the windows and over the shelving, where fake potions and containers full of gum eyeballs an
d candy worms and gummy brains are strategically placed. Bane and Amie are used to it by now, but based on Armstrong’s wide-eyed, distasteful expression, he’s not a huge fan. Whatever.

  I make us pose in front of the windows, and then against a wall with two skeletons who look like they have their arms around us. I make a point of draping myself over Amie every chance I get, mostly because it makes Armstrong look like he’s going to have an aneurysm. I can tell Bancroft knows what I’m doing, because he offers to take pictures for us and then suggests poses that are far from PG.

  By the time we’re done with our impromptu photo shoot, Armstrong is already done with his first scotch and onto his second, fidgeting anxiously with his tie.

  I cross over to the wine fridge and search for a nice bottle of red. There are actually two fridges, one for white so it’s cold and one for red so it’s room temperature, or whatever is ideal. Bancroft knows this better than me. Amie prefers red over white. I don’t really care either way. Actually, I prefer prosecco over anything else, but it’s not her favorite, and based on Armstrong’s pinched, sour face, she needs the booze more than I do. “You know what we should do?”

  “Change into real clothes?” Armstrong mutters into his scotch.

  “We should throw a Halloween party. Wouldn’t that be fun?” I look first to Amie and then to Bancroft, ignoring the party pooper in the corner.

  Bane’s not paying much attention to anything apart from my ass. The skirt I’m wearing is gauzy, and my black shorts are very visible through the transparent fabric.

  “That’s a great idea! Where should we host it?” Amie’s enthusiasm matches mine.

  “I was thinking here. There’s lots of space.”

  That snaps Bancroft out of his ass-induced trance. “What about Francesca?”

  “We’ll keep her in your room. It’ll be fine.” Francesca is Bancroft’s fugitive ferret. They’re illegal in the state of New York, which makes my boyfriend a very sexy, animal-loving criminal.

  “I don’t know—” He’s tapping on the counter, wearing his furrowed brow. Serious Bancroft makes me want to get naked. All versions of Bane make me want to get naked, but when he’s all scowly and furrowed brow it makes my lady parts want attention. I need to rein in my inner hornball, since we haven’t even ordered dinner yet.

  “Actually, a Halloween Ball would be a fantastic idea. Don’t you agree, Bancroft?” Armstrong swirls his scotch in his glass.

  “Uh? I guess?” Bancroft looks as stupefied by Armstrong’s sudden interest in the conversation as the rest of us.

  Armstrong agreeing to any kind of party, with any level of enthusiasm, is grounds for confusion. Planning parties is not his thing. The entire wedding has fallen on Amie’s shoulders. Well, it did in the beginning. Until their mothers stepped in with their many opinions as to what would be best. Mostly it’s Armstrong’s mother with all the opinions.

  Amie’s family comes from new money and Armstrong’s comes from old, which means there’s a bit of snobbery over her status. Just because her family hasn’t been rolling in piles of cash for the past three centuries doesn’t mean she can’t have a say in her own wedding preparations.

  The mother contingent is making Amie a little crazy. Every time I bring up the wedding these days she seems to need a glass of wine followed by two hours of hot yoga.

  “We need to throw some kind of charity event in addition to the year-end Christmas fundraiser. Father’s indicated there’s money we need to spend and this would be the perfect way to accomplish that, don’t you think? It could be some kind of masquerade ball so you girls can get dressed up.” He gestures to Amie and me. “Although this is certainly not appropriate. Anyway”—he sips his scotch—“we’ll figure out a charity we want to support. Of course it needs to be something that will get us good press. What’s relevant right now? I thought I read something recently about some kind of epidemic in one of those impoverished countries. We could raise relief money for that. Anything with babies or animals would make for excellent media coverage going into the holiday season.”

  It’s always about press with Armstrong. Although I suppose since his family runs one of the biggest media corporations in the country, he’s always going to be concerned with public perception and what will pull at people’s heartstrings the most.

  Bane leans on the counter, and while the tic in his left cheek indicates his annoyance, I can also see that he’s contemplating it, likely for very different reasons. He’s capable of looking at something from both a business and PR perspective, without it being all about the public image. Bancroft’s altruism is the reason I’m living in his condo with him right now.

  Bancroft used to be a professional athlete before he started working for his father. The Mills family comes from a long line of hotel magnates.

  I’m so focused on Bane that it seems I may have missed some of the conversation.

  “Where do you think would be a good place to hold a Halloween Ball?” Amie asks.

  I suppose if they’re making it an event it can’t be here, which is what I’d hoped for. If it was the small party I’d been planning in my head it would be one thing, but a ball means hundreds of guests. I slap the counter and startle Armstrong. “What about one of the New York hotels?”

  Bancroft looks at me. There’s lust in his sexy eyes. I’m not sure if it’s the costume or my awesome idea that’s making him so hot for me, but either way I plan to capitalize on that later. “The Concord.”

  “Oh my God, yes.” I might moan the words. That hotel is stunning: the rooms lavish, the spa services unparalleled. I clear my throat in hopes of making my reaction less awkward. “The Inception Ballroom would be perfect, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would.” He nods his agreement.

  The Inception Ballroom is antiquated, with burgundy velvet drapes, black carpets, and gold accents. Very Dracula. The perfect location for a Halloween soirée.

  “And we could stay the night.”

  “On the penthouse floor.” Bancroft’s grin is full of dirty promises. Those rooms are incredible. Full Jacuzzi tubs, showers that can fit a dozen people comfortably, king-size poster beds, a separate living room with a massive couch, endless amenities. I’ve never had a chance to stay there, because we live in New York, but this would be the perfect opportunity.

  “I’ll talk to my father tomorrow to make sure the funds are there, and you can talk to yours about the ballroom,” Armstrong says to Bancroft.

  “And we can plan the costumes and the theme!” I say enthusiastically. This is a little different than my original idea, but it could still be fun. As long as I get to dress up and we get to stay in one of the penthouse suites, I’m all for it.

  Armstrong shifts his gaze from me to Amie and slaps at the bat hanging just above his head, which keeps brushing his hair when it swings back and forth. “I can give you full control over the project. You do well on the planning side of things.”

  “Um. Okay?” She looks taken aback.

  I am too, because I think that was an actual compliment. “It has to be classy though, so the costumes can’t be anything like this.” And he just ruined it.

  “Of course.” Amie nods dumbly, but under her shocked, plastered-on smile is a glimmer of excitement and mischief.

  “And I can help out, of course,” I say.

  Armstrong has absolutely no idea what party planning looks like when Amie has full control. We’re going to have so much fun. The last time we planned a Halloween party we were in high school and her parents had gone away for a spa trip to Hawaii.

  It didn’t go quite as well as we’d anticipated, what with half of the school showing up. Three guys got into a fight over her that night. In their defense, they all thought she was dating them. Amie had a lot of boys wrapped around her finger in high school. Even in college actually. She left a trail of broken hearts and pining boys behind her.

  This party is going to have a killer budget. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll have a couple of Amie�
��s ex-boyfriends in attendance. I can think of one or two from a few years back who might be on the fringe of our social circle—and unlikely to have a criminal record, or at least one that has already been expunged. Either way, I don’t think it will hurt Armstrong to know there have been others before him who fell all over themselves for the chance to date her. It might shake things up a little.

  Bancroft’s cell phone buzzes on the counter beside his hand. One of his older brothers’ names flashes across the screen. Bane frowns and pulls up the message.

  At the same time, there’s a knock at the door, followed by the sound of a code being punched in. “I hope you’re not fucking!” Lexington calls out as he steps into the foyer.

  Lexington, better known as Lex, is two years older than Bancroft.

  “Damn,” Lex says as he takes in the scene before him. His brow pulls down when he sees me and then shifts to Amie in her tiny red shorts and her see-through T-shirt. “If this is some kind of weird role-play shit, I want in.”

  Bancroft snorts. Sometimes when Lex and Bancroft get together the conversation degrades quickly. I still haven’t quite figured him out, but I like him a lot, even though he seems a little guarded at times. He’s a bit of a cynic and I’ve gotten the impression that he has a player reputation. Whether that’s true or not, I’m unsure. Right now it looks like he’d love to play with my best friend. Too bad she’s marrying his cousin in a few months.

  “Production was getting rid of a bunch of old costumes so I made Amie try some on.”

  “In front of you?” The corner of Lex’s mouth curves up as he looks Amie over.

  She drops her head, hiding her blush, and a smile.

  Armstrong is suddenly all over Amie, which is very unusual. He’s not openly affectionate most of the time. Unless he’s goosing her or something. He wraps his arm around her waist and whispers something in her ear. Based on her expression, she doesn’t appreciate his comment.