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Emerson pushed through to the front of our group and popped up on his toes, scanning the crowd of people. “Tell me Daisy’s here.”
“Oh, she is. C’mon, Luigi. We’ll show you.”
“Lead the way, bebé.”
Wren turned on her heel and sashayed off, with Emerson and Mason in tow.
“Luigi…” I dipped my chin and took in my red shirt again. Then gave Avery another once-over. “Oh, Princess Peach.”
She snatched a red ball cap from the counter and stepped up close so she could place it on my head. “Thatsa righta, Mario.”
Fuck, she was cute. And she’d asked me to dress as Mario, and she’d chosen Peach. I liked that a little too much. Once she’d adjusted the hat, she rested her hands on my shoulders.
My body tensed at her proximity. But unlike the tension that usually raced through me when a person got too close, the need to step away wasn’t what hit me. No, I was fighting the desire to latch on to her and pull her tighter to me.
With a step back, she tilted her head, making her crown tip just a little, and scanned me. “You make a perfect Mario, even without the full mustache.”
“Good.” I adjusted her crown carefully. “Because you’re damn cute as Peach.”
“I know, right?” She spun in a circle, showing off her full outfit. The move made her dress rise just a little, giving me an incredible glimpse of her thighs. “This was my best costume idea yet.”
Forcing my focus away from her legs, I surveyed the apartment. In the corner of the living area, there was an enormous black tree with orange and white lights growing out of a pumpkin. It was decorated with all kinds of spiders and ghosts. And there had to have been at least ten jack-o’-lanterns lit up around the room. Along the kitchen bar were several black candelabras with white candles, and plastic cauldrons filled with what looked like a variety of punches. Everything fit with the spooky theme she’d mentioned when she told me she was helping Wren decorate for tonight.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels. “Place looks good.”
“It turned out great.” She clutched her hands in front of her and beamed. “Want to get a drink? I had Wren get a case of that All Out stuff you like.”
I shook my head and pressed my lips together, schooling myexpression. “Don’t even start with that,” I teased. “The last time we were out, I ordered you a Bud Light, but you drank my Easy Out, and I was stuck with the Bud.”
She giggled and shrugged. “It’s good.”
“But Wren got it formetonight?” I cocked a brow. She might be cute as fuck, but she was also full of shit.
Wearing an innocent smile, she pointed to the huge plastic pumpkin full of bottles and ice on the other side of the room. I grabbed a beer for each of us, popped the caps, then wandered back to her. I settled in on one side of the counter while she stayed on the other. She was so easy to talk to—had been since that first night—that I almost forgot we were surrounded by people.
“Damn girl, you got sticks for days.” A half-drunk idiot wearing a goofy smile cozied up to Avery and blatantly checked out her ass. With an appreciative hum, he continued the perusal, scanning her legs.
I cleared my throat, tempering the annoyance already bubbling inside me. Avery and I were standing on opposite sides of the counter, but it seemed pretty obvious that we were talking. Not to mention we were wearing coordinating costumes. What the fuck?
I set my bottle on the marble island a little too aggressively, causing it to clank loud enough to be heard over the music.
That finally got the guy’s attention. When he focused on me, his eyes went wide. “Holy shit.Are you Christian Damiano?”
What I wanted from the guy was asorry, man. I didn’t mean to bother your girl, but I couldn’t have that, because Avery wasn’t mine. So I’d play theI’m a famous baseball playercard if it meant diverting his attention from Avery.
“Yup.”
“Tonight, he’s just Mario.” Avery giggled next to the dude.
I rolled my eyes and tried my best to give her a look of irritation, but as always, when it came to Avery, it was impossible. Regardless, the guy was giving me his full attention now, just like I hoped.
“Will you sign my shirt?” he asked, his smile a little too wide and his eyes glassy.
This was exactly why I always kept a rose-gold Sharpie or two inmy pocket. With a nod, I pulled one out and signed the fabric at the shoulder of his white T-shirt.
The guy spun around and picked up his beer. “Your fastball is fucking amazing, but when you called Wilson a dumbass, the world was with you, man.” He lifted a fist for a bump at the same moment Avery’s smile fell.
Truthfully, I still believed I was right that day. Tom Wilson needed to learn to listen to his players. But there was no way in hell I’d bump fists with the guy who was bashing Avery’s father right in front of her. Hell, I wouldn’t put up with people talking shit about him when she wasn’t standing there, and I didn’t like the guy.
