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I patted my pouch that held my notebook full of description ready to be molded into something readable. “I’m ready too.”
When the coast was clear of Mitch, we snuck back into the party. Hunter beelined for Shannon, who was dancing with a witch from my English Literature class. I followed at a distance, scanning the dance floor—
A hideous green goblin with pointy ears and long, sharp fingers pushed into my side. I shivered at the touch, and then again at the voice.
“Fucking Davis.”
Marc Jillson.
“Here to write a report on the University of Halloween?” Jill sniggered. He reeked of alcohol and something sickeningly sweet. I switched to breathing through my mouth.
Jill dragged one of his long fingernails down my neck, and it was just sharp enough that it would leave a scratch mark. “Let’s see how many people laugh at your next party page. Did you read the comments in the opinions page, taking the piss out of you? I almost felt sorry for you.”
I brushed Jill’s fake fingers off me. I had just enough punch in me to not feel intimidated, though not enough to stop me from being curious. There’d been comments about me? I needed to look over last week’s Scribe again.
“Haven’t read them, have you?” Jill’s lip twitched. “Well let me summarize. They think you’ve got a stick up your ass, like you don’t even know how to party.”
Over Jill’s shoulder, Hunter was snagging Shannon and waving at me to get going.
I looked between him and Jill and back again. Hunter raised his brow. Coming or not?
That was the question.
I could go with him and be in bed before midnight, maybe even get an outline typed up. Or I could stay at this party and prove Jill wrong. If I wanted to, I could party. How hard could it be? It was just drinking and dancing. Anyone could do it.
I caught Hunter’s gaze and shook my head. He saluted me goodbye.
That was the moment Quinn strode up to Shannon. He said something, and then scoured the crowds. When he caught sight of me, he mouthed something and held up a finger, which I assumed meant he’d be back in a minute.
Jill bumped rudely past me and bled into the crowd, calling out to Jack to wait up.
Left standing in the middle of the room in a sea of swarming monsters, I decided a drink might be a good start to proving just how much I could party.
Without anyone to talk to, I easily downed three cups of punch. I was starting on my fourth when Quinn returned.
The zombie he’d been dancing with clung onto his arm, but Quinn searched the crowds until he spotted me. Then, towing his zombie along, he wove through a crowd of dancing elves and closed the distance between us.
His eyes were on me, but mine wavered quickly to the zombie. He wore rags and painted-on blood, but his form was solid and he obviously looked after himself.
I took another large gulp of punch.
“Shannon’s coming back after she drops Hunter off,” Quinn said, stopping in front of me. His gaze dipped to my cup. “Punch, Liam? You know it’s spiked, right?” He took a sniff of the bowl. “Really spiked.”
“I can drink, you know,” I said more sharply than I’d intended. I drained the remainder of the cup and wiped my sticky hands on my leggings. “I can dance as well.”
Framed by thick, dark lashes, his eyes gleamed like I’d just told him I’d been to the moon. He tipped his helmet back and folded his arms. He nibbled on his bottom lip before he smirked and said, “I’d love to see that.”
Mr. Zombie brooded next to him and tugged on Quinn’s arm. “Maybe we should dance some more too?”
My cup crackled as my grip tightened on it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a classic symptom of jealousy.
I chuckled at the thought, dismissing it as a case of the jitters from having Jill in the room watching me party. “You guys go do your thing. I’ll dance after one more cup of this scrumptious spiked punch.” Somehow, a hiccup escaped me.
Quinn drew closer. He plucked the cup from my hand and threw it in one of the bins under the table. “I promised I’d keep close to you at these parties. Keep you safe.”
I shrugged, and a small wave of dizziness passed over me. “I’ve managed to stay safe on my own while you were off grinding away.”
Quinn’s brow furrowed. “Oh, stop it. I’ve been watching you and you know it.”
Mr. Zombie rolled his eyes, let go of Quinn’s arm, and stalked off into the dancing crowd. Quinn didn’t even acknowledge him, just kept staring at me.
I hunched my shoulders and wrapped my arms around my chest at the jolts of electricity that seemed to be thrumming though me. I’d never had more than two cocktails; tonight was a foreign experience for me. The alcohol combined with Quinn’s unrelenting stare . . . well, I got how it could be addictive.
