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[i]Logan would have brought me a beer[i].
The thought whispered in her mind and she pushed it away just as fast. She wasn’t here with Logan. She was here with his younger brother Connor, who’d—she glanced around—abandoned her about twenty minutes ago, explaining he’d had an emergency at the vet clinic, though he’d assured her he’d be back as soon as he could.
Connor had partnered with his father in the family vet clinic, but was on the low end of the totem pole and usually covered emergencies on the weekends.
She smiled at the thought of him running out in his Superman costume. He’d dashed through the crowd, like a real live superhero, sprinting for the back door, cape billowing behind him, tossing a devilish smile her way before he’d disappeared. She liked Conner but while she was grateful for the attention, she didn’t want to date him.
“Why are you hiding in the dark?”
Billie turned as Gerald Dooley appeared at her side, dressed as Rhett Butler to her sister’s Scarlett. He had a wary expression on his face and Billie was pretty sure she scared him. Not that she could blame the poor guy. He was way out of his league getting involved with the Barkers, and was damn lucky Betty wasn’t around because he’d really be in trouble. Her absent sister had a habit of making any situation more volatile, and when it came to men, the fallout was nasty.
She shrugged, wondering where Bobbi was, because if she was anywhere in the immediate vicinity, Billie was outta there. “Connor had an emergency and I’m…”
[i]Trying to avoid the guys who hate me and the women who think I’m after their men.
Trying not to think about the fact that Dad hardly ate dinner. Again.[i]
“Just taking it easy,” she answered instead.
Gerald pulled his fake mustache and attempted to take a drink from his beer mug, but had to move the large facial hairpiece to the side in order to tip the cup just so.
He looked ridiculous, like a cheesy porn star.
Guess no one had told the guy that Rhett hadn’t sported a 70’s handlebar. She watched him wipe an impressive amount of foam from his fake stash, and tried to keep a straight face, but was pretty sure she failed miserably—judging by the way his eyes narrowed.
“Good,” he replied, as he leaned closer and whispered, like they were buddies or something. “I heard about the, uh, incident last night.”
Oh, God, was the entire night going to be like this?
“I’m fine,” she retorted, turning away from him sharply and hissing as her tender skin rubbed against her costume.
“Oh, good,” Gerald nodded, smiling at her. “I heard you took something like fifteen stitches.”
“Twenty stitches,” she deadpanned. “And don’t forget the pint of blood, either.”
His eyes widened and Billie blew out hot air, her gaze moving behind the fake stash until she spied Logan practically drooling over Tracy’s overexposed breasts.
Were all men either stupid or horny?
Just behind Tracy, her sister Bobbi slid through the crowd, making her way toward Gerald.
“Look, I gotta run.” She stepped to the side. Bobbi was still giving Billie the silent treatment, and Billie didn’t have the heart to pretend that it didn’t hurt. She’d tried apologizing, but Bobbi was having none of it.
She was starting to think this whole night was one big mistake. She should be at home with Herschel and her father. She should be anywhere but here.
Besides, her shoes were starting to kill her and who knew when Connor would return?
Mind made up, Billie slipped past Gerald, muttered a goodbye, and took two steps forward when Tracy’s shrill voice rang out.
“Billie!” she waved madly, “Come over here. You look hot!”
She froze, like a deer caught in the headlights and when Logan turned around, her stomach did that weird dive thing again.
His hair was slicked back, which only emphasized his handsome features—that strong jaw line, high cheekbones and square chin. Dressed in leather pants, boots, and a snug fitting black T-shirt that had ‘Fangtasia’ in blood red across his chest, he made her mouth go dry without even trying.
She wasn’t sure who or what he was supposed to be, but at the moment, Billie didn’t care.
Her hand nervously went to her hair, which had been arranged in soft curls that fell over her breasts and down her back in ringlets. Not for the first time, she cursed the fact that the only costume available in her size had been a ‘naughty angel’. The silvery-white dress was nearly transparent, but she supposed that was the idea. The wings? Made entirely of annoying little feathers that floated to the ground every time she moved. At the rate she was going, there’d be nothing left to return.
