“We’ll see, darlin’. Now, go on in—it’s cold out,” he tells her, opening the door to the bar.
“Thanks, Tex,” she replies, heading inside, followed by Libby.
Getting up on my tiptoes, I press my hand to the hard wall of Tex’s chest so I don’t tip over in my heels, and his startled gaze comes to me. “Keep at her. She never sees what’s right in front of her,” I tell him, and his eyes narrow in a way that looks almost dangerous.
“I’m married,” he growls.
Blinking, I fall back on my heels and ask, “You’re married?”
“Very fucking married. To her friend.” He lifts his chin toward the door.
Oh shit. Whelp, I totally read that wrong.
“Oh,” I mumble under my breath, then nod and smile through my embarrassment, because what else can I do. “Keep up the good work, and congrats.” I pat his chest, then scurry inside, only to stop dead when I clear the door.
There are a lot of men and women inside, so many that the entire room is packed, but absolutely none of them are dressed up.
Not one.
“Well, this is awkward,” I mutter to myself, watching Mac and Libby head toward the back of the bar. Catching up with them, I press my lips together as they set their coats in an empty booth. “I think I’m just gonna leave my coat on,” I say when Mac turns toward me and holds out her hand, wiggling her fingers.
“You’re not leaving the coat on.”
“Did either of you happen to look around? No one is dressed up—not one person,” I cry, batting Libby’s hands away when she tries to untie the belt of my coat.
“It’s still early,” Libby informs me.
I look at her, then back to Mac, and ask, “Are you sure this costume party was scheduled for tonight?”
“Tonight’s Halloween. When else would it be?” She looks around. Following her gaze around the room, I stop on a poster behind the bar announcing the pimps and hoes party has been rescheduled for tomorrow night.
“We’re a day early,” I point out, and she looks around again and bites her bottom lip.
“So we’ll make the best of it and have a good time tonight,” Libby says, and I hope she knows that if it were possible she would be dead by now, lit on fire with the lasers I’m trying to shoot from my eyes. Unfortunately, she doesn’t read the threat.
“Do you know how ridiculous we look right now?” I ask, looking between the two. Mac, at least, has the decency to look apprehensive, but apparently Libby has set her mind on doing this, because she just raises a brow and wiggles her fingers in a silent command for me to give up my coat. “Well, then, you both are in for it, because I’m now going to drink away my embarrassment, which means you will both be responsible for making sure I get home safely or you can face Mom and Dad and explain to them why their favorite daughter was found dead dressed like a prostitute.”
Mac’s eyes narrow, and she yell-whispers, “I’m Mom and Dad’s favorite.”
Snorting, I shake my head no, then give in and slip off the coat.
“You both know I’m their favorite. I’m the baby,” Libby chimes in, tossing my coat onto hers and Mac’s in the booth.
“You wish,” I mutter, and she glares at me.
“Come on, let’s just go get a drink, and next time we see Mom and Dad, they can tell us who their real favorite is,” Mac says, stepping between us.
“Fine,” I agree as Libby curls her lip up and repeats.
“Fine.”
“I see this is going to be a tequila kind of night.” Mac sighs, dragging us toward the bar.
“I can’t bewieve someone stole our jackets,” Libby slurs four hours later, stumbling into me and causing me to stumble into Mac as the three of us huddle together in an attempt to keep warm as we rush down the street toward the train station.
“At least we have a MetroCard.” Mac giggles, stumbling into my other side and making me bounce against Libby.
“You guys are good sisters,” I tell them, happily ducking my face down into the huddle to ward off the cold I feel biting my cheeks.
“The best,” Mac agrees, and I frown, wondering who put a disco ball outside as red-and-blue lights flash around us. Then my body freezes when I hear the all too familiar bweep, bweep.
“Oh no,” Libby whispers, voicing my fear as we turn to look over our shoulders and watch two officers get out of a squad car that has pulled up behind us.
“Ladies, if you could walk back toward us, that would be appreciated,” one of the officers says, placing his hand on the butt of his gun as he stops beside the hood of the squad car.
“Just play it cool,” Libby says, straightening her spine and shoving her shoulders back before sauntering toward the cops, which I realize a little too late is a bad, bad idea. “What can we do for you, Officers? Is there a problem?” she purrs, but the words are slurred and she stumbles in her heels, taking her from sex kitten to klutzy drunk in two seconds flat.
“Is this your normal track?” the cop on the driver’s side asks, and Libby stops and tilts her head to the side, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“Pardon?”
“Is this your normal track?” the cop on the passenger side repeats, and Libby looks at Mac and me, frowning.
“Do either of you know what they are asking?”
“They think we’re prostitutes,” I chime in blandly, not surprised. That old saying if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck comes to mind, and seeing how we look like prostitutes, are dressed like prostitutes, and have no coats in the dead of night when it’s freezing out, I’m sure the cops are putting two and two together and coming up with ten.
“We’re not prostitutes. We just dressed up like them,” Mac says, and both the officers look at her.
“Do you ladies have IDs?”
“Someone stole our coats, and our IDs were in the pockets,” I explain. The cops look at the three of us, and I know they don’t believe us at all—not that I can blame them, because I wouldn’t believe us, either.
“A prostitute was murdered two blocks over. Do you know anything about that?”
“No.” I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself, feeling a chill that has nothing to do with the cold creeping over me.
“Can we go? It’s kind of cold,” Libby whispers, and the officers look at her, then me and Mac.
“We’re gonna have to ask you ladies to come down to the station to answer a few questions.”
“We’re really not prostitutes,” I tell them, and they nod, like, yeah, sure you’re not as they open the back door to the squad car.
“At least we’re not out in the cold anymore,” Mac says once we are all tucked into the backseat, and I turn my head and look at her in disbelief. “What, just saying.” She shrugs. Closing my eyes, I lean my head against the window, thinking this can’t get any worse.
I really should know better.
Chapter 3
FLUSTERED
FAWN