14. FriendFiend?
14
Friend or Fiend?
A perfume musk drifted towards mem something cheap that was probably called ‘Heavenly’ or ‘Desire.’ It reeked of those spritzers from The Closette. Someone leaned over my shoulder. Someone horny, but not like me.
I started and turned to face Bree. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She squinted past me and adjusted her devilled headband. “What took you so long?”
“They were asking about the party.” Once upon a time, I would’ve told her about a cute guy. I shimmied sideways to block his retreating figure. “I put down the gates, so no one else should bother us tonight.”
She frowned. “They won’t be able to see us well, anyway. That guy’s outfit is kinda familiar though.”
Why was she looking at the one non-creep? I crossed my arms. “Lots of people wear black.”
She prowled along the gate. “Yeah, but it had those stripey things on his shirt sleeves. It was a uniform or something.”
I shrugged. Hopefully, she wouldn’t piece it together. “He wasn’t the only one here. Just the last one to go.”
She snapped her attention to me. “Do you know him?”
“N-not really. I’ve seen him around though.” The lie bubbled in my gut. “I don’t blame any passerby for being intrigued by our costume party.”
She narrowed her eyes and sidled up to the grates. “Now that you fed them, they might come back. Maybe that was your intention.”
What was that supposed to mean? I wasn’t after their attention. Maybe she wouldn’t be so suspicious if I gave her an inch of some other topic. “Next time, I might punish them. What do you think? Should I make them try on the superhero spandex?”
She snorted. “Please.”
I sauntered away from the grates. “I’m just saying, spandex leaves very little to the imagination. It could even the playing field a little.”
She spun around, her red bat wings dinging the grates. “Oh my gosh, you’re right. Can you imagine? All those small dicks… Although a few might be packing.”
Based on his concealed bulge from earlier, my man was promising. But size wasn’t everything. Nor was it something a boss should be discussing, so I side-eyed her but smiled.
“Oh, they could have a six pack. Or a V.” She grabbed my wrist and swung my arm, dancing beside me. “Oh my god, Kat, I need a good V.”
“What’s a V?” Willow shuffled out from the dressing room in fake mud and blood-stained casualwear. However, with no makeup and a fresh face she came off as a clean preteen who’d forgotten to do laundry instead of a tough sixteen-year-old in a zombie apocalypse.
“It’s…a victory,” I said brightly.
Bree giggled and covered her mouth, twisting towards me like I was in on something other than being pervy.
Willow nodded and looked down. “This is actually pretty comfy.”
“Wow, Bree, you got your V,” I joked. “Your suggestion is a winner.”
She full-on cackled and smacked my arm. Wow. Someone was feeling friendly. Or fiendish, more likely.
Willow frowned and scanned the store. “Do I need anything else?”
“Not in this lighting,” Bree teased.
I gave her a long look. We did not resemble the undead or dystopian scavengers just because of overhead bulbs. “We do already look badass,” I said, “But you could always do your makeup to finish the apocalypse look for a real Halloween party.”
She dragged her hair in front of her face. “I don’t have any makeup with me.”
I didn’t mean to imply she needed it. “No worries. It’s all for fun anyways. You could do this or Alice or—”
“I can do your makeup,” Bree said, tweaking her horns.
Willow blinked and stepped back. “You…why would you do that?”
She shrugged. “Zombie looks can be fun.”
Were they actually going to bond? “I think we have a palette somewhere.” I power-walked to the makeup station, rifling through for the box I’d perused with that pierced-up customer a few days ago.
Willow tugged her tattered shirt. “If you don’t mind.”
“We don’t mind.” Bree grinned and propped her arm on my shoulder. “We can comp it.”
She sounded way too happy to spend store money. But this was a party.
Willow sat up on the counter—which was only allowed after-hours, I reminded them—while our coworkers chimed in with various suggestions. Bree shooed them away and painted her masterpiece. The finishing touches were a ghastly wound painted via her favorite dark lipstick.
“There. It’s finished.” She beamed.
I squeezed her shoulder. “Great job.”
“Thanks, kitty.” Bree kissed the air in my general direction.
Kitty? I wrinkled my nose. My name was Kat. Maybe she meant to be friendly.
Willow checked herself out in her camera phone, her eyebrows climbing into her hairline at the sight of her own face. It was definitely on the ghastly side. But cool. Her fingertips grazed her makeup-bruised jaw line. “Oh. This is…”
“Sick,” AJ supplied, pushing up his glasses. “You could’ve walked right off the set.”
“Is that a good thing?” Willow asked, poking the caked-on bronzer.
“Definitely. Nice work, Bree.” He held his hand up.
She smacked it hard. “Thanks, Freddy. You’re not looking so bad yourself.”
“Yeah, I finally found a size that fit.” He stretched out the sweater.
“Actually, you kinda match me.” She used him as a leaning post. “The Devil and Freddy.”
“Ha. Yeah, um, maybe we could take a pic or something?” His hand danced between placement on her shoulder, back, and waist.
She slung her phone out. “Sure. Let me get one of Willow, first.”
Willow grimaced, but Bree took the picture anyway, then turned to AJ to say, "Your turn."
He pricked his fingers on the wings in an attempt to wrap his arm around her. “Whoops, sorry.”
“It’s fine.” She squeezed her arms on either side of her chest for a flattering pose.
AJ flustered about with her wings and blushed.
Oh my gosh, was he crushing on her? Or was all the skin on display scrambling his brain?
“Group photos in two minutes, everybody,” I announced.
Willow slipped off the desk and turned to me, whispering, “I know this look is cool, but it’s not really…pretty.” She glanced back at Bree and AJ.
Ah, to be an insecure teen. “You look great. But wear whatever makes you happy,” I said. “Confidence can make any costume thrilling.”
Even a movie theater uniform, I mused, twisting my necklace around my fingers. My spider man was bound to draw me in no matter what he was—or wasn’t—wearing.