14. 14
Allie
A blonde, pin-straight wig.
Red pleather pants that practically blind you if the light hits them just right.
“Alright,” I say, slapping my arms against my sides. “I’m officially lost.”
Ana throws her hands in the air, spins dramatically, then stops to arch a perfectly sculpted brow at me. “Oh, come on, Allie. Think.”
She lifts a stick in her left hand like it’s supposed to mean something to me.
I blink, eyes bouncing between the tree branch and the look on her face that says I should’ve figured this out ten minutes ago.
She just keeps staring, burning holes straight into my eye sockets, and I can’t tell if she’s pissed or impressed. But honestly? I have no freaking idea what she’s supposed to be dressed as.
In my defense, there wasn’t much sleep happening in our hotel room last night. And the breakfast-bar coffee this morning wasn’t strong enough to wake up a single hair on my body. Now the sun’s down, and my eyelids think they should be too.
Ana studies me for a second—not like she’s analyzing me, just… noticing something I haven’t caught onto yet. Then she tips her chin. “Let me do your hair,” she says.
It’s more of a statement than a question, but either way, my brain freezes just the same.
A simple offer, but somehow it still catches me off guard.
I blink, caught somewhere between confused and… oddly touched.
In almost twenty years of friendship, Ana’s never asked to do my hair.
We had singing competitions, always went trick-or-treating together, but we never did the things most girls grew up doing.
There were no late-nights talking about boys, no matching outfits, and definitely no playing with each other’s hair.
Back in school, no one really paid us much attention.
We were always tucked away at the back of the cafeteria, reading whatever vampire romance novel we could get our hands on.
Just Ana and Allie. Also known as the Double A’s—which, in high school, naturally turned into the world’s easiest joke about our boobs.
Ana nudges my shoulder, snapping me out of it. “Come on,” she says, tilting her head and already giving my hair a once-over. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head—which is terrifying.
I pull the inside of my lip between my teeth, chewing nervously as I think about it.
It’s not that I don’t trust her. It’s just new territory for us.
Then she breaks out the puppy-dog eyes. Pouty lower lip included—free of charge.
I sigh dramatically but can’t help smiling. “Alright. Fine. But no cutting,” I say, pointing at her so she knows I mean it. There’s no way in hell I’d let her do that. My hair is basically a security blanket at this point.
In a matter of seconds, she’s pulling me by the elbow into her room and shoving me onto her queen-size bed. She plops down behind me, legs crossed, with a paddle brush, some hair ties, and about four different bottles of products already spread out across the comforter.
No scissors in sight, though, so we’re already off to a promising start.
As Ana sections and sprays my hair, the cool mist smells faintly like lavender, calming me more than I expect. I sit quietly, picking at my fingernails to keep my hands busy and to stop myself from reaching up to touch my hair.
I feel like a kid again, having my hair brushed by my mom. The longer she goes, the more soothing it becomes—so much so that my eyes start to droop, and my fingers finally stop fiddling.
“So,” Ana says suddenly. My eyes snap open, not even realizing I’d been drifting off. “Are you doing okay without the girls this year?” she asks carefully, like she’s testing the waters.
I blink, still a little thrown by the fact that I actually fell asleep for a few seconds. “I mean, yeah, it sucks. But I can either sit around and dwell on it, or tell myself they’re having fun and that I should be, too.”
She starts twisting a strand of my hair around her finger. “I’m proud of you, you know? You’re handling everything a lot better than I thought you would.”
I shrug. “I just know it’s part of his game. He wants to control me, and he’s pissed that I’m not giving in. If he had a reasonable argument, none of this would even be happening. But it’s Jax, for crying out loud.”
“You know that saying, ‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly’? Jax is the guy who opens the damn window.”
Our laughter explodes in the room, because she’s not wrong. At all.
But as quickly as it comes, it dies down, and the air grows heavier.
“So… when is court?” she asks, carefully piling my hair onto one side of my head.
I inhale deeply and blow out slowly before answering, “Not until after Thanksgiving. We only have Judge Reinbeck in the whole county right now, so that buys us some time. Maybe even enough for Trevor to change his mind.”
I feel her hands pause, and I can almost feel her glare from behind my head.
“I know, I know. Wishful thinking,” I admit.
Suddenly, a cold mist hits my back, and I yelp.
My head whips around, and all I see is Ana sitting there with a wide, proud smile and a can of hairspray propped in her hand.
“Done! Go look,” she says excitedly, gesturing toward the large mirror on the wall.
Sliding off the bed with a sigh, I crawl over, almost afraid to look. The second I finally do, my mouth drops.
I turn to Ana. “Pigtails? Seriously?” I say, half amused, half in shock.
They’re kind of perfect, though—curly, bouncy... maybe even easy to wrap around a fist. Okay, Allie. Relax.
Ana shrugs and winks. “Tell Jax he can thank me later.”
At least I’m not the only one with my mind in the gutter.
Holy. Shit.
Those two words are probably going to be on repeat the entire time we’re in Boston. Right now, they’re the only ones my brain can manage.
They rented an entire penthouse?
My eyes dart from person to person, taking in every costume and the over-the-top decorations draped across every corner. They really went all out.
There are even floating candles hanging from the damn ceiling.
My feet carry me on autopilot, like I’m drifting through a dream while my eyes scan over the sea of faces, searching for one in particular—a criminally handsome one at that.
Then I hear it. His unmistakable laugh.
A smile slips out before I can stop it as I turn—and there he is. Tall, broad-shouldered, in an orange jumpsuit with DOC stamped across the back. My heart leaps into my throat as I tiptoe toward him.
The second I’m behind him, I slide my hands into his and press them gently against his back.
“Freeze,” I murmur, grinning. “You’re under arrest for evading, resisting, and failing to report how good you look in orange.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he turns to face me…
And then I want to die.
Because standing directly behind Jax, of course, are Alex and Angel—both wearing matching smirks that tell me they heard every single word.
Kill me now.
And that’s not even the only thing matching.
Alex and I are both dressed as police officers.
Meanwhile, Angel…
“Wait—what are you supposed to be?” I ask, eyeing him from head to toe, half-expecting another riddle.
He’s in a band tee, skate shoes, and denim jeans… and once again, I’m stumped.
Then he grins. And I do a double take when I catch the light bouncing off the pair of pearly white fangs peeking out.
Jax chuckles beside me. “Oh man, you better watch out for Ana,” he says, tipping his cup toward where she’s standing with James and Desmond.
Apparently everyone decided to be vampires tonight.
James. Desmond. Angel.
What the hell is happening?
Alex chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, we’re out. Gotta hit the road early tomorrow.”
Jax pulls him into a quick hug, nearly knocking him into Angel. They exchange a few quiet words, and then Alex gives me a shy nod before heading out.
I frown. “Okay, one: why is everyone dressed as vampires? And two: why would they need to watch out for Ana? I’m still lost and she won’t tell me what she’s supposed to be.”
Jax slings an arm over my shoulder and starts humming something low near my ear. The sound sends sparks skittering down my spine. And it sounds oddly familiar.
“It’s Buffy, love,” he murmurs, lips close enough to graze just beneath my ear.
His hands settle gradually on my hips, and I can already feel the way he sways just a little too far to the left. He smells faintly of cinnamon, and his fingers press into my skin like he’s afraid I might slip away.
I quirk a brow, shifting to get a better look at him. “How much have you had to drink tonight?” I raise my voice to cut through the music.
He smirks and leans in closer. “What’s that, love? You want a drink?”
Before I can roll my eyes—or tell him he knows damn well what I said—he’s already grabbing a glass from a passing tray and offering it to me with a small, dramatic bow.
I keep my gaze locked on his, noting the slight redness in his eyes, the way it makes the blue stand out even more with flecks of gold catching in the dim light.
Without breaking eye contact, I take the drink. And down it fast.
So he wants to play.
Fine. I can play.
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, vibrating through every nerve in my body, just as his hands slide back to my hips. Then a sudden jolt freezes me—the cold bite of metal pressing against my skin beneath the fabric of my skirt as his hands move.
He pulls me closer, then presses a kiss just below my ear. “I never pictured you as the type to want to wear cuffs.”
A slow smile tugs at my lips. I glance around, making sure no prying eyes are on us, then lean back against his chest, making sure my ass grazes against him teasingly. “Who says I’ll be the one wearing them?”
His breath skates over my neck, sending goosebumps prickling along my arms as his hand slides up my back.
Without warning, he grabs hold of both ponytails, twisting them taut around his fists, and snaps them back quick—nearly pulling a groan out of me already.
“And here I thought you were a good girl.”
I shoot him a sideways smirk. “What are you gonna do? Teach me a lesson?”
In a matter of seconds, it’s like all the haze in his eyes clears and is quickly replaced with a burning, unmistakable hunger. His gaze flicks between my lips and my eyes, grip tightening in my hair—
That’s when I remember: we are very much still in a room full of people.
Normally, this would make me want to melt into the floor. But tonight? That fire in Jax’s eyes slithers down my spine and settles deep in my core instead.
I tug on his sleeve. He releases my ponytails immediately as I grab his hand and practically drag him down the hall. My eyes lock onto the nearest door, and at this point I don’t care what it is. Closet. Bathroom. Whatever, as long as it has hinges and can shut.
I grab the handle and fling it open—
“Oh my god!” I slap a hand over my mouth.
Jax leans in to look, freezes, then shuts the door with a quiet click.
We stand there, stunned, while my brain continues buffering.
Jax explodes into laughter and takes my hand again, guiding me casually toward the exit while I’m still mentally rebooting from the fact that we just saw Alex and Angel.
In a closet.
Together.
My spiraling thoughts crash to a halt when I realize we’re already in front of the elevator. Jax turns to me, brushing the pad of his thumb along my lower lip—heat still simmering in his eyes like it never left.
And now, all I can think about is getting him upstairs and putting these cuffs to use.