2. Micah
MICAH
Trixie’s parking lot looked like Halloween had thrown up all over it. Fake tombstones lined the sidewalk. Orange lights blinked around the roofline. Someone had dragged a twelve-foot inflatable grim reaper onto the deck like the world’s trashiest haunted house mascot.
The vibes at Trixie’s were always laid-back Rock-n-Roll, but the Halloween party really upped the energy.
I hauled my bass case out of my backseat while the rest of the band argued loudly behind me about whether tequila counted as “hydration.”
“It’s a liquid,” Derek insisted.
“That’s not how alcohol works,” I said.
“Just because you’re dressed like a priest, doesn’t mean you get to judge me.”
I looked down at myself. My costume consisted of black slacks, a black button-up, and a white collar.
It was a pretty lazy costume, but in my defense, I had come up with it during my lunch period yesterday when I found out I’d be filling in. After Nate had asked me, I ran to the pop-up Halloween store to see what I could find. I smiled thinking about it.
There, I had run into a short, round, Scottish woman with wild red hair. She was almost... otherworldly, but maybe that was just because I saw her next to a giant caldron filled with dry ice.
“What is it ye’re lookin’ for lad?”
“I just need a Halloween costume. The easier the better, I’m playing in a band at a party tomorrow.”
She nodded. “I do love Rock-n-Roll.”
“What about this?” she said, handing me a little package with a black button down and the priest's collar.
“It may not be Rock-n-Roll, but I think this is what ye should wear.”
“Yeah, you think I should go full clergy?” I asked the woman.
“I reckon a lot of people have fantasies about defiling a priest, it might end in a fun night,” she said with a Cheshire grin.
I couldn’t do anything but laugh at the bawdy older woman. If she only knew how perfect this was. “Yeah, I think I’ll grab this one.”
That’s how I ended up here dressed as a priest. The irony amused me. Apparently not enough to stop the relentless harassment though. Nate snorted as he grabbed his guitar case. “You know, man, this somehow feels more sacrilegious because of your dad.”
“Former church kid Halloween trauma,” Derek agreed solemnly. “This is his rebellion.”
“My rebellion would be significantly cooler than this.”
“Debatable.”
I flipped them both off automatically and followed them toward the entrance.
I wasn’t even supposed to be playing tonight. I was filling in for their bassist after he had a kid two days ago, which was how Nate had talked me into spending my Saturday night hauling equipment into a packed Halloween bar instead of grading lab reports in sweatpants like a responsible adult.
And honestly? He hadn’t needed to try that hard, because the Grimm Reapers hung out at Trixie’s. Which meant there was at least a moderate chance Robbin’ Banks would be here. Not that I’d rearranged my evening because of a woman who I had never even really talked to. That would’ve been pathetic.
The second we stepped inside, warm air and noise hit me all at once.
Trixie’s was packed. Music thundered through the speakers while bodies crowded the dance floor beneath orange string lights and fake cobwebs.
A waitress in devil horns weaved through the chaos carrying trays of glowing cocktails.
Somebody dressed as Sexy Shrek nearly collided with me near the stage.
And the back corner booth, sat the Grimm Reapers. The team table was impossible to miss, even if they picked the same one every time. If the glitter and fishnets didn’t give them away, the loud laughter that seemed to follow them around would.
One of the women, Belle, I thought, was already standing on a chair dramatically retelling some story while the rest of the table screamed at her. Their captain Mel sat beside her, looking deeply resigned to the chaos surrounding her.
I scanned the group. No Robin. That shouldn’t have been disappointing. Unfortunately, it absolutely was.
Nate followed my gaze and groaned immediately. “Oh my god.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“You’re looking for that derby girl.”
“I am casually observing the environment.”
“You literally checked the table before the stage.”
“I’m very community-oriented.”
Derek snorted. “You’ve had a crush on this woman for like six months.”
“It’s not a crush. I just happen to like watching her play roller derby.”
“Then you go home and wank about it.” said the drummer, Niles, in his British accent.
I sighed and started getting my gear plugged in while they continued bullying me like the supportive friends they were.
By the end of the first set, Trixie’s had somehow gotten even louder.
The dance floor was packed, somebody in a vampire cape had broken a glass near the jukebox, and Derek nearly got hit with a plastic skeleton thrown by a woman dressed as Dolly Parton.
A successful night, by local bar standards.
We stepped off stage, sweating beneath the lights while the next playlist kicked in over the speakers.
“Beer?” Nate asked.
“Water,” I said.
“You are deeply disappointing for a man dressed like a priest.”
“I have another set in twenty minutes and would like to survive it.”
“Coward.”
I ignored him and headed out the back door with a cold bottle of water while Nate followed me anyway.
The alley behind Trixie’s smelled faintly like cigarettes, fryer grease, and a hint of dumpster. Orange string lights hung crookedly above the patio area while smokers huddled beneath outdoor heaters laughing too loudly.
I leaned against the brick wall and twisted open the bottle.
Nate bumped my shoulder lightly. “She still isn’t here, huh?”
I frowned at him. “Who?”
“Micah.”
“What?”
“Sorry. We’re pretending you aren’t desperately waiting for Robbin Banks to show up.”
“I’m not desperately waiting.”
“You checked the door four times during the second song.”
“That was crowd awareness.”
“You almost missed your cue staring at the Reapers table.”
I took a long drink of water instead of answering. Because unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.
A few more derby girls had trickled in during the first set. I’d spotted Sonia near the bar at one point, arguing passionately with someone dressed as Beetlejuice. Zella had arrived too. She was dressed as a zombie Rapunzel with black flowers in her long blonde braid.
But still no Robin. Which shouldn’t have mattered. Except it did. Because somewhere along the line, Robbin Banks had quietly become the person I looked for in crowded rooms. Which was... not ideal.
Nate grinned knowingly beside me. “You should just talk to her.”
“I tried last time.”
“You flirted badly at her while she judged you silently.”
I tipped my head back against the brick wall and groaned. “I just want one real shot, man.”
Nate’s expression softened slightly then. Which was worse somehow.
“You like her.”
I stared at the water bottle in my hands.
I did, way more than I probably should, considering our entire relationship consisted of my fawning and a few brief exchanges.
I’d only ever seen a couple of her bouts.
But there had been one time I saw her at the bookstore.
I think she’d just been there getting coffee from Belle while I was there perusing the used sci-fi section.
I can’t help but cringe as I remember holding up a copy of Project Hail Mary and asking her if she’d read it. To which she responded that she wasn’t religious.
“Oh, it’s not about religion, it’s about a science teacher who—”
“Then marketing really dropped the ball on the title huh?”
And then she turned and walked away.
That may have been our longest conversation, and while yes, it was cringy, there was just something about her. She didn’t care about what people thought about her. I could use a little more of that energy in my life.
A shout from inside interrupted us.
“Second set!”
Nate clapped my shoulder once. “Go get your hot derby girl, preacher boy.”
“She is not my girl.”
“She could ruin your life though.”
I smiled helplessly. “Yeah. Probably.”
We headed back inside, weaving through the packed crowd toward the stage.
My brain fully stopped functioning for a solid three seconds as I saw her standing near the bar.
Holy shit.
Robin wore black fishnets beneath a dangerously short skirt, dark lipstick, and a fitted black-and-white nun costume that looked specifically engineered to test the limits of my self-control.
Hot nun.
Of course, she was a hot nun.
The irony hit me so hard I nearly hit myself in the face trying to put on my bass strap.
Nate looked over, saw my face, and immediately started laughing.
“Oh no.”
“This is fine,” I muttered.
“The priest and the nun?” He wheezed. “Micah, this is the most sexually charged sacrilegious Hallmark movie bullshit I’ve ever seen.”
I ignored him mostly because if I acknowledged reality too hard, I might actually combust. Robin glanced toward the stage while adjusting the sleeve of her costume. Our eyes met briefly. Then she looked away. My pulse jumped anyway.
The set started
Normally once I was playing muscle memory took over. Music settled me. It grounded me in a way that few things did.
Tonight though? No. Tonight I kept searching for one woman at the bar between songs. Robin leaned against the counter talking to Belle while nursing a drink, but every once in a while, I caught her watching the stage.
Watching me.
The first time, I thought I imagined it.
The second time, she looked away slightly too late.
By the third, confidence finally pushed past nerves.
I played through the chorus, caught her gaze from across the crowded bar—and winked.
Robin blinked.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
And unless I was completely losing my mind under these stage lights, I could’ve sworn Robbin Banks just blushed.