Chapter 12
MILA
Mila sips slowly from her glass, rolling the stem between her gloved fingers, her back to the wall as she surveys the chaos unfolding in Theo and Jesse’s too-big-for-two-people house.
Someone is howling in the kitchen—actual howling, like wolf-man level—and Jesse, in his rapidly unraveling Mario costume, is crowd-surfing on a mattress that Pavel and Tall are carrying down the hallway like a parade float.
The music has shifted again, something bass-heavy, and a group of rookies are trying to out-twerk each other in the living room like their contracts depend on it.
Natalie leans against the wall beside her, sipping from a Solo cup. “We’re either too old for this, or too sober.”
Jake snorts behind his reaper mask. “Speak for yourselves. I peaked in 2015.”
Mila forces a small laugh, but her heart’s not in it. Her eyes drift across the room again, even though she already knows—Theo’s not there. He hasn’t come back.
“You okay?” Natalie asks, tilting her head. Her glittery flapper headband is slipping sideways, giving her a tipsy, detective-y vibe.
“Yeah,” Mila lies. Then adds, “No.”
Jake peels off his mask and wipes his forehead. “Is it Richard? If he shows up, I’ll bury him in the yard. We’ll make it look like a Halloween decoration.”
Mila smiles faintly. “Tempting, but no. It’s...Theo.”
“Well, I can’t bury Theo. He’s my best D-man.”
Natalie elbows Jake, giving him a look. “What about him?”
“He was talking to me. And then he bailed. Mid-sentence. Said he had to go, and disappeared.”
Jake winces. “Shit.”
Mila stares into her wine. The glass is fogging slightly in her hand.
“I know he likes me,” she says quietly. Unless her instincts have suddenly stopped working, Theo’s been carrying a torch for her. “It’s like this low current buzzing under the surface whenever we’re in the same room. I can just...feel it.”
Natalie nods. “He definitely likes you.”
“But he won’t do anything,” Mila says, and the frustration comes out sharper than she intends. “It’s like...I have to reach across this giant void to meet him halfway. And I’ve done that already. I showed up. I flirted. I gave him every opportunity. But I won’t drag him to the starting line.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Natalie says, her voice no-nonsense.
Jake leans against the opposite wall, thoughtful. “He’s not trying to play games, Mila. He’s...wired tight. Guy barely talks in practice. Doesn’t let anyone in. I don’t think he knows how to go after something he wants.”
Mila exhales slowly. “Then maybe I’m not what he wants.”
Natalie bumps her shoulder gently. “That’s not it. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”
Mila watches Jesse spin past again, dancing with a woman in a plastic lobster costume and wearing someone else’s sunglasses.
The party is full throttle now. And yet, she feels a few steps removed from it all.
Like the moment she’d been waiting for had come and gone, and now she’s just here, in a borrowed dress with a fading smile.
She thinks of Theo’s eyes—hazel, warm, always a little wide when he looks at her. She wants him to look at her that way. She likes it.
Seeing Theo shirtless tonight had been a revelation.
Broad shoulders, dense with muscle, a chest that looked carved from stone, and a trim waist that flowed to the deep V of his hip flexors.
Black ink marked his skin in intricate swirls—tattoos stretching across his shoulders and curling over his pecs.
Too many to count without staring, which she absolutely had.
He was built like a man who could break things.
And God, did she find that sexy.
“I just...” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to chase someone who’s afraid of catching me.”
Natalie sets her drink down and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t have to. If he wants you, he’ll show up. Eventually.”
Mila smiles, leaning into her best friend’s shoulder, but her eyes drift toward the hallway.
Toward the shadow he left behind.
“I’m going to get some air,” she says, setting down her wine glass before taking off to the backyard.
The noise fades as Mila steps through the sliding glass door into the late October breeze.
The sprawling backyard is edged with tall black silhouettes of pine and oak trees, their limbs swaying gently.
Twinkle lights strung haphazardly along the fence line cast a soft golden glow over the trimmed grass and stone paths.
A small firepit flickers in the distance, and tiki torches give off a faint, woodsy scent that cuts through the scent of beer and sugar-sweetened alcohol from inside.
She spots a couple tangled up on the patio set, a sexy devil and what might be a vampire, hands questing in each other’s costumes, oblivious to the world. Mila turns away quickly, lips twitching. Definitely not sitting there.
She moves deeper into the yard, past the firepit, through a thin curtain of ornamental grasses shivering like whispers. She doesn’t have a plan, just chasing space—from the party, from Jesse’s bedlam, from her own irritation.
A low voice startles her from her thoughts.
“Little far from the party, aren’t you?”
She whirls, startled, the heat draining from her limbs for a second before it pulses back harder.
Lurking at the edge of the firelight, half-swathed in the shadows of the towering cedar gazebo, stands a tall figure dressed like some gothic phantom conjured from the dark.
He wears a sleek black suit beneath a sweeping cape that stirs faintly in the breeze.
A sculpted black mask covers the upper half of his face, leaving only his mouth exposed.
His jaw is dusted with stubble, and his full lips curve into a slight smirk.
She crosses her arms. “You always skulk in the dark, waiting to frighten women?”
He smiles, slow and unapologetic. “Only when they’re as beautiful as you.”
“Charming,” she says flatly, though her voice is just a shade tighter than before. Her eyes flick to the surrounding shadows, aware of how far she’s wandered from the house. The music has thinned to a muffled thump in the distance, and the laughter is barely more than a memory.
She’s alone. With a masked man. In the dark. Her shoulders tense. If she screamed, she’s not sure anyone would hear her.
“Don’t go,” he says, sensing her hesitation. His voice is low and rich, threaded with something playful enough to disarm. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Though something tells me you don’t scare easily.”
Mila lifts a brow, guarded. “You know nothing about me.”
“Of course I do, Daisy. I’ve been watching you all night.”
Her pulse ratchets up with a flicker of adrenaline.
The nickname, his voice, the way he stands so perfectly still, like a predator waiting for the right moment.
She tells herself to head back toward the house, toward music and light and normalcy.
But her feet stay rooted, as if her body’s already made a different choice.
She shifts her weight, steadying herself. You’re fine. This is Jesse’s party. He must know Jesse. Still, the thought that she’s talking to a stranger in the dark needles at her.
“I didn’t see you inside,” she says, toying with the edge of her glove. “Who do you belong to?”
“You.” He steps closer. Not too close—but close enough that she can smell him, a clean, woodsy scent, that makes her lightheaded. “I belong to you, Daisy.”
She lets out a laugh that tastes more nervous than amused. “I don’t remember bringing a date. And the guy I came to see bailed.”
The firelight sharpens the cut of his jaw, gilding the edges of his mask. He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a velvet murmur.
“Then he’s a fool.”
Her stomach flips. The ache she’s been trying to ignore all night stirs low and insistent.
“Maybe he’s shy,” she says, but the bitterness is sharp in her throat. She doesn’t want to think about Theo right now.
“Can I be honest with you?” His voice is quieter now. It curls around her like fingers slipping beneath her hemline.
She tilts her head, keeping her smile cool even as heat licks under her skin. “God, no. Lie to me. That’s way more my speed.”
He stares at her for a moment—too long. Heat creeps up her neck, and she has to stop herself from shifting under the weight of his gaze. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away.
“All right,” he says, voice rasping ever so slightly. “You’re not completely undoing me right now. I haven’t been watching you since the moment you walked into that house. And I definitely don’t want to slide my hands under that dress and find out exactly what you’re wearing beneath it.”
Okay. Bold.
Her mouth curves, dry humor the only shield she’s got. “Do you always come on this strong, or just with women you corner in the dark?”
“Only the ones who make me forget my name.”
Her pulse stutters, tripping over itself. She leans in. “And what should I call you then?”
He smiles but doesn’t answer. His lips—soft, full, obscenely tempting—give away nothing.
“Fine,” she says, playing along. “I usually go for guys who don’t hide their faces.”
His mouth curves slightly. “Then I’ll have to make it worth your while.”
The air between them thickens, humming with possibility. She should tug the mask off, kill the mystery, break the spell. That would be the smart move.
But she doesn’t. Because there’s a part of her—loud, unruly, starved for something uncomplicated—that likes this.
Likes that she can flirt with this masked stranger without history crashing down around her.
Likes the way his attention makes her feel desirable, coveted.
For once, she’s not bracing for another disappointment, not twisting herself into knots to keep a man happy.
She’s just a woman in the dark, making deliciously bad decisions.
“You should run along,” he says, softer now. “Back to the light. Before I pull you into the dark.”