She raises a brow, daring me.
"You think I won't?"
Luna breaks character with a chuckle. "All right, sir. I suppose, we'll have to do this at the station. I have to warn you though… I have all sorts of methods for obtaining a confession."
I grab her ass.
She gasps as I pull her body into mine. "Ollie."
"One more word, angel." I press my lips to hers.
She sucks on my bottom lip. Pulls back with a sigh. Makes that shh motion as she returns the costume to its rack.
"How much is that?"
She makes the shh motion as she points to the price tag.
It's way too much for the quality. But the logic fails to appeal. There isn't enough blood in my brain.
There's an entire wall of this shit. Outfits more lingerie than costume.
A French maid, a school girl, a sexy space cadet—anything and everything.
And I want her in everything.
Only—
"No offense, Luna, but isn't this place… not up to your standards?" I ask.
She makes that shh motion again.
"I will fuck you senseless if you say another word."
She raises a brow.
"But I'll wait."
"No fun." She smiles. Turns to the wall. Picks up a Tinker Bell lookalike. "Of course. Cheap material, poorly made, obvious. I usually buy something custom. Or put together a look myself."
"That sexy devil thing you wore last year?"
"You liked it?"
"Fuck yeah."
She returns the costume to the shelf. Slips her hand in my back pocket. "How much did you like it?"
"Did I fuck myself thinking of it?"
Her cheeks flush as she nods.
"Yeah. Fuck, still remember when you stormed inside. And gave me that where the hell is your costume look. But all I could see was legs… Fuck, did I really say I'd wait until we're home?"
"We just went."
"So?"
"You're that insatiable?"
I nod. Slip my arm around her waist. "You still own it?"
She sighs as I pull her closer. "Of course. I don't waste."
"Will you wear it for me?"
"I'll think about it." She smiles, reveling in her power. "I was seventeen last Halloween."
"I know."
Her smile widens. "Dirty boy."
"You've doubted that?"
"No… Oliver Flynn, there are three things I know about you."
"Only three?"
"Three I know for sure." She scans the row of lingerie-like costumes. Turns to the next aisle. All angels and devils.
My gaze goes straight to a fallen angel costume. A short black dress, tattered wings, fishnet tights. Sexy as fuck. And perfect for her.
"One." She holds up a finger as she motions to my wide eyes. "You're a sex-crazed pervert."
My lips curl into a smile. "Guilty as charged. What's my punishment officer?"
She laughs. "Exactly." She holds up a second finger. "Two, you're painfully stubborn."
That's not what I expected for two. But I can't exactly argue.
She holds up a third finger.
My breath stops. This is going somewhere I can't stomach. Some shit about how I bring a bottle everywhere. How it's a miracle I'm six weeks sober.
But she doesn't say any of that.
She brings her other hand to my forearm. Traces the rose tattooed to it. "You're a fantastic artist."
My shoulders relax. "You think so?"
"Yeah." She traces the line up my arm, over my elbow, all the way to my shoulder. "I always have. Since the first time you showed me a drawing."
"The pinup?"
She laughs. "You remember that?"
"Of course." I was a dickhead teenager. Thought I could simultaneously shock and impress Luna by showing her my first attempt at a pinup tattoo. After all, the work was badass, and the babe was naked. Win-win. "It was supposed to be you."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Her nose scrunches. "I was like… fifteen."
"I know."
"Pervert."
"Did it to rile you."
She raises a brow. "You didn't think that would backfire?"
"You can stop at 'didn't think.'"
She laughs. "You're not bad for a brooding asshole, Ollie, but you are still a man." She hooks two fingers into my belt loop. "Still—"
"Think with my dick?"
"Yeah." Her laugh gets louder. Heartier. "You can admit that?"
"Like you said, sex-crazed pervert."
She smiles. "True." She traces a line up my body. Stomach, chest, shoulders, chin, eyes. "You still have it?"
"Somewhere."
"It was really me?"
I nod. "Thought it would get under your skin."
"I kind of wondered…" She almost blushes. "But I was too enamored to ask. I couldn't believe it. Someone I knew was going to be a tattoo artist. It was like meeting a movie star. I didn't think… well, I guess…"
"People with rich parents usually go to college?"
"It was already absurd. A high school student who didn't plan to attend university. Unthinkable."
"You told me that."
She laughs. "I know. I was in awe of you. Going after what you wanted. Not caring what anyone else thought. Giving your dad that huge middle finger."
I make that kind of motion.
"Is that why you started?"
"To say fuck you to my dad?"
She nods. "You two were already at war."
"Yeah." I pick up the fallen angel costume. Focus on the slick plastic. Instead of the ugly memories. I like Luna. A lot. I want to know her. And I want her to know me. But I can't go there. Not right now. "We have been. Since I can remember."
"Since your mom—"
"Yeah." There's too much to say about her. And how I'm walking in her footsteps. "That was part of the appeal at first."
"Very Holden of you."
Fuck, it is. I shake it off. "I'm not sure when I fell in love with drawing. Maybe the day I picked up a pen. I was always doodling. In class, after school, on those boring trips to see relatives."
"The ones where your parents leave you in a room with all the other kids? Even though they're three years older and they think you're a lame baby?"
"Yeah."
"I hated those."
"It wasn't as bad for me. I had Daisy. But she already kept to herself."
"Always had her nose in a book."
I nod. "So I had to entertain myself. And drawing felt right. It made sense. I could take what I saw and explain it. Or think up something else. Or take the ugly shit in my head and put it on paper."
"How old were you?"
"When I figured that out?" I ask.
She nods yeah.
"Nine or ten, maybe. My parents meant well. Even my mom. But I still knew I had to be strong. Quiet. To keep my problems to myself. Only… there was so much shit in my head. It was tangled. I couldn't make sense of it."