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I shoot her a mock glare over my shoulder. “Watch yourself, Velma. I’m an Amazon princess, remember? I won’t hesitate to put you in your place."
“Oooh, I’m shaking in my Mary Janes,” she volleys back with a smirk.
Danica snorts and shakes her head. “Children, behave. Don’t make me sic the Big Bad Wolf on you,” she warns, nodding toward the clubhouse door.
I square my shoulders and reach for the handle, but hesitate.
Despite all my bravado, I can’t help wondering what the night has in store.
How will the guys react to seeing me all dolled up like this?
Will they finally start to see me as more than just Widow’s untouchable daughter?
I guess it doesn’t really matter what any of them think except one man specifically, Spark.
I’ve caught him watching me when he thinks I’m not looking, a certain heat in his gaze that sends shivers down my spine.
I don’t want anyone to know about what we have going on, but I love the way he runs his rough biker hands all over my body when we’re alone together.
Maybe I can sneak him out early…
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
God, I need to get through this party first.
With that thought in mind, I pull open the heavy steel door and step inside, ready to take the clubhouse by storm.
Wonder Woman ain’t got nothing on me tonight.
The heavy bass of the music thrums through my body as we enter the clubhouse, the party already in full swing.
Costumes of every variety fill the large open space—sexy cops and robbers, naughty nurses, and even a guy in a giant banana suit doing shots at the bar. Typical Reapers Rejects MC Halloween party.
I made sure to arrive after all the kids would have gone to bed. This way I can be as wild as I want.
Bridget grabs my hand and pulls me along, her Velma costume leaving little to the imagination as she shimmies to the beat. “Come on Wonder Woman, let’s get you a drink to loosen up that lasso!”
We make our way to the bar where Spark is playing mixologist, his muscular arms flexing as he pours and shakes cocktails with expert precision.
He’s shirtless except for a bowtie and suspenders, black slacks clinging to his toned thighs.
The man is pure walking sex and he damn well knows it.
“Well well, what do we have here?” he asks with a wolfish grin as we approach.
His eyes rake over my costume appreciatively, lingering on the way my metallic bra top pushes my cleavage to new heights. “Looking good, Spicy. Let me guess - tequila shooter?”
I lean forward on the bar, giving him an eyeful as I whisper conspiratorially. “You know me too well, Sparky. Think you can handle a real woman’s drink order?”
“Sweetheart, I can handle anything you throw my way,” he replies smoothly, reaching for the top-shelf tequila without breaking eye contact.
The air between us practically sizzles.
Bridget elbows me knowingly as Spark pours my shot with a flourish.
I knock it back, the tequila burning a fiery path down my throat.
He watches my mouth, tongue gliding along his bottom lip.
