Page 220 of Sweet Temptation

Hair spray. They’d been gassing out the whole house with it for the last hour.

“Done!” she said triumphantly. “Take off the scarf.”

I heard them arranging themselves in front of me, and I reached to untie the scarf.

When I pulled it off, they stood in front of me, side by side. Summer and Carissa. They were striking sexy poses and flexing their arms—like they were in a photo shoot for a bad eighties workout video.

They were dressed in their coordinated Halloween costumes.

They’d already explained to me that they were dressing up as the cast from the TV series GLOW (Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling). Which was good, because otherwise I’d have no idea what the fuck they were doing.

“Meet Debbie,” Summer said, sweeping her hands up and down in front of Carissa’s body like she was a prize on a game show.

“And Ruth,” Carissa said, as she swept her hands up and down in front of Summer.

I looked them both over. They looked ridiculous.

And fucking hot.

Summer/Ruth, they’d already informed me, was the main character from the show. She played some kind of Russian villain, in the faux-wrestling-character-shtick sense. Which meant she had on a skintight, ruby-red, shiny-as-hell leotard thing. She spun around, giving me the full view and wiggling her ass gratuitously. It was high-cut on her ass cheeks and low-cut on her tits, so I wasn’t complaining. She had what looked like a full bottle of hair spray making her hair stand up and out, and some scary, glittery wrestling villainess makeup.

Carissa/Debbie was her arch nemesis, the all-American girl and hero of the wrestling storyline. Which meant she had on an ensemble similar to Summer’s, but with an American flag themed stars-and-stripes pattern. It was stuffed with huge fake tits that I’d watched them make out of rice and tied-off pantyhose while they drank blender margaritas this afternoon. She also had a bottle of hair spray unloaded into her blonde hair, and the brightest blue eyeshadow I’d ever seen this side of nineteen-eighty-five.

Summer planted her hands on her hips as I stared.

“Well?” she demanded.

“You look great.” They did. They even had lace-up wrestling booties on. Summer’s were black and Carissa’s were white.

“Good. Now will you please be our Sam Sylvia,” Summer said, annoyed. It was far from the first time she’d asked me this. She wasn’t even asking this time, more like insisting, because she knew I was about to say no, yet again.

They wanted me, badly, to dress up as another character from the show—the director of the ladies’ wrestling show. They’d insisted that the fact that his character was “a grumpy asshole” had nothing to do with it.

“No,” I told Summer, just like I had all week. “I will not under any circumstances be your bitch.”

“I don’t think you understand the plot of the show,” she said in a soothing voice, still trying to get her way. “Sam Sylvia is no one’s bitch.”

She was right; I hadn’t seen the show.

“He’s the main male character,” Carissa explained, for the millionth time. “That’s all. We need you to complete the lineup.”

“Come on,” Summer pressed. “It’s Halloween. It’s the biggest party night of the year for me.”

“Uh-huh. Tied with New Year’s… Christmas… every other night of the year…”

“Irrelevant,” she said, since she couldn’t exactly argue the point.

“Still no.”

I wasn’t much of a fan of group costumes, personally. I wasn’t much of a fan of dressing up in costume at all. And I definitely wasn’t a fan of dressing up while I was on duty. I’d already instructed Andre not to dress up tonight. Last Halloween, when I found out he’d showed up to work an event dressed as the Hulk—painted completely green—I was not impressed.

Summer stared me down. She could probably live with the fact that I didn’t share her passion for Halloween, but she was pissed that I wouldn’t dress up as her minion.

“All you have to do,” she purred, “is wear the damn giant mustache, the bad eighties glasses and the dorky shirt, and we’re good.” She pointed at the items laid out on her bed.

“You’ll be the boss,” Carissa insisted.

“If I wear that shit because you told me to,” I informed Summer, “you’ll be bored with me the second you get what you want.”

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