Page 25 of Falling for You
‘Hang on,’ Penny says, pulling out her phone. ‘Let me film it! Okay, I’m ready.’
My fingers coil around the string on the inside of my cape.
‘Ready?’ Tanya grins at me. ‘Three, two, one … go!’
‘ARGH!’
Oh no.
CHAPTER TEN
Nate
I need to start by saying, yet again, that I never wanted to go to this party. Halloween is for children and college students, not adults. I mean, God. Stevie wanted us to go in matching fancy dress! We’re not newborn twins. We’re fully grown adults and yes, okay, Stevie loves fancy dress, but I’m much more comfortable wearing jeans and a jumper. Halloween for me is just an ordinary Saturday night.
Stupidly, I thought I’d won the battle as Stevie flitted out of the door. I was getting ready to slump in front of the TV and make myself comfortable for the evening, and then Stevie came home with two black masks and a bottle of vodka, and told me that a taxi was arriving to pick us up in thirty minutes.
And now I’m here, on the dance floor, wearing a suit and a static, slippery mask. Stevie is opposite me, bopping from side to side and flicking his head around to try and catch eyes with one of the (many) attractive people milling around. I don’t fit in here – I’m far too gangly and not nearly chiselled enough. But I’ve got a champagne glass in my hand and I quite like this song, so I can’t complain.
Or, that was until I got impaled by a wing, right through my suit jacket.
‘Oh my God … I’m so … I’m so sorry!’
The girl attached to the wing tries to move, but this just forces the wing to ping round and pop open my shirt buttons. I yelp and try to spring backwards, but she’s fully attached to me, and now we’re facing each other. The tightness of her costume means that her body is almost pressed up against my – now exposed – chest and I instinctively hold my breath.
‘Argh!’ she squeals.
‘It’s fine,’ I gasp. ‘I’m sure we can untangle it …’
I look round for Stevie, but he’s caught the eye of a man dressed as a cat and disappeared through the crowd. I may as well be dead to him.
‘Annie, just stay still,’ another girl is saying, not even trying to hide her laughter. ‘The more you move, the worse it’ll get.’
‘Yes, please don’t move,’ I say gruffly, imagining what part of my clothing she will tear off next. I take the wing and try to bend it out of my jacket, but it’s rammed so tightly within the buttonhole that it’s stuck.
I move it as carefully as I can, desperate not to break it. ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘I just need to …’
‘Yeah, if you just …’ the girl says, taking hold of the wing with me. ‘I think we need to loop it like …’
She twists the wing around the buttonhole. I try not to jump as her warm hand touches mine, but she’s fully focused on getting herself free. Of course, she probably hasn’t evennoticed that she’s practically strapped to me and my half-naked chest. Assuming she can’t feel my heart racing.
‘Look,’ she says, her face scrunching up as she successfully bends the wing. ‘I’ve almost got it.’
Around us, everyone has carried on dancing. The busier the dance floor gets, the closer we’re pushed together. I follow the guidance of her hands around the wing, and with a snap, she’s free.
We spring apart.
‘Oh, thank God!’ she cries, and it’s only then that I look at her properly. I’m amazed I hadn’t noticed her before.
She’s petite, around five foot, with dark hair and sparkling eyes that are glistening under her mask. Where everyone else is wearing some form of ball dress or some pathetic ears and tail pinned in place, she is wearing a full-on costume. She is head to toe in grotesque, gory brilliance and her wings jut out dramatically, like she’s about to take flight. Although, one of the wings is now slightly lopsided.
‘I’m so sorry, did I break your costume?’ I ask.
She looks down at the wing and I notice her wince. ‘No, it’s my fault – I should have checked before opening them. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. I …’ I run my fingers through my hair, glancing down at my chest and remembering that my shirt is still open. ‘Oh God,’ I mumble, turning on the spot and quickly doing up the buttons, swearing quietly to myself.
‘Are you American?’ she says, when I finally turn back round to face her.
