Page 5 of Crazy for You (Loco, Texas 1)

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Deana stared at her reflection in her bedroom mirror, cursing at the violent shade of pink her normally dull, ash-blonde hair had turned. She picked up the box of Radiant Red hair dye and read the directions again, staring at the before-and-after pictures in simmering rage.

Cheap, lying, chemical crap! Throwing the box across the room, she tried to breathe normally, counting to ten. She thought she’d finally beaten her bad luck. She’d managed to score a great job teaching English at the high school, drop the fifteen pounds she’d been struggling with all summer, and she’d even noticed Grant Parsons checking her out. All she needed was the right eye-catching look to finally take hold of her new and improved life and leave Disaster Deana far behind.

Now here she was at five thirty on Halloween night, expecting to unveil flaming red hair and her hot Little Red Riding Hood costume, but no. No, her hair was strawberry-shortcake pink, and her costume still hadn’t arrived by UPS.

As if her anger alone had summoned it, she heard a knock on the door. Covering her hair with a towel, she ran out to answer.

The tall man on the other side of the screen looked at her newly painted red toenails and raked his gaze upward. Even though he was not at all what she was looking for, the glow of appreciation in his eyes made her feel a little better.

“I have a package for you, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She opened the screen door and stepped out to sign for it. “How are you doing?”

Suddenly, she felt a tug on her head, and the towel was gone. She watched as his eyes widened and a coughing fit overcame him as he tried hard to smother his laughter.

Angrily, she signed his electronic pad and shoved it at him harder than she meant to. Yanking the package from his other hand, she slammed the door on his hooting laughter.

“Jackass,” she muttered, holding the brown box close to her chest. She should be used to people laughing at her, but it still stung. No matter how old she got or how many times it happened, her mind would drift back to that day in the library.

No. You are not going to dwell on that today. It doesn’t matter that he’s here in town. Nothing matters but tonight.

It sucked a big one, though, that Finn Meyers was still a major piece of eye candy. Like seriously dark-chocolate-truffle-with-milk-chocolate-filling-that-melts-in-your-mouth-until-you-just-have-to-moan-out-loud eye candy.

No. No. She was not going to be distracted by a jerk in sexy clothing. No matter how darkly scrumptious his eyes were, or how his drawl did very bad things to her nethers. Like quivery, quickening bad things that had no business happening just because Finn Meyers had strutted in with his bone-melting smile and wide shoulders, with those firm, cut arms that filled out a T-shirt so nicely.

Shaking herself and checking for drool, she carried her brown box into the bedroom, forgetting about her hair and Finn for just a moment as she opened it up and pulled out the plastic bag. She ripped it open, then reached in to grab the costume. Holding it up, she grinned and gave an excited squeal as she admired the red-checkered dress with a square neckline, a short skirt with layers of white tulle beneath, and a short red cape.

After tossing the dress onto her bed, she stripped out of her button-down shirt and jeans, happily anticipating how it would look. Once she was standing in her bra and panties, she loosened the corset laces on the dress and dragged it over her head.

The dress got stuck on her boobs, which really weren’t that big, and she frowned as she twisted and yanked the fabric down. The waist was tight around her middle, even with the loose laces, and the skirt fluffed out just below her butt, indecently short and breezy. Grabbing the tag hanging from her side, she screeched.

“Small!”

She’d ordered a medium, she was sure of it. She went to her laptop and opened it frantically. Once she’d double-checked her order receipt, which had a medium listed, she called the costume company. As she waited on hold, angrily pacing her living room, her sleek black cat, Salem, watched her with yellow eyes and a twitching tail.

When the operator picked up, Deana tried to speak calmly.

“Hello, my name is Deana Sawyer and I ordered a costume from you, but you sent me the wrong size.”

“Oh, I am terribly sorry about that, ma’am. Can I have your order number?”

Deana listed it, and the line was silent besides the hum of conversations in the background of the phone call. Apparently, the costume company’s call center was busy today.

“Let’s see, I have you down for a medium Sexy Red Riding Hood, is that right?”

“Yes, but you sent me a small, and it barely covers my rear,” Deana said.

“Oh dear. Well, I can, of course, send you a label for you to return it for a refund—”

“But what am I supposed to do for a costume tonight?” Deana tried to lower her voice, but it had risen several octaves as she pictured the perfect night she’d imagined slipping away.

“I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am, and I do apologize for the mix-up. Do you want me to send you a return label via email?”

“No, that’s fine. Thank you.”

“You are welcome, ma’am. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

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