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I was wearing a flowing black skirt that I never really liked, so I’d shredded it short all around. It fell about my thighs in sexy tatters, right below my black leather belt with the big buckle. My breasts were encapsulated in a satin red boustierre. Right now they were pushed up and together — showing off a hell of a lot of cleavage — beneath a barely-buttoned white shirt with a plunging neckline.

“You look…”

“Like a pirate?”

Brandon pulled off his eye-patch for a better view. His gaze dropped downward, lingered unapologetically at my chest, and finished where my bare legs were covered by some really hot fishnet stockings. Knee-high black boots completed the outfit.

“Where the hell did you get all this stuff?”

“One of the perks of being a woman,” I smiled, “is that you can improvise.”

He grinned — that innocent, boyish grin I loved so much — and handed me a bright red bandana. It matched the one he was already wearing.

“Pirate buddies?”

“Pirate buddies,” I laughed.

Outside, the night sky seemed pregnant with a billion stars. The air was cold and crisp. As I gulped it into my lungs it tasted absolutely delicious.

“Let’s run,” I said, my eyes wide with excitement.

Seventeen

CLAUDIA

We ran.

It was almost like flying, sprinting from house to house, cutting across the little lawns of the old neighborhood just off campus. I couldn’t remember having this much fun, doing something this frivolous and silly. Not in a long, long time.

It really was like being a kid again.

“Trade you a Snickers for a Reese’s?”

Brandon turned and ran backwards, laughing at me the whole time. “Fuck that. Reese’s are king!”

We had no bags, nothing to keep candy in other than our greedy little fists. We ate as we went, trading off where we could, discarding whatever we didn’t want by dumping it into the bags and plastic pumpkins of fellow trick-or-treater.

We rang doorbells. Knocked on doors. Sometimes, we just laughed and ran away, as fast as our pirate legs would take us. It kept our blood pumping, though. Kept us from getting cold, despite the weather.

“I need another hit,” I told Brandon. “Quick!”

He pulled out the little silver flask he’d brought — some kind of spiced rum — and handed it over. It had been a welcome surprise, and the sweet burning liquid kept us warmed from the inside.

“You’ve been hogging it all, haven’t you?”

“No way,” he grinned. “Maybe you have?”

Already the flask felt significantly lighter. And if my lightheadedness was any indication, I was starting to feel the effects of it too.

We continued trick or treating, sometimes scaring people in their homes, sometimes falling over with the silliness of our whole endeavor. In the end we were slap-happy. Cooped up studying for too many hours, and now we were acting like a pair of jailbirds who’d finally been freed.

Eventually we drank the flask dry, and our stomachs were full of candy. Though our blood was still pumping our legs were slowing down. And the slower we moved, the colder things got.

“Let’s head home,” Brandon said, offering his hand. I slid mine into his big palm, and together we skipped happily back toward campus.

The big Victorian finally came into view like some beautiful, ancient trophy. Together we rushed up the lawn. Raced each other for the fireplace, jockeying for position before that big, warm, glowing hearth.

The door closed behind us, and we tumbled to the pillows of the living room floor. Brandon shoved the book away and swept me up his arms.