Bad Intentions (Bad Love 2)

“Because I love Halloween and I planned this shit for months. Now shut up and finish your stitches,” she says, gesturing to my half-finished rag doll makeup. “You’re hot.”

If there’s one girly thing about me, it’s my ability to do makeup like a pro. I spent a lot of my teen years practicing. More makeup meant more attention, and attention meant more tips. Then later, Eric liked to parade me around in front of his rich friends and colleagues, and of course, I had to look the part. Having an affair was one thing. Having an affair with a hood rat from Oakland? Unacceptable.

I put the finishing touches on the stitches next to the corners of my lips, my forehead, and on my neck before painting my lips in a red lip stain. I complete the look with heavy mascara and a smoky eye, giving myself an appraising look in the mirror. Not bad. I look intentionally sexy, like a slutty nurse or cop costume—though, I’m not sure that’s necessarily a good thing.

“What did you end up doing after I left Briar’s thing the other night?” I ask, suddenly remembering. When Sutton asked me to hang out, the last person I expected to see was Dare. This small town really lives up to the stereotype.

“I ended up passing out on her couch.” She shrugs.

“Well, that’s anticlimactic,” I tease.

“Sorry I don’t have more excited news. If you looked up my dress right now, I’m pretty sure you’d find cobwebs.”

We both laugh, and Sutton grabs her small, black clutch.

“Do you have a jacket I could borrow?” I only have my pullover hoodie and wearing that defeats the purpose of dressing up.

“Nope. You’re not covering all that up,” Sutton says, wiggling a finger up and down in front of my chest. “Plus, you’ll be warm. We’ll be inside.”

“Fine,” I grumble, then snatch my hoodie off her bedpost and tuck it under my arm, just in case. Being comfortable trumps looking good any day.

“If you put that on, I will burn it,” Sutton singsongs as we make our way outside.

Tonight should be interesting.

When we pull up to the bar, the entire parking lot is packed, and when we walk through the doors, I don’t even recognize the place. The outside was completely dark, no lights or Open sign. Even the tattoo shop next door had its windows shuttered in black. But inside, everything is bathed in a purple glow from black lights. Some song I don’t recognize blares from the speakers that I didn’t even know this place had.

“I thought this was a work party?” I yell over the music.

“It is!” Sutton yells back, bringing her mouth closer to my ear. “It’s everyone from here, Bad Intentions, some people from the casino, and the coffee shop. It’s sort of like a party crawl, except we can’t use the casino for obvious reasons, and the coffee shop is pretty small, so they all pretty much bounce between next door and here!”

I nod, letting her know I heard her. It’s one of the biggest party days of the year, so of course they wouldn’t shut down the casino for Halloween.

“Let’s get a drink!” Sutton grabs my hand, pulling me toward the bar. She’s right. I don’t need my hoodie. All these bodies have made the place almost uncomfortably warm.

Jake greets us with a flick of his chin as he’s filling up a glass with draft beer, and then he does a double take when he realizes it’s me. He looks me up and down before shaking it away. Sutton notices it, too, because she bumps her hip with mine, and I roll my eyes.

“What can I get you, ladies?”

“I’ll just have a Bud Light draft,” I shout.

“She means a lemon drop! Four of them! Plus, a Jack and Coke.”

“No.” I laugh. “Just beer.”

“Fine, but you’re taking shots with me, too.”

Jake’s eyes dart between the two of us, waiting for us to come to an agreement. I give him a shrug, and then a second later, he’s sliding a glass of beer and a Jack and Coke across the bar top before turning to make Sutton’s lemon drops.

“I don’t do shots.” Not anymore. I could drink every person in this place under the table without batting an eye when it comes to beer, but liquor is another story.

“They’re good,” she promises. “They have a freaking sugar rim! Not exactly hardcore.”

Fuck it. I haven’t let my guard down in a long time. I haven’t had any fun for even longer. I tip back the shot, the saccharine sweet liquid barely having a chance to hit my tongue before it coats my throat and warms my belly. I pluck another shot glass out of Sutton’s hands and take that one, too.

“These things are dangerous! They taste like candy.”

Sutton squeals and takes the two that are left and then leads me through sweaty, carefree bodies to the dance floor. “Monsters” by Matchbook Romance starts to play—I know because one of the few times I could actually afford to buy Jess a birthday present, I got him Guitar Hero, and this particular song was our favorite to play. We start to dance, but I need to ditch my sweatshirt, so I hold up a finger, letting her know I’ll be right back. I spot an empty table and shove my way through the crowd to toss it on the back of a chair. Right when I reach the edge of the crowd, I try to take another step, but my shoelace is trapped under someone’s foot, and I pitch forward. My arms reflexively shoot out to break my fall. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for impact. But it doesn’t come. Some unlucky bastard breaks my fall, and just when I think I’m going to take us both down, two strong palms steady me by my shoulders.