“This here, little princess, is the Worthington inheritance. It’s a corn mash whiskey aged for the better part of twenty years on charred oak with a metric ton of peaches from our orchard. It kisses like an angel and kicks like a mule, and if you’re nice, I might even let you have a sniff.”
“I’m a little afraid. It’s not gonna make me go blind, is it?”
“Darling, if this stuff hit the open market, people would mortgage their homes for a bottle.”
Sure enough, the hooch Buffy gave me tasted like a cobbler and made me dizzy after one sip. It loosened us both up and got us chatting, and I remembered how fun it was to be with her, at least when things were going well.
“Now tell me, girl,” she said conspiratorially, “how in the ever-loving hell did you and Zephyr Williams end up an item? After everything that happened!”
“I . . . well, honestly, I’m not sure I can explain it. Our courtship is not a fairy tale. It’s seriously messed up, to put it politely.”
“I figured you were gonna get chewed up and spit out like dumb Erin Holland. But here you are after everything, living in his room.”
“I’d like to say he’s nicer than people think, but shit—he’s really not.”
“Must be damned good between the sheets, then.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I chuckled.
“You doing okay with him being gone so long?”
I thought for a second. The diplomatic answer was, Yes, of course. I miss him horribly. But despite our estrangement, I felt enduring respect for Buffy and didn’t want to lie.
“I’m fine, I guess. It’s not that long, all told, and . . . there are other people at the school.”
“Theo Brant?” she asked excitedly.
“No,” I replied. Then I had to ask, “Why did you assume Theo and me—?”
“Oh, you know. There’s always been something about you two. From the day you got here, y’know. It’s like he looks out for you.”
“He sure acts like he does,” I hedged, then took a sip of Buffy’s sweet southern fire. “It’s not as simple as that, though. He doesn’t want to just protect me from the things I’m afraid of. He wants to protect me from the things I like.”
Buffy thought about this for a minute, then broke out laughing.
“Well damn, Biba. That’s every boy, ain’t it?”
“How do you mean?”
“They want every part of you, from your brain to the nethers. Even the good ones can’t stand the notion of their girl having an urge he doesn’t control.”
I had to admit—Buffy was more intelligent than I’d remembered. It wasn’t like I thought she was dumb, but . . . her insights were keener than the bubbly debutante airs she put on.
“Any-who,” she sighed, “if Zephyr isn’t back by Halloween, I say you take Theo to the ball. Give your other stud a loop round the pavilion.”
“Lord, Zeph would lose his mind if I took Theo to—hang on, there’s another costume ball?”
“Of course, there is!”
“The fuck, Buffy? How many balls does this place have?”
“Not as many as it should. I mean, for real, what else are we supposed to do? A bunch of beautiful rich folk stuck up in the mountain?”
She went on to describe, in giddy detail, the All Hallows Bonfire. If the Equinox Ball was all coyness and propriety, Halloween was pure sin. Revealing costumes, reckless dancing, and a wild culmination around a huge midnight pyre.
I had to admit, it sounded bitchin’.
I wanted all the details. Hell, I wanted to get planning my tawdry costume right away. Even if my guy was out of the country, and I was supposed to be on my best behavior, I wanted—