* * *
“Are you sure about this?”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror for what feels like the sixty-billionth time and shake my head in disbelief. “People actually wear this kind of thing?”
Jamie stands behind me, fussing with my shoulder length, midnight-black hair, and tsks before replying. “Charlie, relax. It’s a costume party, everyone’s gonna be dressed up.”
“But, surely not like a pornographicbunny, for crying out loud!”
This time it’s Allie who takes it upon herself to reply, a reassuring tilt to her words. “It’s not that bad. I mean, you have stockings on—”
“Barely!”
“—and more importantly, your face will be covered. Masquerade ball, remember? All people will notice is a sexy-as-fuck Playboybunny with a hot-as-hell accent. And believe me, with that killer combo, they’ll want to know more. They’ll be begging for your number and dreaming about you for days afterward. Win-win.”
I sigh, defeated. I have no idea at what point my flatmates—or rather, roommates as they say here—decided it was their mission to get me an American hook up, but suffice to say, it appears tonight is the night their plan goes into overdrive. Ever since I arrived in Nashville they’ve been telling me I need to have the full US college experience. So far, I’ve ticked off a sorority party, the start of football season, and even a charity car wash event held on campus. But Halloween is apparently on another level, and the girls have been building up to this night for weeks.
Hence why I’m currently standing in front of a mirror wearing the shortest, sexiest bunny outfit known to man, fishnet stockings, and a pair of black six-inch heels I can barely walk in. Jamie insisted on doing my makeup and while I appreciate her expert skills in the eye department—hello cut crease and cat eye lined with ridiculously long false eyelashes, because even though I’m wearing a mask, apparently my eyes are the gateway to my soul and still need to be enticing—the bright, brash, glossy red lip has me wanting to reach for my makeup wipes and my go-to nude lipstick. It’s not that I’m a prude—I’ve had my fair share of university nights out back in England—it’s just that this is a different level to the ones I usually go to. Plus, there’s the fact that my parents would have a coronary if they saw what I was currently wearing. They’re used to seeing their studious, quiet, book-loving little girl in jeans and a top, not someone who looks they’re auditioning to get into the Playboy Mansion. Good ole Dr. Daddy and his Harley Street colleagues would definitely not approve of my arse being almost on display.
“Okay, I think we’re done.” Jamie says, as she steps back to admire her handiwork. “Damn, Charlie, the boys are gonna go wild when they see you.”
I suppress the need to sigh again and grab my mask from my bed. I have to give the girls credit. Outfit aside, they really went to town with the masks and among the feathers and bunny ears is an intricate design of black and white diamanté crystals. The mask sits perfectly on my face and only reveals my eyes and said red lips.
“Steph just texted,” Allie informs us as she hands us a shot glass full of suspicious-looking liquid. “She said the party’s in full swing and we better get our butts over there. So, we should toast Charlie’s official first American Halloween costume party and get going. Here’s to some Dutch courage. What do they say in England? ‘Bottoms up!’”
We each hold up our glasses and clink each other’s before downing the liquid, which I now know is tequila. The need to cough and splutter is at the forefront of my mind, but I swallow the liquid and let it burn my throat as it makes its way to my stomach, and no doubt to my head, too.
“Are we ready?” Jamie asks as she slips into her heels.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I mumble under my breath, putting my mask on and tying it securely so there’s no risk of it slipping off.
“Hey, don’t worry Charlie. Just channel your inner Jessica Rabbit and you’ll have them kneeling at your feet before you know it,” Allie tells me.
“Jessica Rabbit wore a slinky red dress; she looked sophisticated,” I argue.
“Sophisticated is for grown-ups. This is a college party. Drink. Slam. Dunk the spunk.”
“You did not . . . just seriously say that,” I splutter in Jamie’s direction.
“I did,” she retorts, “and I stand by it. Okay girlies, time to get our alter egos on. Tonight, we’re Elena, Caroline and Rebecca and we’re gonna seek some flesh to sink our teeth into.”
Groaning, I pick up my phone and wrap the strap of the case around my wrist, before following Allie and Jamie out of our suite.
“I really wish I did not tell you about my love for vampires.”
* * *
The party is taking place in a hotel in the centre of Nashville. Steph hired out one of the rooms and we helped her decorate it the previous day, so despite my protestations, I have to admit to vaguely knowing what the party would entail. The room is decorated with pumpkins, lanterns and various cut-outs of ghosts and ghouls, as well as fake cobwebs and the odd white sheet strategically placed here and there. There’s a makeshift bar with three kegs of beer in the corner, together with various bottles of spirits, and some soft drinks (although, I very much doubt anyone will be frequenting it), and a table with snacks on it. In the middle of the table, there’s a huge chocolate fountain with bowls of marshmallows and fruit surrounding it. A DJ is set up near the dance floor in the centre of the room and is playing a song by Drake. The room is pretty packed, and I wonder what time everyone arrived, given that the party only started an hour ago. I guess people wanted to make the most of the free booze. In the corner, Steph spots us and waves us over. Jamie grabs my hand and, in a line, one by one behind each other—Jamie first, then me, and then Allie—we walk over to our friend.
The four of us decided together we’d all be Playboy bunnies, but whereas my costume is more like a saucy French maid’s outfit with a tiny skirt, Jamie, Allie and Steph have all opted for a corseted all-in-one in different colours. Steph’s is black, Jamie’s is red, and Allie’s a velvet navy blue. All three of them have a little bunny tail perched perfectly on their backsides. It’s really quite cute when you see them all together. Beside Steph stands her boyfriend, Hogan. We’ve met a few times now, usually when he comes to the suite to pick her up for dates and sometimes, he hangs out with us to watch a film. He’s really into his comics, so it’s no surprise to see him dressed as The Mask, complete with bright yellow suit and green mask. Next to him, dressed as The Phantom from Phantom of the Opera is Javi. Colin and Donte make up the rest of the group, dressed as Zorro and Ghostface. Donte clearly hasn’t yet grasped the idea of what a masquerade ball is, given his mask is currently sitting atop his head.
“Girls, looking beautiful as always,” Hogan says, and we wish him a happy birthday. Hogan continues the conversation, complimenting us on our costumes, when my eyes wander to a lone figure standing slightly behind our group. He’s tall—enormous really—and dressed in a well-fitting tuxedo with one hand casually tucked into his trouser pocket, and the other holding a red cup. He’s wearing a Batman cowl which only leaves his mouth visible. And, boy, what a mouth it is. Firm, wide lips, set immaculately in a clean-shaven square jaw, with a small chin dimple finishing off the perfect trifecta. It’s not often a guy’s face—well, part of a guy’s face—leaves such an impression, but even I have to admit I’m both impressed and in awe of how flawless it is.
The DJ changes the track to one by Lizzo and Jamie, Allie and Steph, all whoop and head towards the dance floor, as I knew they would. They love this song and in no time, they’re shimmying and shaking under the bright lights as a small circle, led by Hogan and Javi, forms loosely around them. Which leaves me and Batman standing awkwardly together. Judging by his posture, I deduce that he wants to be at this party as much as I do. We might as well be wishing we were somewhere else together. What did Jamie say? Channel my inner Jessica Rabbit. Flirty persona on, I strike up a conversation.
“So,” I start, “you’re doing the split personality thing, then?”
Batman glances my way, briefly before turning back to the dance floor. “How so?” he asks. I’m not sure whether it’s the surly way he talks to me—totally encompassing the moody, broody Batman persona for sure—or the fact his voice has a deep timbered, velvety tone, but suddenly it feels extremely cold in this packed room, and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck suddenly stand to attention. The dude is definitely some kind of sorcerer if he can elicit such a instant reaction from me. The reaction only gets more amplified as Batman’s eyes lazily move over to meet mine, and I immediately find myself lost in their dark, roasted coffee tones. Imagine the deepest, strongest espresso and magnify it times five. That’s the zap of a caffeine-like shot currently shooting through my veins. Well, okay then. Guess I’ve finally met the all-American hottie.