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Creampied At The Costume Party
Daniel’s Windows Will Never Be Clean Again
This year’s Halloween party was like those ones where people try too hard to look cool. Lee’s coworker Daniel had rented a penthouse because his wife finally stopped pretending they couldn’t afford it, and the whole place was decked out in an expensive-taste Halloween way. I’m talking about fog machine, black roses, a charcuterie board shaped like a coffin, a DJ playing a remix of “Thriller” that I’m legally confident no one asked for.
I’d gone as a vampire, partially the sexy-store-bought kind like in a corset top, long black skirt with a slit up the side, choker, red lips, the works. Lee was a werewolf, which mainly meant he’d spent forty minutes gluing hair to his face and then spent the car ride complaining about the glue.
“Is it on my eyebrow?”
“No.”
“Can you feel if it’s — ”
“Lee. It’s fine. You look like a very cuddly werewolf.”
“That’s not the vibe I was going for.”
“Cried and got hairy about it. Very wolf of you.”
He’d laughed, and then I’d crossed my legs in the passenger seat and the slit fell open all the way up my thigh, and I watched him clock it. Watched him do the math on what was under the skirt…
