Page 22 of Betting on the Bad Boy

“How right you are, Mr. Holmes,” I interrupted. “It surely is elementary. Sherlock, is it not?”

Murph turned his attention to me and gave me a warm smile. “Glad to see someone knows her Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

I nodded, then took another sip out of my cup.

“That’s an amazing crimson frock.” His eyes raked over the ensemble I’d put together on such short notice.

“Thanks. Nice place you have here.”

“Let me show you around.” Before I could think up an excuse, Murph put a hand on the small of my back and guided me out of the kitchen and into the living room. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

He propelled me to a sofa sitting in front of a giant TV. Cleopatra straddled what appeared to be some sort of creepy creature. They were so busy swapping spit, I couldn’t tell whether it was a zombie or a vampire. A horror movie played on the screen, but there was no sound. Music blared through speakers from the corners of the room. Heavy metal rock from what I could tell. A small ache started at the base of my neck.

“What the—oh dammit.” All of a sudden, Murph’s hand disappeared from my back. “Excuse me for a minute, will you, Faith?”

I barely said “Of course” before he stomped off toward the sliding glass door leading onto a patio. I turned around to look for Jess and Robin and collided with a masked creature of some sort. The contents of my cup sloshed over the edge and spilled all over a nice-looking navy-blue suit.

A garbled “Agh!” floated through the mouth slit in the wolfish mask.

“I’m so sorry.” I grabbed the edge of my cape and tried to dab up some of the beer.

“Nice move, Red.” The wolf in the suit swiped at his pants.

“Do I know you?” Something about the voice caught my attention. He sounded familiar, but who could tell with that furry mask over his head.

“You tell me,” Wolfman said.

I peered up into the mask. I caught the glare of a pair of glasses. Him again! My heart sped up and my palms went clammy and cool. Murph would be back soon. Underthe circumstances, hanging out with Dante for a few minutes seemed like the lesser of two evils.

“My, my, Mr. Wolf, what big eyes you have.” I rolled my eyes.

“The better to see you with, my dear.”

I smirked. “And what giant, enormous teeth you have.” I reached a finger up and poked at a soft vinyl tooth on the mask.

“The better to nibble you with, my dear.” I let out a sharp laugh and Wolfman extended his arm out to me with his palm facing me. “And the hands? Don’t forget my enormous paws.”

I wasn’t sure why I did it, but I placed my hand palm-to-palm with his to play along. A strange buzz of energy pulsed between us. “Oh yes, what big hands you have.”

He reached up and pulled the mask off his head. His hair stuck out like he’d just rolled out of bed and his cheeks sported a layer of stubble that appeared to be about twelve hours past a five o’clock shadow.

Dante gazed down at me, momentarily paralyzing me with those damn blue-green eyes, then wrapped his hand around mine.

He raised an eyebrow. “The better to paw you with, my dear,” he whispered.

My face flushed. My thighs quivered. “Oh.”

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Murph’s voice crashed through the intimate moment, and I yanked my hand away, embarrassed at the effect Dante’s touch had on me.

Murph reached us and gave Dante a playful slug on the shoulder, bumping him away from me and positioning himself between us as an awkward third wheel.

“I asked what the hell you’re dressed up as. An MBA student on an interview?” Murph looked down at Dante’s soaked suit.

Dante flashed the wolf mask at him. “Wolf of Wall Street. Get it?”

“Oh yeah. I get it. That’s sick, dude.” He wedged his body further in between us. “Faith, where were we?”

I needed to get away from Murph. I put my hand to my temple and took a small step back. “You know, I can feel a headache coming on. I think I’m going to head out.”