Page 26 of Such Sharp Teeth

“All right,” he says, handing me my cocktail. “Cheers.”

“Thanks, Doc.” I gulp it down. “May I have another?”

His mouth hangs open.

I raise my bow and arrow. “May I have another, please?”

He closes his eyes for a few seconds. Finally, he says, “You may.”

“Are you stuck out here all night?”

“Not stuck,” he says. “I like playing bartender.”

“Well, then, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this evening,” I say, accepting my second drink with a wink.

I turn around looking for Scarlett, but she must still be inside. There’s a couple dressed up like pirates whisper-fighting at one of the tables. I avoid them and head to the back of the deck to wait for Scarlett. I lean on the banister and scan the yard. There’s an epic swing set with multiple slides, climbing walls, swings, monkey bars. Ash had it custom built. Scarlett told me it cost three thousand dollars, which seems insane, but I guess I shouldn’t judge. I once spent close to that on a pair of heels.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I know it’s not Scarlett because of the size of the hand.

It’s Ian.

He’s in the same clothes he had on earlier, only now he wears a set of alien antennae on his head. They’ve each got a giant eyeball at the end. They’re pretty funny.

He’s discreet. It’s a slight nod of the head as he descends the steps and walks out into the dark, away from the party. I follow him across the yard.

He sits on one of the swings and starts to open the bottle of bourbon, picking at the plastic hugging the rim.

“You think I’m going to break this thing?”

“The bottle?”

“No, the swings,” he says.

I shrug. He might. It’s meant for children. Small humans. He is not a small human.

I wonder what it would feel like to be with him. To have him pick me up and throw me around. He could. Easily.

It’s like a match has been struck somewhere inside me. It’s attraction. Want.

He gets the bottle open. I down the rest of my cocktail and hold out my empty cup to him.

“I thought I told you I wasn’t sharing,” he says.

“Don’t make me use this,” I say, raising my bow and arrow.

I can’t keep a straight face about it. I start to laugh; then he laughs.

“Did you lose a bet?” he asks, pouring me some bourbon.

“What makes you say that? Don’t like my costume?”

“I prefer your cheerleader uniform,” he says.

“How dare you?” I say, tossing my bow and arrow onto the lawn and sitting on the other swing.

“Do you still have it or . . .”

“No.”