Page 20 of Mr. Match

He was going to ask me if I needed a ride home. And I was going to bite my lip, like I was mulling it over, and then agree and get inside the car with him. We’d chat about my fake best friend relationship with his daughter, school sports, classes… shit like that. He would take me to that vacation rental. And then when we got to “my house” I’d tell him I was afraid of being home alone and might he possibly come inside and keep me company until my father arrived in a few hours.

He was going to agree, of course. And then… well, his fantasy illicit relationship with his daughter’s best friend would start to unfold in the most natural way we could possibly plan. A hand innocently brushing against my leg as we sat on the couch, maybe. Or me stumbling into him, forcing his arms to reach out and steady me. An excuse to pull me close. Kiss me. I did agree to kissing on the first “date”.

We’d have an afternoon of fantasy play. Small touches, maybe fondling each other. Me worrying out loud about my father coming home and getting caught.

But that’s not how it happened at all.

At least not with him.

Because I spent that afternoon playing out my own, much dirtier fantasy, with Oliver Shrike.

Chapter Nine - OLIVER

Ariel’s massive Victorian house used to belong to my mother’s family. They owned it jointly for like a hundred years or something. Ever since my gramps won it in a card game sometime last century. It’s on Mountain Avenue, the most desirable downtown neighborhood in Fort Collins, and it’s huge, so it’s worth a crap ton.

But Ariel bought it about three years ago after my Uncle Vic had been using it as a seasonal haunted house every Halloween for more than a decade. It looked like a haunted house. Straight-up Munsters, or Amityville Horror, or any of the other insert-iconic-creepy-place-here houses.

Unfortunately for my Uncle, and Ariel too, the house is part of the Fort Collins historical record and could not be renovated without approval. Which is why Vic had a hard time convincing buyers that the million-dollar price tag, as well as the million-dollar renovation, was going to be worth it.

It just so happened that Ariel and I were flush with money that year from the website and she needed a tax writeoff quick.

Eighteen months of missed deadlines and a blown budget later she was ready to move in.

Four months after that the local kids forgot it wasn’t a haunted house anymore and trashed it on Halloween when she was out of town.

Yes, long story short… Ariel lives in a huge six-thousand-square-foot money pit with six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, and it still looks creepy as hell, even though she painted the whole thing pink and white.

The Munsters in Pink. And. White.

It looks like a strawberry milkshake.

Only one of my princess sisters would paint a haunted house pink.

Ariel lives on the other side of College Avenue from me, so I don’t go over that way much. I stick to the office, Shrike Bikes, the tattoo shop, the theater, and my house when I’m in downtown.

So color me surprised when I pull up in front of the Milkshake Mansion and see a twelve-foot-tall inflatable Santa Claus waving at me from the front yard and holding a digital sign that is counting down the days to Christmas.

We get off the bike and take our helmets off.

I give her a look.

She shrugs. “What? These fucking kids around here. I just got one last week asking when we were gonna have a real ax murderer again. Can they not see the bazillion signs all over town telling them the FoCo Theater is the new haunted house? I’m skipping Halloween and going straight to Christmas.”

I shake my head, but she’s already walking up her front sidewalk.

Those kids are probably gonna trash it anyway because an ax murderer is a bazillion times cooler than a strawberry milkshake Santa. But I don’t say that. I just follow her inside.

The aroma of something delicious permeates the air, and since Ariel was in the mood for gutting the entire downstairs when she renovated, you can see the kitchen from the front door, and it’s filled with women.

Victoria and Ellie are doing something at the stove and sipping drinks while they do it. Cindy is sitting at the breakfast bar slurping down what might be a strawberry margarita, and when Ariel approaches, she stands up and hands her one too.

West, Mac, and Pax are sitting at the real bar on the other side of the massive main floor, looking up at a Bronco game with a bottle of Stoli in front of them.

Good to know we’re all gonna be liquored up for this conversation. Because obviously this is a Mister meeting. The only problem is that we’re missing a Mister.

I walk over and take off my leather jacket, draping it over the back of a barstool, and then point to the bottle. “Since when do you drink vodka?”

I’m looking at Pax, since he’s the drinker—which kinda pisses me off, since the last thing I need is his drunk ass as my potential brother-in-law.