“How are you going to do that?”

“I get anything I want,” I stated quite plainly.

She laughed under her breath, probably thinking I was joking, and I went weak for a moment, the light in her eyes the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long time.

But she shook her head. “No.”

Jesus. Is this how she wanted it? Me taking care of shit that hurt her or pissed her off behind her back because she was too timid? Because that’s what would happen. I didn’t let things slide.

“No one denies you,” I said.

“But not like this,” she told me. “I won’t like how it feels if I don’t earn it honestly.”

Yeah, I got it. I’d probably feel the same way about basketball.

But…

“She deserves to cry like she made you cry, at least,” I pointed out. “At the very least, a pout.”

Telling Winter to give up dancing—encouraging anyone to not do what they wanted to do—was arrogant, presumptive, and smug. I wanted to shut her up.

“I can probably have her fired,” I said.

But Winter just laughed.

I frowned. “Can I at least flood her yard and do donuts?”

“Nothing destructive,” she ordered me. “Nothing mean. It’s got to be funny. And like…easy to clean up. You know? Something elegant.”

“Something middle school,” I corrected her snidely.

She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat again, smiling to herself.

I relaxed into the headrest, pondering what I had in my trunk. My buddies and I had all been summoned back to town from college to host Devil’s Night tomorrow night, and as soon as we got back today, we’d gone supply shopping. I had bottles of liquor in my trunk, but Winter didn’t want to start any fires. There was plaster, glue, flashlights, and the guys had some other shit, like rope, smoke bombs, and sledge hammers. Most of this stuff we probably wouldn’t use tomorrow, but we’d been so into it after having not taken part in the Thunder Bay night of mischief for a couple years, we lost our heads and got excited.

Something non-destructive, though.

We didn’t do anything non-destructive.

And then I remembered. I also had some air horns and duct tape in my trunk.

Jesus. Well, that was it then. I knew what we had to do.

I couldn’t believe I was sinking this low, for Christ’s sake.

“Buckle up,” I told her, shaking my head at myself. “I know what we’re going to do.”

She held the back of my sweatshirt, following me as I jogged down the pathway, around the corner, and past the elevators. I’d been forced to come to Bridge Bay Theater dozens of times growing up to see performances my parents sponsored or to visit my mother when she deigned to perform as if the town should be so grateful to have a genuine Bolshoi ballerina in their midst. Really, it was just an ego boost for her, since she hadn’t performed on a grand scale since she was fifteen. My father married her, brought her to America, and that was that.

I knew this place like the back of my hand, even though I hadn’t been here in years. Luckily, the basement window still didn’t lock.

“You’ve done this before?” Winter asked me.

I held the door open, pulling her into the ladies’ bathroom and turning on the lights and my flashlight off.

“My sister and I did it at our house and once again at the pizza parlor,” I told her.

We were like fourteen, but I remember it being pretty funny.

Oh, how times had changed and what made me smile.

“Here, hop up on the counter,” I told her.

She did, and I dumped my duffel bag in the sink, digging out some air horns, wooden sticks, and duct tape.

Diving into one of the stalls, I measured the stick’s length from underneath the toilet seat to the button on the horn, seeing how it fit.

Perfect.

Good.

I came back to her at the sinks and put the bottle in her hand, fitting her fist around the can and the stick, to hold it in place.

“Hold that right there,” I instructed. “Hold it tight.”

She nodded, and I got busy making the can, wrapping tape to keep the stick in place on the button, so when someone put weight on it, like sitting on the toilet seat, for example, it would sound off, creating an ear-splitting cry loud enough to shake the foundations of this whole fucking place.

And make every single person inside choke on their coffee.

“So you have a sister,” she inquired, continuing our conversation.

“Yep. Not an only child,” I corrected her and her assumption about my lack of manners in sharing.

“How old is she?”

“A year younger than me.”

The roll of tape screeched as I wrapped it around the bottle and then set it down, grabbing another can and stick and putting them in her hand to do the same thing.

“And how old are you?” she asked, playing for information.

“Older than you.”

She laughed. “You’re not like sixty, are you?”

Sixty? Did I feel sixty when she touched me?

I stopped what I was doing and got down in her face. “Old enough to vote, not old enough to buy liquor,” I told her. “But I can still get liquor. If you want.”

She just grinned and let it go.

It was amazing she hadn’t figured it out yet, but I was careful to take off the rosary when I met her, and I always showered before I came. I thought it would be tough, not smoking to give myself away, but when I was around her, I just wanted to stay around her. My nic fit wasn’t worth leaving her until I was damn good and ready.

I’d also never worn my mask, because then she would know I was a horseman.

But if I told her I was nineteen, she’d figure out which class I graduated, and with my lurking and scaring her just like Damon did in the janitor’s closet and in the lunchroom, she’d eventually have to face the reality of who I really was, and for now… I liked that she liked me.

I wasn’t trying to get her into bed. I wasn’t trying to prove how tough I was. I wasn’t angry or weighed down or tired of my stupid, fucking life. I was the only place I wanted to be.

Everything was new to her. She was an escape. I could feel anything and feel things again for the first time in her words, her body’s reaction, and her face.

It had been hard to stay away, but I knew I had to. The closer we got, the sooner I’d hurt her or she’d find out, and then it would be over.

It only occurred to me tonight, though, when I saw her get into Anderson’s fucking car, that she was old enough for things, and it was only a matter of time. I’d wanted to wait until I showed myself again. Wait until she got older, but I just needed to get her out of that prick’s car.

I didn’t know if I was ever going to take her to bed, but I definitely knew he wasn’t going to.

I finished up, making seven cans, and I took one into a stall, affixing it to the floor with the wooden stick underneath the seat, which lifted it up just a hair. I secured everything with tape and came back out, pulling her off the counter.

Lifting her up into my arms, I guided her legs around me and held her there, looking up at her.

“You been good?” I asked her.

Mischief pulled at the corners of her lips, and I stared at them, drawn in to the supple skin and how she’d tasted earlier. She tasted like watermelon. It must’ve been a lip gloss. Her cheekbones were more pronounced than two years ago, and her blue eyes more piercing with the mascara she’d started wearing.

She circled her arms around my neck, whispering, “Yeah.”

“You gonna keep being good?”

Her chest rose and fell against mine, our lips inches from each other.

But she didn’t say anything.

“Answer me.” I jostled her. “Tell me you’ll be good.”

She swallowed, but still didn’t answer. Instead, she whispered, “What will you do to me if I’m not good?”

Oh, Jesus. She sounded almost hopeful, and my cock swelled as I stared at her dark pink mouth, her parted lips, and I wanted to take them in mine and taste those fucking crazy words on her breath.

What wouldn’t I do to her…

“What will I do?” I repeated, brushing her mouth with mine as I carried her into the stall. “I’m going to throw you down…” I lowered us, leaning forward as she held onto me, breathless. “And give you…” Lower, lower. “A big…” Lower. “Fat…” Lower… “Spanking.”

And I dropped her ass on the toilet seat, the blaring, banshee cry of the air horn ripping through the theater, splitting my ears.

She screamed and scrambled off the toilet, grabbing onto me and bursting into laughter.

“Oh, my God!” Her face shined, and she looked fucking delighted.

I rolled my eyes, hoping no one heard that out on the street, so they wouldn’t find out my shame.

She lowered herself to the seat again, the horn blasted its shrill cry, and she startled, breaking out in laughter again.

I shook my head, pulling her off the seat. “You’re so gay.”

“Tame compared to what you’re used to?” she teased.

“Yes.”

God, if the guys found out about this… I needed to get her home before she made me T.P. a house tonight.

Maybe someday I’d take her on a real adventure.

Working quickly, I taped up all the horns, including the one in her boss’s office, so when the dancers, employees, and she came in tomorrow, they had a nice little scare.

I packed up all our gear, grabbed Winter, and turned off the lights and my flashlight on, leaving the building.

Once outside, I dumped everything back in the trunk, and moved to open the door.

“Wait,” Winter called out.

I looked up, seeing her head turn as if hearing something.

“The fountain,” she said, moving around to my side of the car. “In the square. Can you take me to it?”

I listened, faintly hearing it, too. I’d forgotten about it. As a kid, I remembered I’d wanted to play in it, but of course, it wasn’t allowed.