“I might consider it, but if I do show up at the party this weekend, I’m notwearing a costume, and I’m notdancing.”
Lucius laughed. “We’ll just say you’re a grouchy, underfed scarecrow. I’ll provide a hat, and you’ll wear a scowl.”
“Nice.” I wasn’t really that skinny, was I? Maybe I was. I tended to avoid looking at myself in the mirror unless I was shaving.
“Hey, the queens at the club are always talking about the crotchety, gorgeous little bitch next door whose bones they’d like to jump. You’re a hot little number, you know, with that full head of salt and pepper hair, the ‘don’t fuck with me’ aura you carry around like a badge, and the sad eyes. But you need to gain some weight. Scarecrow is really not a good look for you.”
“Are you volunteering to feed me from now on?” I asked, crossing my arms so as not to reach out in a surprising need to touch him. Being around Lucius was dangerous.