The Switch (2 page)

“Come one, come all,” Corbin continued,
flourishing a ridiculously plumed hat. His huge, puffed sleeves
billowed and fluttered as he waved his outstretched arms to motion
around the room. “Music, maestro!” he called to the DJ who was
stationed in a far corner.

Grayson rolled his eyes and laughed. At
least he wasn’t ‘yarr’-ing and brandishing a sword. Yet. It would
happen eventually, and with a minimal amount of booze. Corbin was
ever the game master even now, in their late twenties.

The DJ complied with a loud, high-tempo
beat, and Corbin grinned in satisfaction. He turned back to the
open doorway, gave a theatrical bow, and plunked his hat onto his
scarf-wrapped head before swaggering over to Grayson and Will.

Close on Corbin’s heels was the fourth of
their group, Peter Vansant, dressed in green and looking sour.

Behind them, a small crowd trickled into the
room, some faces familiar, others not so much. All in costume for
the annual Halloween / birthday bash. Grayson knew without looking,
she
wasn’t amongst them.

“For chrissake, Pete, lighten up and quit
fidgeting. You look fine,” Corbin said with a barely stifled laugh
as they drew near.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one in
tights. Ugh - my
balls
—”

“Here we go again,” Grayson muttered as Will
topped off his drink.

Will chuckled quietly and shook his head.
“Another last-minute shopping disaster?” he asked, handing Peter a
glass of whiskey.

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled. Then he swore,
nearly spilling his drink as he made a weird, gyrating motion with
his hips, evidently still trying to straighten out his jewels. “And
it wasn’t last-minute,” he added defensively.

“Oh, he’s just pissy because he lost our
bet,” said Corbin.

Grayson groaned. Corbin Harrington never
lost a bet, no matter the stakes or setting. “Why do you even try,
Pete?”

Peter answered him with a dark look before
going back to fussing his costume.

“Hey, not every man can wear tights and wear
them well.” Corbin laughed and slapped Peter on the shoulders. “I
looked fucking ridiculous in them. So thanks for that. And hey, who
knows? With that Robin Hood getup, maybe you’ll catch your very own
Maid
Marion
tonight.”

It was Grayson’s turn to bristle. “Don’t
start, Cor.”

Corbin had sense enough not to respond. He
shrugged carelessly and downed his whiskey. Peter, however…

“I wouldn’t touch that with a polo mallet.
God - you’re not actually still in contact with her, are you,
Gray?” he said in a bored tone. “Slumming’s only fashionable while
you’re still in college, you know.”

“You’re grinding your teeth,” Will murmured
to Grayson.

Peter remained oblivious. “So, Will, what
are you supposed to be? Are you even in costume?”

Will straightened the ascot at his neck and
pulled a pipe from his jacket pocket before casting Peter a dry
look. “Elementary,” he said around the mouthpiece and inhaled, then
blew a puff of sweet-smelling vapor that dissipated almost
immediately.

“But, where’s the hat, Sherlock?” Corbin
asked.

“He never wore the hat in the books. Nor the
updated movies,” Will answered.

Peter made a sudden, strangled noise and
darted behind a pillar for a few seconds. When he reappeared, Will
said, “You’re a horseman, Peter. It can’t be much different from
wearing breeches.”

Peter glared at him. “This is nothing like
breeches,” he said. “Ugh. Are you guys sure this doesn’t look
gay?”

Will’s flinch was barely perceptible, but
Grayson caught it. Something inside him snapped. “So help me God,
Peter, for the last fucking time--”

His tirade was cut short by a long, low
whistle. One that, surprisingly, came from Will. When Grayson
turned to see what had caught his attention, all thoughts of
wanting to throttle Peter vanished.

“Hello, nurse,” Corbin said, although his
sudden fidgeting betrayed his cool.

“Holy fuck,” Peter breathed.

“Indeed,” said Will. He took another puff on
his faux pipe.

Grayson silently agreed, but for a different
reason. While all eyes were on the three scantily clad women who
had just made their entrance, his pulse spiked at the sight of a
familiar, dark-haired figure lingering in the doorway behind
them.

Marion
.

He threw back his Scotch, his lips
stretching over his teeth as the fiery liquid seared his throat.
Corbin and Pete followed suit. Will gave him a smug look and
continued sipping lazily at his drink.

He
wouldn’t go to her- that was damn certain. Not after four months of
near-silence, not a single phone call, and fewer texts than he
could count on one hand.

Your fingers aren’t broken either, you
know,
came a very Marion-sounding voice of conscience.

Okay, he wouldn’t go to her
right
away
. That would be desperate. He’d simply… take his time.
Grayson drew himself up and leaned against the column behind him,
slipping into the arrogant persona that was a second soul to
him.

“Another,” he said to Will, holding out his
glass. He didn’t need the alcohol, but it gave his hands something
to do as he eyed the newest attendees, deliberately turning his
attention away from
her
.

Corbin’s pirate garb now had a sort of
nauseatingly sappy logic to it. It was clearly intended to
coordinate with Rosaline Prescott’s not-so-little-mermaid costume.
Well, the costume itself was little. Especially the tiny starfishes
barely covering her breasts. Grayson rolled his eyes as she flipped
her mane of red hair over her shoulder and assessed the growing
crowd with regal smirk. Some things never changed.

“Uh, hey—” Corbin quickly stepped in front
and turned to face them, his back to the door. “So, what do you
guys think - should I go with the eye patch? Or no?” He flipped the
black triangle of leather up and down over his eye almost
frantically.

“Dude - who cares?” Grayson asked, mystified
at his friend’s sudden manic turn. Corbin and Rosaline had been
dating for years; a little skin was hardly reason to freak out.
Hell, Grayson had seen more than that himself, and he’d never laid
a finger on her. Of course, Rosaline had been coming on to him for
years, but still…

“Wear the eye patch,” Will answered
absently. He wasn’t even looking at Corbin, though. An odd little
smile flickered over his face as he puffed on his pipe, his eyes
still fixed on the doorway.

Grayson looked over Corbin’s shoulder.
Marion was talking to someone, and all he could see was the back of
her head. Her hair was loose - a silky, dark curtain that fell down
her back and obscured whatever she was wearing. Then, she was gone
from his sight, blocked by the small crowd.

Rosaline spotted them just then. She made a
little gesture to her female cohorts, Emmaline Fellows and Chloe
Kristjansen. Both were baring almost as much skin as Rose.
Emmaline, a tall, willowy blonde draped in translucent, shimmering
violet with a barely-there bikini top, was apparently dressed as a
genie or harem girl. Plump and petite Chloe was cute as fuck and
fuckably cute. With her short, dark hair arranged in pin-curls
around her cherubic face and her ample tits pushed up in some kind
of skimpy French maid outfit, she was an adorable ringer for Betty
Boop.

Grayson was sure Pete was drooling over that
one. Why she preferred that whiny little windbag over himself was
once a stinging point. But Grayson’s brief interest in Chloe had
only been a distraction from a more serious attraction. It sure as
hell didn’t hold a candle now.

But where the hell
was
she?

The guests were really filing in now, and
for a moment Grayson lost track of Marion.

“Ho-ly shit. Surely they didn’t come with
her?
” Corbin asked as the trio of women started towards
them. Not far behind them was...

“I doubt it,” Grayson managed to croak as he
finally caught sight of Marion’s costume.

“Unless it was for charity,” Peter
added.

It was all Grayson could do not to knock the
shit out of both of them. In fact, he was beginning to wonder how
the hell he remained friends with people who couldn’t seem to
graduate beyond emotional adolescence. Were they always like this?
A sharp pain shot through his jaw as enamel ground and crunched
together.

“Remind me to get you my dentist’s card,”
Will said quietly.

“Fuck off,” he gritted through his teeth
before reminding himself it was only the evening. Tomorrow he’d
return to the more meaningful world he’d made for himself,
maintaining his ties to Beldenbrook and his old friends at a less
annoying distance. Maybe one day he’d completely walk away, but he
wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

The topic dropped when, sure enough, the
three women dressed as adult cartoons stalked across the room in
their direction. Marion, however, paused, lingering on the edge of
the marble dance floor, alone.

“Well, that clears that up,” Corbin said,
sounding all too relieved. “Of course, I have no idea what the hell
she’s supposed to be.”

“Dominatrix, dumbass,” Peter said.

“Well, obviously, but what’s that got to do
with the theme? We’re supposed to be famous fictional characters,
right?”

Grayson didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure he
could. The sight of Marion - all curves and leather and
deadly-looking stilettos, left him speechless and dumb.
Dear
fuck,
he thought weakly,
is that a riding crop?

“Hello-o,” a female voice rang through his
haze. “You’re not even going to greet us, birthday boy?”

Rose batted her false eyelashes up at him
and gave her auburn hair a flip. Jesus - Corbin was standing right
there, and she still tried to flirt with him?

“Hey, Rose,” he mumbled. “Nice… starfish.”
He gave her a bland smile before glancing back to Marion.

She pouted and turned to Corbin. “Honestly,”
she said in a low voice they all still heard, “did no one tell her
about the theme? We’re at least dressed as something that makes
sense. She’s just tricked out in leather like some… some kind of
godonlyknowswhat…”

“And what’s with the hair?” Peter added.

“Bettie Page,” Grayson croaked. He licked
his lips as those jade-colored eyes finally met his, peering out at
him from beneath an unmistakable fringe of thick, glossy bangs.

“Who?” Peter, Corbin, and Rose spoke in
unison.

“Oh, that’s right! Bettie Page! She was a
classic pinup model and film star from the fifties,” Chloe piped
up. “Of course, her works were… uhm, not exactly mainstream…” she
faded off, realizing she evidently knew far more on the matter than
was acceptable in their whitebread group.

Grayson didn’t hear their response. He was
too busy trying to tame the situation forming in his pants.
It’s
a coincidence, that’s all,
he told himself. This was exactly
the sort of thing Marion would pull, after all - dressing as
something controversial solely to raise eyebrows and make waves in
their little country club world. No way in hell she could know
about his… his
thing.

His weakness. ‘Tastes.’

“…
fetish,
” Corbin drawled, elbowing
Gray, hard.

Grayson laughed along with him, even though
he had no clue what the hell Corbin had said. At the same time, he
threw another surreptitious glance in Marion’s direction, only to
find her gone. Again.

Damn it.

He wanted to hunt her down, wrap his arms
around her, inhale her familiar scent. He wanted to hear her laugh
and snark at him. Most of all, he wanted to demand where the fuck
she’d been these past months and why the hell she’d dropped out of
his life like their friendship meant nothing.

It was one stupid, drunken night, after all,
just some harmless rolling around on a couch.

Bullshit.

It had meant everything, or at least enough
to terrify him into figuring out what he really needed in a
relationship. Because nothing with Marion would ever be harmless or
meaningless. He wanted her, had wanted her for years. But he also
loved her too much as a friend to blithely toss that friendship
away. Too much to risk on the chance that she’d run screaming or
keel over laughing at his kink.

But now - now, he wanted nothing more than
to throw himself at her feet and find out how far she was willing
to take the Bettie Page act.

Of course, he didn’t. Because he was too
arrogant a bastard to make the first move. And because, before he
could extract his head from his own ass, a pair of hands covered
his eyes from behind.

They could have belonged to anyone, being
that they were feminine hands. But the spark of recognition was
instant, even before she said, “Guess who?”

Panic and joy clashed inside him, deeper
than his own soul. It didn’t matter that they never got along, that
they were polar opposites in nearly all respects. He would always
know her, by touch, sound, or mere proximity.

“Olivia?” Grayson choked, whirling around to
face his twin sister. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Happy birthday, man,” Corbin said with a
satisfied grin.

Olivia looked uncomfortable but tolerant.
“He asked me to come,” she answered stiffly, nodding to Corbin.

“Why?” Grayson blurted without thinking. To
be fair, he and Olivia hadn’t spoken in years. He hadn’t spoken to
his parents in longer.

Hazel eyes that matched his own turned
shuttered and cool before sliding over to Corbin.

“Hey,” Corbin said with a tense laugh. “I’m
running out of surprises, here. I mean, what do you give the guy
who can afford any damn thing he likes? Plus, I promised Rose I’d
behave this year,” he added, fidgeting with the lapel of his frock
coat.