Chapter Nine

Demi looked over at 1210 Frog Creek Way, a couple houses down, for the twentieth time. Tyler's work truck was parked in front of it. He had been up on the roof with a ladder all day, working.

Why hadn't he told her why he was here?

Halloween was her favorite time of year, but this year had been taken over with work. Plus, now she felt overwhelmed with her friend's heartbreak and worry.

Tyler would have feelings too, but he hadn't shared anything about what was really happening in their family.

He'd gone head-to-head with his stubborn dad about her yesterday, knowing he was sick, knowing their family was in a chaotic time.

That wasn't lost on her.

He was wearing a heather gray T-shirt with a charcoal gray jacket, and work pants in black. He was on a ladder, clipping orange lights to a gutter at the address she had sent him. Every time she looked over there, he seemed to know what he was doing. There was no hesitation or confusion.

"What was Tyler's last job?" she asked Rachel, who was arranging pumpkins they'd collected from her family's pumpkin patch this morning.

"Ummm, he had a holiday lights company in New York. Not New York City, I mean on the outskirts. He did some corporate jobs in the city sometimes, too. Some big ones. But he preferred the neighborhood jobs."

"He did holiday lights?" Demi asked, floored. "He hated your dad's company though. That's why he left here, right? He didn't want to take over your dad's company?"

"Yep. He was the son to go start a business that was a tribute to our dad. He was making good money. He was good."

"You're talking like he can't go right back to that life."

"He can't, really. He sold the company when Dad got sick. He couldn't run it from here, and he doesn't know how long he will stay. Could be awhile. He's back here, trying to figure out what to do. Dad wants to give his company to one of his sons, but Brayden, Dev, and Collin aren't into this stuff. Tyler's it. Problem is, neither Tyler or my dad want this. Ty wants to be independent, and Dad wants anyone else for the job."

"Huh. And then Tyler goes right in and starts working with me, using your dad's company materials."

Rachel shrugged. "Dad is getting the income from it. Plus, he could use a good dose of call-out. No one has done it in awhile. We're all just kind of used to his gnarly attitude."

She looked back over at Tyler, who was up on a humongous ladder, clipping lights to gutters on a towering two-story. He climbed down with the sure-footedness of a goat, and took a call. She watched as he ran his hand through the back of his hair and paced the yard. The urge to Change and fly closer so she could hear his side of the conversation was irritating. He deserved privacy. He had a whole life she knew nothing about, and his relationships with people weren't her business. Maybe it was Erin on the phone. Or someone else he was interested in. Or his dad, or whoever bought his company, or anyone! This was none of her business, and she was getting behind. Focus.

"Okay, let's unload the rest of the pumpkins and start arranging those," Demi said, pointing to the trailer hooked to the back of her truck. She'd picked them out special from the pumpkin patch this morning.

The neighborhood was shaping up! It looked so festive already, and she still had half a dozen houses on her roster to decorate.

"This place is going to look so good," Rachel said, hooking her hands on her hips beside Demi in the yard, scanning the neighborhood with her. "Except for that skank Danielle's houses. Hers look boring and generic and soulless."

"I love you," Demi murmured through a smile. Her best friend had always had her back, no matter what.

"I know." Rachel sauntered off toward the trailer. Demi, unable to help herself, looked over at Tyler again. He was off the phone now and staring at his work truck, a frown etched on his handsome face. He turned and locked eyes with her. Where she had expected that charming-boy grin or a quick middle finger in his teasing manner, he just looked at her with this unreadable, serious expression.

Confused, she lifted her hand and offered a little wave. He inhaled deeply and forced his gaze to the ground, then quickly turned and climbed back on the ladder like he'd done it a thousand times. He probably had.

Demi let her hand fall to her side, feeling like that was an important moment somehow, but she didn't understand.

She made three trips to the trailer to load pumpkins into a wheelbarrow and haul them to the house before she pulled her phone out of her back pocket to text Tyler. You good? Send.

She tried to hide that she was looking over at him, seeing if he would pick up the phone quickly, and he did.

He looked over at her from the top of that ladder, and nodded at her once.

That was supposed to be enough, right? He was good. He'd given the nod before he shoved his phone back into his pocket. But for the rest of the workday, until the shadows of evening made it too dark to work any yard jobs, she kept track of the houses he was lighting up, wondering at his serious demeanor.

"His professional side is pretty boring, huh?" Rachel asked as they loaded the wheelbarrow into the back of Demi's truck.

Was that it? He was just serious when he was working for clients? "I can't believe how many houses he talked to, and finished, today. At least four."

"Oh yeah, he's a go-getter, I guess. When he's not being an idiot."

Demi snorted. "You always speak so highly of your brothers," she said sarcastically.

"Hey, I threw a compliment in there. Tasted horrible in my mouth, but I did it. Best sister ever."

"Why didn't you come hang out with us last night?" she asked.

"Because I'm not third-wheeling your weird date with my brother—"

"Whoa! There was no date. He was over signing the business contract. That's it."

Rachel cocked her head and pulled a face at her. "Come on, Demi. It was football and pizza. I'm not sitting between you two and all your sexual tension."

"I don't like him like that!"

"I know, I know. You've maintained that for years. I get it. Come on, I'm hungry. We have earned something better than a TV dinner tonight. My treat."

"You don't have a paycheck right now," Demi pointed out.

"Oh, yeah. I was just being polite. Your treat."

Demi laughed, climbed up into her truck, and then eased it toward the end of the street, where Tyler was working on a house she'd finished decorating on Wednesday. She probably should've hired a lights specialist years ago.

He was shutting the tailgate of his truck, all packed up for the night. He made his way toward her truck. "You ladies headed out?"

"Yep," she said, easing back so he could rest his hands on her open window frame. "We're going to grab some food." She couldn't force the next part past her vocal cords, because she felt awkward. All of her confidence leaked out in a moment, looking into those bright-blue eyes that still lacked the spark in them.

Something was wrong.

"All right, sounds good. You girls have fun," he said low. "See you tomorrow." He patted the window once, pushed off, and strode for his truck.

"Hey dipshit," Rachel called. "Want food?"

He turned, and frowned. "With you guys?"

Demi parted her lips to reiterate the invitation, but the words got stuck again. "Um, if you would like…food…or you're hungry…" She cleared her throat and stared straight ahead; strangled the steering wheel like that would help ease her mortification.

"Do you want me to go get food with you, Demi?" he asked, and now that smile was back in his voice.

When she looked over at him, the corner of his mouth was curved up in a crooked smile that made her heart stutter a little. "Doesn't matter to me. Was just being nice." Oh, she could hear the lie in her own tone, and hoped he didn't really have that power like he'd said last night.

"Mmm," he said. "I'll go if you say you want me to go."

Demi glared at him, and kind of wished he would go back to being serious-Tyler. She'd forgotten how effing annoying he was for a few hours.

"Boy, quit your games," Rachel griped over her. "We're going to Marty's if you want food. Show up, or don't. Foot on the gas, Demi. I'm starving."

"Yes ma'am," she told her friend. She did as she was told and put her foot on the gas, leaving Tyler in the street staring after them. She knew, because she checked the rearview mirror twice before they took a right to exit the neighborhood.

"You're being so weird about him," Rachel said as she hooked her phone up to the truck's sound system.

"I am not."

"Are so! He's got you completely distracted. Do I need to remind you that you saw him go through his awkward teenage years? Remember those? Braces? No game with women? Remember when he bleached his hair platinum-blond and wore saggy pants for all of junior year?"

She giggled and nodded. "I do remember. I'm fine. We are just working together. No more, no less."

She could feel Rachel's gaze boring right through her.

"What?" Demi asked.

"Oh, nothing at all," Rachel said, and turned up the volume on a song she'd chosen called "Liar, liar."

Demi rolled her eyes and aimed her truck for Marty's. She hadn't been to the little bar in years, but she did remember they had the best toasted sandwiches, and they made their fries from scratch.

Tyler wouldn't come. That wasn't the game. He'd been trying to mess with her head and get her to say she wanted him there, but he didn't really care about that. He cared about picking at her, and clearly, he was enjoying getting reactions out of her.

She was not a game, nor did she need some stupid game-playing man in her head.

She had shit to accomplish.

"Oh my gosh, look at all the spiderwebs!" Rachel said, pointing out her open window. The town had decorated the main street today, and there were big, fake, sparkling black-and-purple spiders and shimmering spiderwebs on every streetlight. Even the flowers in the flower baskets had all been replaced by mums in oranges and deep burgundy. A few of the buildings had giant, inflatable Halloween scenes strapped to the top of them. Fifteen-foot skeletons, ghosts, and vampires faced the street, and the buildings had sparkling orange lights on them.

"Oh my gosh, I love this!" Demi said. She pulled into the back parking lot of Marty's, knowing she wouldn't be able to find a parking spot on the street, not with the trailer hooked to her truck. She backed it into the spot by the dumpster, where they used to park all the time when they were younger and Marty's was a normal part of their week.

"I can't stay long," Demi told her. "I have a bunch of invoices to process tonight."

"Ew, party foul. You aren't allowed to talk about work tonight."

"Well, work is important to me," she said, getting out of the truck.

"Yeah," Rachel called over the bed of the truck as she made her way toward the back entrance of Marty's. "And you're forgetting all the cool parts of this season. You love Halloween, Demi Rhone Darke! You're sucking all the fun out of it if you just work yourself to death!"

"I wouldn't have to work so much if my business wasn't being taken over by Danielle. I'm not usually a workaholic," she said defensively.

"Danielle can suck a wiener," Rachel popped off, opening the back entrance door for her. "A gross one. Good Lord!" she exclaimed as she saw the crowd inside. "This is the busiest I've ever seen it!"

Demi could see exactly why it was busy. This place was all done up for Halloween, and there was a live band, all dressed as vampires, setting up on the small stage in the corner. There was a table set up against a side wall, and a hostess ushered them toward it. "Registration is over there."

"Registration for what?" Rachel asked. "We were just trying to grab some dinner."

"Oh, you can do that too! Tonight is a themed night—it's masquerade ball. If you didn't bring a mask, it's okay! They have some at the registration table."

Demi looked around, and it hit her. Yeah, everyone was wearing masks over the top halves of their faces. Some were sparkly, and some had plumes of brightly-colored feathers. One guy was wearing a Phantom of the Opera mask.

"Oh heck yeah," Rachel said through a huge grin. "This is awesome!" She dragged Demi by the hand to the registration table, and chatted up the attendant there while she sifted through the bin of free masks.

There was a row of very nicely-made masks on the left-hand side of the table, and one in particular captured Demi's attention. It was adorned with black feathers and sparkling black jewels. Looked like a crow mask. "How much is this one?" she asked.

"Ten bucks," the registrar told her.

Demi pulled a ten-dollar bill out of her wallet, paid, and then moved to the sheets of paper to look at the events they had going on here tonight.

"Don't bother," Rachel told her, tugging at her hand. "I already signed us up for the perfect one!"

"What is it?" she asked, waving her thank-you to the registrar.

"Speed-dating."

"What?" she blurted out, halting in her tracks.

"Put your mask on," Rachel ordered as she tied her own bejeweled white-and-silver one to her face.

"I wanted a burger, not a boyfriend!"

"Stop whining. Let yourself have fun. Here, let me help tie it." Rachel strapped the crow mask onto Demi's face, then spun her around, unzipped her jacket, and tugged at the hem of her V-neck sweater so her cleavage nearly popped out.

"Rachel," she growled, putting her boobs back under cover. "I just want to eat."

"Great, then the challenge tonight is we are going to get our food and drinks paid for." Rachel turned and made her way through the murmuring crowd toward the back room, where a sign that read "Speed-dating sessions start every ten minutes" had been taped over the open doorway.

"Oh my gosh," she ground out under her breath as she peeled her jacket off. She was already overheating in here, and now she was going to have to talk to strangers.

The speed-dating room was set up with pairs of chairs facing each other. Shockingly, there were a lot of people interested in speed-dating. A tall man stood in the middle of the room calling, "Time! Switch partners please. Gentlemen, you're still moving directly to your right. Ladies, stay put." He looked over at them and grinned, then waved them inside with a few others who had gathered in the doorway. He pointed to a few empty chairs and told them to drag them into the circle, and then handed them each a small stack of sticky notes and a pen.

"What's this for?" Demi asked.

"To take notes on the guys you like. It's easiest if you put their mask description. Like you would be the black bird mask, and your friend would be the white-and-silver mask. Something like that. It's up to you girls to find the men you are interested in out at the bar area after the speed-dating session."

"Oh dear goodness," she murmured to herself. She dragged a pair of chairs into the circle and faced one toward herself as Rachel did the same.

A couple of guys they'd walked in with took the seats directly across from them, and Green-Shimmer Mask Guy said a polite hello and shook her hand.

It was nerve-racking. They had two minutes to talk to each potential date. At first, Demi had no idea how to do it. She was so awkward, and there were long pauses at the end as she waited for the guy in the middle to call "Time." By the fourth guy, she had eased in to what she was supposed to do. Most helpful was memorizing some generic questions that everyone seemed to want to know the answers to.

"Where do you live?"

"Where is your family from?"

"What brought you out tonight?"

"What do you do for work?"

Stuff like that.

Rachel was a natural and a chatterbox, and was super charming, and Demi bet nearly every man she talked to wrote down white-and-silver mask on one of his sticky notes to remind himself to find her later out in the bar.

For Demi? Fortunately for her, she would be on a lot less of the sticky notes. First impressions had always been huge to shifters, as they could feel when people were genuine, or had good intentions. Her answers to their questions were pretty clipped, as she didn't find any of them particularly interesting.

Not until Guy with the Green Mask walked in and sat three chairs down from her.

Oh, she recognized the blue eyes, and the shade and cut of Tyler's dark hair. If that wasn't a dead giveaway, he was wearing the thin, gray T-shirt he was wearing earlier, and it hugged every curve of muscle that fine man possessed.

Easily the hottest guy in the room—and probably the whole damn state, for that matter—Tyler kept glancing over at her as he talked smoothly to the girl in the seat a few down.

"Did you hear what I said?" the guy across from her asked.

"Oh, um, sorry. What was that again?"

"I asked how the pumpkin patch is going this year. I recognize you. You're that shifter. The Darke shifter."

Shit. Her eyes went wide and she pursed her lips, annoyed at being found out. The guy up next cut off the woman he was chatting with and leaned over. "You're one of the crow shifters? Did I hear that right?"

She hated everything.

Now she was apparently the belle of the dark ball. The next guys were very interested in her, and scribbled something on their sticky notes while talking to her. She just wanted to leave. The reason she stayed? Tyler was up next.

"Hey, stranger," he said in that smooth, deep, rumbling voice as he took the seat in front of her. "Fancy meeting you here."

"We literally invited you," she muttered, adjusting her shirt into place. Oops, too low. She gasped and yanked it back up. When she looked up, Tyler was grinning.

"I didn't mean to do that."

"I almost saw nip. Is that an orange lace bra you're wearing?"

"It's for Halloween," she muttered, pulling the V-neck up to her throat and glancing around. "Not that it should matter to you. I can wear whatever I want."

"What other colors do you own?"

"Tyler!" she barked out.

Click. The sound of a camera going off dragged her attention over to Rachel, who had her phone aimed at her and Tyler.

"What are you doing?" Demi asked.

"Oh, I'm definitely sending this in the family loop. Hold on…" she murmured to herself as she typed away. "Tyler is hitting on Demi, L-O-L. Dad, don't poop yourself. Send."

Tyler was laughing, and leaned back in his chair.

"Well, now your dad's gonna kill you," Demi griped. "I'm going to be the cause of all your family drama, and now I'm going to feel bad for the entire holiday season—"

"Collin is already posting laughing gifs," Rachel announced. "Dad just said WTF." She frowned. "Who taught our old man to use young-people slang?"

"He probably thinks it means what the fart," Tyler said unhelpfully, and something about it made Demi have to bite back a smile and swallow down a giggle, just imagining tough-as-leather Mac Durock utter the words, "What the fart?"

"Are you going to pay attention to me?" the guy in front of Rachel asked. "Like…at all?"

"Time," Rachel called out, and now Demi was having to stare at the ground to hide her laughter.

The announcer in the middle pointed at Rachel. "First warning. No one calls time but me."

"Sorry," Rachel announced, but her smile said she wasn't sorry at all. "Won't happen again."

"Time!" the announcer called. "Switch chairs. Gentlemen, move directly to your right."

"Hard pass," Tyler said, as he relaxed deeper into his chair. He stretched his leg out and brushed it against her leg.

Demi gave him a dirty look and yanked her leg away from him, but the oaf moved his leg too, and rested it right against hers again. "Move chairs," she gritted out.

He made a click sound behind his teeth, and ushered the next potential date around him to Rachel's partner-chair. "I don't date my siblings."

"Dude," the next guy said, standing by Tyler's chair. "I've been waiting to talk to this one."

Demi had the perfect view of the change in Tyler's face. He had been looking into her eyes, smiling, having fun, relaxed. When that guy said he'd been waiting to talk to her, the smile faded. He blinked slowly and leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and looked over at the guy. He was tall, and fit, and probably good-looking under the mask, and Demi wasn't going to lie—she was a little flattered.

"This one's taken," Tyler illuminated him. "She's just messing with me tonight."

She didn't understand what he meant until the guy said, "You're supposed to be single to do the speed-dating. It was posted on the registration. You both signed it."

"Is there a problem?" the announcer asked.

"Um, yeah," Demi murmured to Tyler, leaning closer to him. "I have a problem with you pretending we're dating."

"Who said I'm pretending," he ground out, and his eyes sparked with an intensity that drew her up short.

Wait…what?

"Can I write down your mask, and talk to you outside after this?" the guy asked.

"Yes," Demi said at the same time Tyler said, "No."

She offered him a have-you-lost-your-mind look, because clearly, he had.

"Why are you messing with me?" she asked low, and his face softened.

Tyler inhaled sharply and eased back. He ran his hand down the scruff of his face, and shook his head. "I don't know. Shit, I'm sorry." He stared at her for a few moments, and then stood abruptly. "Sorry," he muttered again, and then left. Just…walked out.

Demi could feel every ounce of attention on him as he strode out, and then two of the ladies a few chairs ahead of her in the speed-dating event got up and walked out after him.

There was this little feeling in her middle. This little sliver of frustration at how brazen those women chasing after him had been. And she could imagine it—imagine him sitting up at the bar and being bombarded by their immediate attention. She didn't like it.

The guy sat down, but the announcer said "Time," almost immediately.

"I'm going to order us some food," she murmured to Rachel.

"Extra pickles on my burger."

"Gross," she muttered, gathering her jacket and purse.

"I'll give you two extra hugs this week if you order extra pickles on yours, too, and give them all to me," Rachel rushed out.

"Fine."

"That's why we're best friends," Rachel explained to the tall guy who was taking a seat in front of her.

"Because you know how to share pickles?" the guy asked conversationally.

On that note, Demi made her way out, leaving her bestie to charm all the men in the room.

Out in the big room, she looked around, but she didn't see Tyler immediately. She walked through the crowd, pushing up on her tiptoes every few steps, searching for him. The band was playing now, and they sounded good. The band was covering popular songs, and had a great lead singer and drummer. She would love it if she wasn't feeling so stressed right now. That part, she couldn't explain. Tyler was grown, he could go wherever he wanted, and talk to whomever he wanted.

So why the panic in her chest as the seconds dragged on and she couldn't find him?

It was really tight with the crowd, but she aimed for the front door and caught a glimpse of Tyler leaving. Shoot!

"Excuse me, pardon me," she said as she pushed her way through any opening in the crowd she could.

She made it to the door just as she saw who he was leaving with. One of the girls from the speed dating room in a shimmering gold mask was following closely behind him.

Demi stumbled to a stop, stunned. This feeling inside of her was awful—deep, and gritty, and churning like trapped smoke.

Tyler didn't look back, just left with that woman, and time slowed. Someone bumped her from the side, and she moved out of the way. She could clearly see him walking in front of that woman outside in the parking lot.

He was leaving with someone else.

He'd successfully shaken her up. He'd messed with her head, and then was taking some random woman home.

The choked way he'd said "Sorry" echoed through her mind.

He hadn't changed a bit.

"Okay," she whispered to herself. "This is good. This is how it's supposed to be. We work together, nothing more."

Who said I'm pretending?

His words pissed her off. How dare he say something like that, then so easily take some stranger-woman home.

Fuck him.

Blood suddenly boiling, she made her way out of the bar and to the parking lot. He was talking to the woman in the middle of the gravel lot.

He was shaking his head, and saying something too low for her to hear.

She didn't know why she did it, but she shoved him. She shoved him. She lost her damn mind and shoved a man twice her weight.

"Hey," he barked. "Stop!"

Oh, she was still shoving him, and saying stuff that made no damn sense. "Say that to me, and then take this trollop home? You are just as I remember! You never grew up, you…you…jerk!"

He grabbed her by the wrists, pulled her against him, and pinned her in a hug she couldn't break. She tried.

"Enough," he rumbled low.

She struggled again, and he tightened his embrace and said again, "Enough."

Her frustration and anger thinned, moment by moment. She blew out a steadying breath, her heart pounding hard against his chest.

He eased back, his expression completely serious. "I'm going to let you go, but you won't be pushing me anymore." He nodded toward the woman. "I'm not taking her home. I was just explaining to her that I'm not like that."

"It's not like I was asking to fuck you," the woman spat out. "I just wanted to spend more time getting to know you. And I'm not a trollop! Whatever the hell a trollop is!"

"Oh." Demi felt like the dirt on the bottom of her shoe. "I'm really sorry. I'm sure you're a really nice person. And not trollop-like at all. I really don't even know what I meant by that. I don't even know what a trollop is either. I think I heard my grandma call someone that one time, and it just stuck."

"Y'all are fucking weird," the woman said, yanking her mask off and stomping back toward the bar.

Demi stared at her back until she disappeared into the bar, too mortified to dare a look up at Tyler, who stood beside her with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You okay?" he asked, and damn the humor in his voice.

Demi cleared her throat delicately, and turned to him. She looked up at him and prayed it was too dark in this parking lot for him to see how deep her blush was. "I apologize for making assumptions."

"You thought I was leaving with her?" he asked.

"She was following you in close proximity, so yes."

"Mmm. I didn't know she was behind me, just to clear that up. I was going home absolutely alone. It's been a long day."

"I lost my mind a little bit," she whispered, mortified.

He laughed, and looked up at the sky. His shoulders shook with his deep chuckle. "Woman, I've felt like I've been losing my mind since the minute I got back into town." He dropped that bright-blue gaze back to her. "You get a free pass tonight."

She picked up her jacket—she must've thrown it down during her rant—and gingerly dusted it off. "I was thinking I owe you a beer, and possibly a burger."

"You don't owe me anything, Demi—"

"I want you to eat with me." Yep, she was giving in. He'd wanted her to say she wanted him here, so she was doing that.

He stopped talking, and dropped his attention to the gravel near their shoes. "Feels like a bad idea."

It felt like a rejection, but she wanted clear communication, so she pushed. She did better with closure. She did better with understanding her exact place in people's lives. "Why is it a bad idea?"

He ran his hand down the short scruff on his jaw again, like it was a habit he'd picked up in his adult years. His gaze was so raw, so vulnerable. He parted his lips like he wanted to answer, then dropped his head and shook it. "I'm tired tonight, Darke."

She took a step back, feeling the weight of his rejection more now.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back toward the bar. "If it means that much, I can do one beer with you before I go."

Felt like a slap. "I'm no better than Trollop trying to get you to take her home then. I can tell you don't want to."

"It's not you."

"It's me," she finished for him. "Heard that line before. Tyler," she said, and huffed a breath, lifted her chin up higher. "You're great. You're obnoxious, and I want to throat-punch you fifty-nine percent of the time, but you are a hard worker and you are here for good reasons. Your sister told me about your dad. There's no pressure from me, and I'll do better about the messy stuff."

"What messy stuff?" he asked softly.

"The way you make my head…" She searched for the right words, but none came. "It's on me. You're just playing. You've always played. I don't understand it and I get confused, and that's my bad. Any uneven ground we are navigating right now is mine to steady out, so here we go." She stuck her hand out for a shake. "It's good to meet you again, Tyler. As adults. I'm Demi."

His hands were still shoved deep in his pockets. He looked from her hand to her eyes, and back to her hand, before he slid his warm palm against hers.

A handshake wasn't supposed to feel like intimacy, but his grip slowly tightened, and his eyes bore straight into her soul as he pulled her forward. With their hands clasped between them, he uttered, "You make me messy, too."

"Can I ask you something?" she said, trying to keep the tremors from her voice at being this close to him.

"Sure."

"The phone call today. Are you okay?"

He searched her eyes for the span of three breaths, and then shocked her when he pulled her hand up to his lips and laid a kiss there, right on her knuckles. "I'm a match," he said against her skin, and then released her hand.

"A match for transplant?"

He nodded. "It's a good thing, it's just a lot."

She couldn't imagine. Coming back here after the turmoil between him and his father. Being the one to come up as a match for the man he had such a love-hate relationship with. Leaving behind his company, his friends, his life, to step back into a flood of old memories and uncertainty. And he was still doing it. He would go through with it and donate a kidney to keep the patriarch of the Durock family going. He would probably be the one to carry the family business while his dad was healing up, and he wasn't complaining to anyone, or wanting attention for it. If she hadn't asked, he wouldn't have ever talked about it. She just knew he wouldn't.

"You're very tough, and very good," she told him.

"Truth," he said softly. "I can tell you mean that." He nodded, and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

"It's good to hear positive reinforcement sometimes," she said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Honestly, I don't even know what to do with a compliment."

"I'll teach you. Are you ready?"

"Sure."

"You absorb it. Really let yourself hear it, and feel the good in the compliment. Don't argue it or say the complimentor is wrong. Never do that. Just hear it, and then say thank you. Later, when you overthink it, remind yourself that it was said with good intentions. Repeat it to yourself until you believe it as much as the complimentor believes it."

A slow smile curved his masculine lips. He straightened his spine and lifted his chin higher. "Thank you." He looked back at the bar. "You better get back to all your boyfriends in there."

"Yeah, your sister has a goal of getting boys to pay for our meals and drinks tonight."

"It's a solid goal," he teased. "You won't have any problem charming the shit out of them."

"Yeah, because I'm a crow shifter. Goodie. I'm so happy that's the most appealing thing about me. I'm a freak-show, and boys do love a freak-show."

"You're stupid," he said through a laugh, and took her jacket from her.

"I'll have you know your childish insults don't affect me. I'm mature now."

"You're stupid if you really think your animal is the most appealing part of you," he said, heading for his truck with her jacket. "You flashed that damn orange bra. That's why those boys are swarming."

She laughed, and then called out, "Hey, what are you doing with my jacket?"

"You haven't worn this damn thing all night, and if you're drinking, I can just imagine the conversation tomorrow morning at work." He shoved it into his truck, and sauntered back to her.

"Oh yeah?" she asked. "And what do you imagine it will look like?"

"My sister, passed out in the front seat of your truck, both of you with oversized sunglasses and messy buns, holding coffees and complaining," he wrenched his voice up higher in a feminine imitation, "Stop talking so loud, meathead, we drank too much last night. Also, I forgot my jacket at the bar, can you go at lunch and pick it up?"

"Oh, my gosh," she said, belting out a laugh at the scarily-accurate imaginings. "That's probably not how it would be at all. I would not treat you like an errand-runner."

"I would offer so you don't get nauseous coming back to the bar and remembering how many lemon-drop shots Party Rachel convinces you to take at the expense of some poor Joe Schmo in there." He draped his arm over her shoulder and led her back to the bar.

"You're staying?" she asked, surprised.

"You have a goal of getting a man to pay for your drinks tonight. I'm going to pay. I don't know if you remember this about me, but I'm basically a dream-maker."

She snickered. "I don't remember that part at all."

"Yeah, well, it's this, or I'm going to imagine that dude trying to talk his way into your panties at the bar, and I won't be able to leave anyway. I'll just be sitting in the parking lot, pissing myself off."

"Jealous?"

"I told you, I'm messy here. If you get a free pass tonight, I get a free pass too. And nope, we don't ever have to talk about those feelings. Let's be adults about it and pretend they don't exist, yeah?"

"Sounds perfect," she fibbed. She was so curious about everything he was exposing about himself right now. There were so many mysteries to be explored if she read between the lines with him. More and more, Tyler was becoming this complicated, interesting, alluring man.

And off-limits, because the second they made it through the door, Rachel was there, pointing at Tyler. "Hands off."

He pulled his arm from over Demi's shoulders and held his hands up in surrender. He led the way through the tight crowd, but then did something that dredged up a flock of butterflies in her stomach. Behind his back, he offered his hand. Was he…was he offering to hold her hand?

She brushed her fingertips against his, testing, and he clamped down. He held her hand as he led her toward a table, and this felt so big. So important. So deep. So natural. So right.

He pulled out a chair for her, and sat across the table from her so she could sit by Rachel, and the tall guy from the speed-dating. His attention was clearly on Rachel now, so Tyler's tension quickly faded. Rachel introduced him as Griffin, and they did the polite shaking-hands move. They ordered food and a round of beers. As the next song started up, Rachel and her date stood up and started dancing on the dance floor right near the table.

They cracked her up with their silly dancing. When Demi looked back at Tyler to see if he was smiling, he was watching her.

He slid his leg against hers under the table, and pushed something toward her. It was the sticky notes from the speed-dating room. The top note said simply, Crow Mask .

She reached forward and flipped through the other sticky pages underneath, but they were all empty. He'd only wanted to talk to her after speed-dating.

Just her.

Tyler had been truthful—he was messy here.

"Demi Rhone!" Rachel called from the dance floor in front of the band. She'd worked her way closer to the music with Griffin. She waved Demi toward her. "Come on! Dance with me!"

"I'm being summoned. She even used the middle name," she told Tyler. "Um, do you want to dance?"

"Someone has to save the table, and make sure no one messes with you and Rachel's drinks."

"Right. Smart. Good man. Well, okay. Enjoy the show. I'm a very good dancer now. I took two hip-hop lessons a few years ago, and my gyrating skills are pretty epic now."

He laughed. "Gyrating skills, huh? Go impress me, party girl."

She stood and leaned over the table, tried to look serious as she said, "Don't get seduced."

His eyes sparked with hunger. "Can't promise you that."

"Prepare your boner," she joked, pointing at him.

"Oh, it is prepared. Has been since you enunciated the word "gyrating".

Okay, she loved his sense of humor and quick wit. He didn't miss a beat when they were bantering. Butterflies flapping in her middle, she took a healthy swig of her Halloween-themed orange beer, and then she adjusted her mask, tightening the ties in the back as she made her way toward Rachel.

And then they did their usual—which consisted of the dumbest, goofiest dance moves they could think up. It was always like this—a near competition for the worst and silliest dance moves. Who cared who was watching? Most of the time people around them joined in, because they didn't take themselves too seriously, and that culture was catching.

They danced through a full song, and then Rachel grabbed her hands and said, "I'll be right back!" over the sound of the guitar intro.

"Where are you going?" she asked as her friend bustled off. Halfway off the dance floor, Rachel threw a fake punch at her brother. He ducked it, grinning, and then pointed at Demi.

Excitement flooded her. Oooh, Rachel was giving him a turn to dance. Best. Friend. Ever!

He did a goofy little side-scuffle move, closing the distance between them, and she threw her head back, laughing. A man who could hang with her goofy moves was downright sexy. And she could tell he could dance. He went smoothy from one move to another as he approached, even throwing a spin in there, and had great rhythm. She began answering his moves with her own interpretations, and went with it when he grabbed her hand and spun her out. He brought her back in, released her, and maneuvered into the next dance move. The silliness was wearing off as they locked eyes more and more, slowing down with the new, slower, hard-hitting song. He touched her hands more, pulling her this way and that as she danced. Oh, he was really good, and she let herself be led. Another spin out, and then he pulled her against him. He spun her around to watch the band, and her shoulder blades rested against his strong chest. His hands went to her waist as they did a simple dance to the rhythm of the drumbeat. His big hands were gentle on her hips as he guided her left, then right, and back again. The smoke machine was going, and the flashing purple-and-orange lights blocked out some of the other dancers. She was getting lost in this moment with Tyler.

The song ended, and the girl guitarist stepped forward and took lead vocals, and it was slower, with such raw emotion. "This band is awesome," she called over the music, turning in his arms. She froze at how handsome he looked, staring down at her with such softness in his eyes, like she was special.

She knew it was going to happen. She could see his intention in the way his gaze dipped to her lips, and his hand moved from her waist to the side of her neck. His thumb rested on her jawline, and he tilted her head back farther as a wicked smile stretched his lips.

As he leaned down, she closed her eyes, ready. And as his lips touched hers, she slid her arms around his neck and pushed up on her tiptoes to lean into the kiss better.

The kiss deepened immediately. Whatever he'd intended to do with the beginnings of that gentle kiss, he lost control of it fast. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, and his lips moved against hers so intensely. His hand gripped the side of her throat, and he dragged her more tightly against his body.

Every cell inside of her felt alive right now. Electrified, almost. Every fiber in her being reached for him, and she got drunk off his warmth and the power of his body against hers. He bobbed with the new beat of the chorus, and ended the kiss. He eased back and pulled her palm against his chest. His heart was pounding so fast. He gave her a devilish smile and spun her out, brought her back, and turned her back to him. They danced like that as they watched the band. His lips brushed the side of her neck, and God, she'd never been more turned on in her life.

This man was smooth, and knew exactly how to touch her.

She pushed off and danced away from him, then returned as he did his thing, hungry eyes on her. Always on her.

"Food's here, lovebirds," someone said near them. It was Griffin.

It took the length of the dance floor, as they made their way back to the table, to come back to this world. Everything was fuzzy, and her body was buzzing. Demi had to really focus to answer Rachel's basic question, "Can I have your pickles?"

"I don't know why you even ask anymore," she said, sinking down in the seat next to her as Tyler sat across from her, next to Griffin. "You've owned all my pickles since we were in sixth grade."

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to convince this spicy meatball that I have manners," she said, gesturing to Griffin.

Griffin took a bite of his burger and shook his head. "I like crazy girls. You don't have to use manners."

"Well, at least he's honest," Demi murmured to herself.

"Okay, dream-boy. You're in luck, because I'm extra crazy."

"Perfect," Griffin said around a bite.

Tyler was quiet, just eating his food, but his leg was resting against Demi's under the table again.

"Hey Demi, remember that one time you impregnated the entire dance floor with your sexy dance moves?" Rachel asked. She wrenched up her voice. "With my brother ! I got video. So gross."

"Why do you take videos of everything?" Tyler asked. "It's weird."

"Blackmail videos don't just take themselves, Tyler."

As Tyler and Rachel traded shots, Demi had a moment. She looked around at all the Halloween decorations, the fog machine, the Halloween lights, and everyone dressed in masks, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd had this much fun.

Halloween used to be so fun, but she'd lost herself in work a bit over the last few years, and this year especially.

But now, it was different. She could feel her love for the holiday returning. She was taking a moment to stop and smell the roses.

She had been desensitized to appreciating these little moments, but now she wanted to change that, and take stock in the good times again.

Tyler was reminding her that she was still alive, still fun, still could enjoy a spontaneous moment.

She wouldn't admit it out loud—not yet—but she was really glad he had come back into town.