Page 2 of Tricking Mr. Scott
“You need to get out and find the perfect rebound guy. Then you’ll forget all about the Dickless Wonder.” Delilah motions toward the outfit hanging from the door. “I was planning to wear this bad boy to the art history department Halloween party, but it seems like someone else needs it instead. Good thing I have a backup costume just in case.”
Halloween is Delilah’s favorite holiday, so it’s no surprise she has multiple costumes to wear. All I’m doing is giving her an excuse to show off another one.
“An angel to go with your devil.” She pulls a white dress from her closet, almost identical to mine, but white with a waist-length jean jacket hanging off the same hanger. “All you need to do is add a horn and a tail, and you’ll make one sexy devil.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” I eye the outfit warily.
The form-fitting dress would be perfect for Delilah’s curves, showing off all her ample assets. I would look more like a little girl playing dress-up.
“You go and have fun. I’m going to take a bath, snuggle on the couch, watchPretty Woman, and wonder why we all can’t find a Richard Gere to sweep us off our feet.”
“You want a rich old guy to pick you up and pay you to spend the weekend with him?” She cocks her head to the side. “I mean, to each their own, but I’m not taking no for an answer.”
I roll my eyes, reaching up to grab the outfit hanging from the door.
“Okay,” I sigh, making her squeal in delight.
I could have put up a fight, but there is no changing her mind once it’s made up. Besides, Delilah is right. A carefree night out will be good for me.
“You go shower and change. The party starts in less than an hour.” She nudges me toward the bathroom.
Nothing about tonight has gone the way I planned, but maybe this party is just the thing I need to turn my night around.
two
WYLDER
“Wylder, I’m glad you could make it.” Professor Atkinson slaps me on the back as I step into his house.
Atkinson is one of my colleagues at the university, one of the very few people I can tolerate. He was tasked with hosting this year's art history department Halloween party. Not usually my cup of tea, but the threat of having to be a student advisor for the incoming freshmen was enough to convince me to make an appearance.
“Thanks for the invitation,” I mumble, wanting to be here even less than when I left my house a few minutes ago. One of the very few advantages of living near campus is I can walk just about anywhere within minutes.
“We both know that’s a lie, but thanks for coming.” Atkinson smirks as the sound of laughter fills the room. It seems the party is already in full swing. “No costume?”
I’m dressed in my usual attire: black dress slacks with a light blue dress shirt rolled to the elbows. I run my fingers through my dark hair before lifting the black frames I’m wearing off my nose, bringing Atkinson's attention directly to them.
“I’m Clark Kent.”
Not my best idea, but Halloween isn’t on my list of favorite holidays. None are. I hate them all equally. Holidays always involve people, and the last thing I want to do in my free time is be around more people.
“Outstanding…” His voice cuts off as we enter the parlor.
There are people scattered around the room, most of the men are dressed as superheroes, pirates, or vampires. The women are all in different stages of undress, showing a little more skin than usual.
The usually plain room is decorated with fake spiderwebs hanging from the exposed beams in the ceiling with fake spiders strategically placed on them. A soft orange glow from the lighted pumpkins fills the space, giving it the perfect feel for the holiday.
“It could’ve been worse. At least you like me,” Atkinson says, patting me on the back as we head toward the bar running along the right side of the room.
“I tolerate you, Atkinson.” I smirk, knowing that no matter what I say, he’ll find a silver lining.
He and I started working at the university at the same time. Him, for the love of teaching. Me? Well, I was bored.
A good-sized trust fund and a multi-million-dollar family business made planning my future easy, but I had other ideas. Instead of following in my father’s footsteps and taking over the family business, I became an art history professor. The job doesn’t pay well, but it keeps me busy.
“I’m growing on you, Wylder,” Atkinson chuckles, as he shoves a glass of amber liquid into my hand. “Besides, it’s been years. When are you going to call me by my first name?”
“When you become slightly less annoying,” I respond, taking a sip from my glass. The oak and coconut smell from my favorite whiskey emanates from the glass. “Are you bribing me, Atkinson?”