Beneath her pointy hat, her hair was curled and teased, wild and untamed. She’d also sprayed a coating of glittery red hairspray onto it, making herself even more unrecognizable.
Schaefer had noticed. She’d seen appreciation and heat in his eyes. His brain might be all vegetable, but his body apparently had some blood flowing through its roots. Er, veins.
That probably would have been enough for most sex-starved twenty-six-year-old women. Maybe it would have been enough for grad-school Lulu. But she’d changed since she’d returned from her internship in Rwanda. Working in a country filled with people who had so little, and then for a nonprofit group that gave microloans to similar, desperately-hopeful populations, would do that to a person.
She supposed she really had grown up. But that didn’t mean she didn’t still have the desire to go out and cut loose, if only to escape the sadness and deprivation she often witnessed in her job. But not with a turnip.
“Whoa, striptease at eleven o’clock,” Viv said, her dark eyes widening.
“Wow, I thought this place was more upscale than that. Maybe we should go someplace else before then,” said Amelia, sounding a little shocked.
“I wasn’t talking about the time, Miss Literal.” Viv pointed. “I mean at my eleven o’clock.”
Lulu and Amelia both turned, peering through the crowd, trying to see what had caught Viv’s attention. At first, Lulu merely spied a sea of devils, vampires, sexy nurses and construction workers. Then she spotted a figure standing alone near the dance floor, facing away from her. And she simply couldn’t look away.
The guy had donned a white sheet for the event, going for the age-old ghost outfit that had gone out of style before Lulu was in elementary school. But even a single sheet was apparently too much. As if he’d felt he’d done his holiday duty by appearing in a requisite costume for a little while, he’d begun to pull the sheet up to remove it. He’d already revealed long legs covered in soft, loose-fitting jeans that draped across powerful, muscular thighs. Not to mention an utterly delish male ass lovingly cupped by that faded denim.
As he stretched his arms up, he caught the bottom hem of his shirt, which was now rising with the sheet—perhaps by design, but more likely by accident. Whatever the reason, she, Viv, Amelia and, she noted, every woman around them, watched him with avid attention as he bared smooth, supple skin, golden and slick with sweat from the hot, crowded bar. His jeans hung low on lean hips; his waist was slim, every inch of him hard.
Lulu reached blindly for her drink, sipping, but she didn’t take her eyes off the ghost. The sheet and shirt went higher—oh, God, that back. It rippled with muscle, every bit of him powerful and sexy. In that body, strength wasn’t just implied, it was promised, and though she wasn’t a petite woman, she suddenly felt very feminine and fragile in comparison.
Catching a glimpse of ink on the back of his shoulder, she waited for more of it to be revealed. She held her breath, dying to see the broad shoulders and bare, flexing arms.
Unfortunately, he appeared to realize he’d been putting on a show. The man yanked the shirt back into place with one hand, and whipped the sheet the rest of the way off with the other. She almost heard a universal sigh of disappointment from every double-Y chromosome in the joint.
“A blond,” Amelia said with a pleased little sigh.
“I like blonds,” Viv purred.
Lulu never had before, but she was definitely seeing the appeal. “I’m quickly developing an appreciation for them.”
Viv tried to stake her claim. “If he has a face to go with the rest of the package, I’ll be poisoning your drinks so I can get to him first.”
Lulu waited, sending mental signals for the guy to turn around so she could judge if the front was as amazing as the back. He didn’t accommodate her fully, but he did glance toward the guitarist, nodding hello to Schaefer. Lulu got just a brief glimpse of his profile, but it was enough to make her gasp in shock.
Lurching from her chair, she said, “It can’t be.”
“Can’t be who?” asked Amelia.
“Chaz.”
Viv frowned. “A guy who looks like that is named Jazz?”
“Chaz,” Lulu insisted, shaking the confusion out of her head and slowly lowering herself back down as her two friends eyed her curiously. “No, I’m wrong. I have to be. No way is that Chaz Browning.”
“Hmm,” Amelia mused, “that name sounds familiar.”
“He’s a journalist—some of his stuff has been in Time magazine and now I think he works for the Associated Press, or maybe Reuters,” Lulu said, still trying to get the crazy thought that the Chaz she’d known as a kid could possibly have grown up to be the stud she’d just been ogling.
“Who are we talking about, the guy over there?” asked Viv.
“No, it’s just a resemblance.” She sipped again, willing her heart to stop thudding. “Chaz Browning was a boy from my hometown in western Maryland, literally the boy next door. Our parents are best friends, but we always tormented each other.”
Well, mostly she’d tormented him. She smiled, thinking how silly she’d been to equate Chaz Browning with the red-hot dude across the bar.
“I’ve barely seen him since he graduated from high school nine years ago. But our families are still close. My mother told his mother that I was moving here, and he emailed me with info about his Realtor. That’s how I got my apartment.”
“And Chaz is definitely not Mr. Sexy Ghost?” Viv said, still focused on the handsome stranger, now ringed by a trio of costumed women. Lulu frowned, seeing the way they leaned against him, brushing body parts against his thick arms and strong legs.
None of your business, she reminded herself, turning in her chair to face her friend, and not the walking sexsicle.
“No way. Chaz was a total nerd. Skinny, awkward.”
He definitely didn’t have tons of muscles or an ass that could make a wolf-whistler of a nun. Sweet, quiet Chaz had as much in common with ghost-guy as Brad Pitt did with Elmer Fudd.
“Well, Mr. Ghost is definitely not a wimp,” Viv said.
Chaz hadn’t been a wimp, either, exactly. Memories flashed through her mind and she felt the same pang of guilt she always felt when she remembered the boy she’d known. She’d harassed him mercilessly—like the time Chaz had gone up onto the roof of the garage to retrieve a football. She’d waited until he was up there, and had then taken the ladder away. Chaz, not wanting to admit defeat to a mere girl, had jumped, landing hard enough on the ground that he fell and cracked his tailbone.
Her mom had accused Lulu of picking on Chaz only because she had a crush on him. She’d denied it, though she’d always thought he was kind of cute when he blushed. Which was often.
Suddenly, Viv’s eyes went even rounder, and her mouth fell open. “Oh, my God, the front half is even better than the rear.”
Lulu spun around on her seat again, wanting a better look. The hot stranger had turned toward them. She saw his face,
