“It’s me! Can I come in?”

The much-less-cranky voice of Dewey Royce came through next.

“Enter at your own risk!”

Sloane tried really hard not to straight-up guffaw like a cartoon, but no dice. She let loose the moment she stepped inside.

“I’m not okay with this,” Brady deadpanned. “Not one bit.”

Sloane could see why.

Brady was standing on a turned-over beer crate set up in front of a full-length mirror Santana had brought from her apartment, and he looked absolutely fabulous.

To kick things off for the night, Sloane had suggested they give the crowd a taste of what they could have if they stayed for the next few hours. That meant, instead of practicing his About Me speech and casualwear strut, he had on one of the five options for the costume portion.

And this one was themed.

And a hot damn mess.

Much like the green scale tights Sloane had bought—though she still wasn’t sure if she’d be wearing them for the parade or the pageant or both—Brady was sporting tights that were the gold version. They clung and highlighted muscled legs and an ass that didn’t quit, while his top was long and billowing.

He was a modern-day Fabio with a fish fetish.

While Sloane would have complained had it been her outfit, she was pretty sure she’d already found a favorite for the pageant.

It absolutely helped that he had a plastic trident in one hand, a light dusting of gold glitter across his cheeks, and a felt crown atop his head.

“I think this is amazing,” she breathed out.

Dewey, who Sloane had bullied into helping Brady for the night, was standing back with a barely contained grin.

“If you would have asked me last time I was in here for a drink if I thought I’d be helping Brady Knox put on glitter, I would have asked how drunk you were.”

Brady rolled his eyes. Hard. “Go ahead and get on, Dewey. This glitter and I need a second.”

Dewey finally laughed and scooted by Sloane. She called after him, “Don’t forget we’re both going to have to help him with the tail and tunic after casualwear!”

Dewey kept on laughing.

“You’re going to be the end of me, you know that?” Brady was staring at his reflection again. He turned to look at his backside.

Same, boo. Same.

Sloane got between him and the mirror and focused him by placing her hands on his biceps.

“The Drinking Spot might have discounted drinks and renovated rooms and fancy decor, but you know what they don’t have?” She didn’t give him room to answer. “Personality. No connection with the people. No soul. Cassidy’s Place has that. We just have to remind Arbor Bay.”

“And me dressing up as a mermaid and making a fool out of myself will help me connect?”

There was that skeptical look again.