“Doesn’t matter, it’s fitting for the occasion.” I pick up the bowl of candy and take it over to the entryway table, swishing my hips a little more than necessary when I feel Jack’s eyes on my ass. I’m checking my flower crown in the mirror above the table when he comes up behind me, his hand resting on my hip, the heat of his fingers burning through the denim of my jeans.

“I’m kind of hoping none of those hot single dads come by.” His breath tickles my neck, sending a shiver through me.

I meet his gaze in the mirror. “You really want to jinx Gemma like that?”

He grins at me, his fingers tightening on my waist. “No, I guess not.”

The sound of the doorbell trills through the house, and Jack leans forward to open the door, the weight of him pressing into me and stealing my breath.

“Better not be any hot single moms either,” I mutter.

His hand trails up my back, gently squeezing the nape of my neck. “It wouldn’t matter if there were.”

I lean into his touch. “You do realize when you say shit like that it makes me want to throw you up against this wall and kiss you senseless, right?”

Another knock pounds on the door and Gemma’s voice bleeds through the wood. “I’m carrying a fuck-ton of wine here, open the door, assholes!”

“She really leans into being off duty, doesn’t she?” Jack grins, reaching around me to open the door for my boisterous, chockful-of-bad-timing friends, who push right past us into the house. “I’ll take a rain check on that offer, though.” His lips brush the shell of my ear before he leaves me standing in the doorway to pass out candy to our first trick-or-treaters, while the rest of the gang heads to the kitchen to start drinking.

I drop candy bars into the bags of a princess, a pirate, and a firefighter, all while trying to stem the ache in my chest and between my legs, before closing the door and joining my friends.

We spend the evening doling out full-sized chocolate bars (because of course Jack got the good candy) and drinking wine, our sugar highs and wine buzzes keeping us laughing long after the trick-or-treaters have stopped knocking. Gemma ends up spending the night at the brownstone after Nick and Harley leave together to stumble their way back to the girls’ shared apartment.

“They’ll be banging for hours,” she confides to me and Jack, the three of us draped over the couch in the basement, Hocus Pocus playing on the TV in the background. “Seriously, I don’t know how they manage to keep their energy up.”