Author's Note: Threeshot, guys, so there will be one more installment. My apologies. Thanks to all who reviewed last chapter.
~Angie
"Hello?" Emily heard Penelope say from beside her.
"Hey," Derek said from the other end of the phone. "We're at Quarter's."
"Quarter's?" Penelope asked. "What are you doing at Quarter's?"
"No one else showed," Derek informed her.
"Are you kidding me?" she asked.
"No," Derek answered. "I got there, and no one else was there. I've already called Will and JJ to let them know."
"OK," Penelope said. "We're on our way. 'Bye."
The rest of her friend's conversation was muffled. Emily had a suspicion Penelope had lowered her voice on purpose. Emily had to grin at that. Her friend needn't have bothered; the attraction between her and her chocolate God was no secret.
"Are you sure I look OK?" Emily asked as she and Penelope as they approached the bar. Wearing this costume to a private Halloween party was one thing, but wearing it to a bar? That was something else entirely. Emily wasn't sure she had the courage to pull it off. She'd given the costume second thought after second thought on the way here, but it wasn't like she had any other options.
"You look hot," Penelope assured her friend. "How about me?"
Emily grinned as she looked at her friend. "I told you…I got a hard-on when you walked out of the bathroom."
Penelope laughed. "Well, that bodes very well for my night."
As Emily walked in the front door of Quarter's, she once again resisted the urge to tug her too short skirt down. Thank God that almost everyone else was in costume as well. That way she wouldn't stand out so much!
Walking in, the first person she recognized was Derek, and she couldn't help but laugh at his costume. It was so him! Predictably, Penelope made a beeline for him. Emily chose to remain where she was, scanning the area for Reid. When she finally saw him at the bar—downing a shot—she wandered toward him. Shots were out of character for Spencer Reid.
She took the seat next to him and cleared her throat. "Beetlejuice?" she commented dryly.
"Reidlejuice,"he corrected her.
OK," she conceded, as she studied him. "Reidlejuice." He had some sort of spray in his hair that made it white, and it was standing on end as if he'd stuck his finger in a socket. His face was white as well, with black circles drawn around his eyes. The black and white striped outfit completed his costume. "So…what's with the shots?" she asked.
"My party was a bust," he told her.
"Beer, please," she told the waitress. The waitress nodded, and placed one immediately in front of her. "Thanks," she said, then turned back to Reid. "I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it better?" she asked sincerely.
He glanced at her, a deliberate, un-Reid like grin crossing his face. "You could slow dance with me," he told her. "Rub up against my man parts."
Emily nearly choked on her beer. "I'm sorry…are you Reidlejuice or are you Derek Morgan?"
Reid chuckled. "I'm a man, Em."
That wasn't something she'd never noticed. Of course he was a man…and the way he was filling out his sweater vests lately, as if he was trying to bulk up for something, hadn't escaped her attention, either. "Reid," she said softly. "That's obvious."
"To who?" he asked dryly.
"To me, for one," she answered.
"Yeah," he said with a harsh laugh. "A lot of good that does me. You could have any man you wanted, Emily."
"That's not true," she argued. But she was flattered by his assessment.
Reid looked levelly at her. "Did you see how almost every single man in this place turned to look at you when you walked in here?" he asked.
"No," she told him. "I was too busy looking for you."
He studied her face for a minute. "Do you want to dance?" he finally asked.
She grinned widely. "And rub up against your man parts?" she teased.
Reid shrugged. "Well…I couldn't stop you if you chose to do that," he returned.
Emily laughed. "Yes, Reid. I'd like to dance with you."
They walked to the dance floor side by side, and Emily made sure her hip brushed against him. Not blatantly—just enough to make him wonder whether she'd done it on purpose or if it had been an accident.
As soon as they made it to the dance floor the fast beat stopped, replaced by a soft melody.
Reid wasn't one for dancing…so he thanked God he'd had the grace to change to a slow song. He lifted his hands to rest on her hips…soft and lush in her costume, and began to shuffle his feet to the music. He'd never stood so close to her before, and her scent practically assaulted him. There was a sweet scent he couldn't describe, paired with the raspberry fragrance from her lotion.
Her hips swayed form side to side under his hold, and when she stepped forward close enough so his hips were practically embracing hers, he knew he was in a heap of trouble. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "I like your costume," he said, leaning forward so she could hear him. In fact, he liked it a little too much.
She pulled away so she could look up at him, a grin on her face. "Thank you," she said her gaze holding his.
The other men in the bar weren't the only ones who'd noticed her when she'd walked in. He'd been a fan of Em's legs since that first time she'd joined the team at the bar in a dress. And this outfit gave him exactly what he wanted see: more of them. He tried to casually put more space between their lower bodies. If she got any closer, she was going to make him blush.
The rest of the dance seemed to take forever, which was slow torture. On the one hand, he had Emily in his arms. Was there anything better than that? On the other hand…he was sporting hard evidence that his attraction went beyond friendship for her. And he wasn't ready for her to know that. At least not yet.
Reid and Emily were sitting at a table with Pen and Derek, but each pair was lost in their own conversations. When Pen and Derek got up to hit the dance floor again, Pen leaned across the table and winked at Reid. "Ask her about the tattoo," she instructed before she disappeared.
"Ta…tattoo?" Reid asked, suddenly weak in the knees. It was a good thing he was sitting; he really was a sucker for a woman with a tastefully placed tattoo. Lord, let it be tastefully placed! "Wha…what tattoo?"
Emily sighed as a blush crept up her neck and swathed her cheeks. "It…it's nothing," she assured him in a dismissive tone.
"No," he said with a grin. "A tattoo isn't nothing. I want to see it.
With a sigh, Emily stood up and placed her black stiletto clad food on the seat, then pulled her skirt up as little as she could in order to reveal her counterfeit tattoo.
Without thinking, Reid leaned forward, squinting in the dimly lit bar trying to see it better. Emily shivered as she felt his breath on her inner thigh.
He reached forward and skimmed his fingertips over the red bow before lifting his eyes to hers, a smirk on his face. "I'm going to need a close up of that."
