Saved by the music—whatever answer Pam was on the verge of sharing was drowned out by the first chord of a bass guitar. The crowd shifted closer to the garage opening. Pam shrank away from the boisterous bodies, mindful that her dress might cost more than most of their outfits. Tara shot forward in a protective stance. Grabbing Pam's wrist she moved her to the right following a path made by a gap of absent bodies. Pressing her closer they got a better view of the band following the flow of forms.

Their music could be described as alternative rock. Naomi stroked the microphone stand like she would stroke her lover. Tara remembered how enamored she'd been with her ex lover's performances. The dark skinned woman forgot how good the band was. Naomi may have sucked as a girlfriend, but she was a great performer, too good for these garage parties. She knew Naomi well enough to predict how the night would end. Most gigs, Naomi's adrenaline was pumping, to heighten that excitement celebratory sex was their unspoken agreement.

Pam looked at the gamer who nodded her head to the vibrant beat. The executive was grateful for the distraction from her dress. Tara knew she what she wore at work. How could have not considered it before she came? Pam trained her gaze on the young women. Most were tattooed and had interestingly positioned piercings. She even saw one shaved head. She inched closer to Tara if only to be closer to something she understood. She kept that in mind when she closed her hand around Tara's.

Tara felt her phone vibrate. She pulled it out and opened Lafayette's message. Her eyes bulged. Grabbing Pam's hand she pulled her closer then went up the steps to the kitchen. The kitchen and the path were covered in a mess that including a bra or two Pam noticed. The blond stepped over plastic and paper cups and bottles. Her face folded in the mess. She had had enough of loud music and Tara informed her that there were still three more songs to play before the hostess decided to end the party. That was three songs too long in Pam's opinion.

"Look," dragging her eyes from the disaster of a home Pam moved her head up to Tara's outstretched arm.

"What the hell is that?"

It reminded Pam of the illustrations for fairytales. The title, Mystery Kisser, was hand drawn and darkened to stand out from the hand drawn Cinderella inspired carriage and pumpkin vines. The words were too small to read, but there was enough of the image to conclude he was more serious than she imagined finding her.

While Tara held her phone out the other was busy making herself a drink. She turned when she heard laughter. Whipping her head around Pam greeted her with a full set of mirthful lips with a glowing look of amusement in her eyes. Tara caught off guard by the look chuckled nervously spilling beer down her chin in the process.

Still smiling Pam found an unsoiled paper towel under the upper cabinets beside the sink. She bypassed Tara's hand wiping the beer away for her. Her ministrations were impossibly delicate, but thorough.

"Thanks," Tara stepped back hindered by the island.

"I should be going," she balled up the towel sitting it behind Tara.

"So you're going to leave me in the dark about the dress?"

Pam looked down. She should have known Tara wouldn't let it go. She foolishly believed she could leave without having to share why she was wearing it. There's was nothing wrong with having dinner with one's boss. She was at the peak of her career. It's not as if she were sleeping her way to the top, when she had a very comfortable position with an equally comfortable paycheck.

"This old thing," she picked at the bow, but Tara's eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

Tara knew this look. She was stalling. She didn't know why the question was that much more important since Pam seemed uninterested in answering her.

"I was on a date."

Tara's frown deepened, "oh."

"I—"

Tara interrupted, "this is one of my favorite songs," she started for the outside when the familiar chords of a song danced into her psyche.

Everything seemed to disappear whenever she and Pam were together. She liked the feeling of forgetting swept away by the executive's words and mannerisms to the simplest of gestures. The news of her date ruined it; she listened and watched with reverence Tara could barely understand. Climbing out of her stupor after she felt cut in the gut she did what she did best, she ran.

Tara didn't worry about how eager she seemed to leave Pam in the kitchen. She stood outside the entrance. The elevated view gave her a better angle of the band. The song was, she wasn't sure of the name, was always dedicated to the broken hearts before it began. Tara had missed that part she was too busy getting her broken. It started off like a ballad and then it sped up. Naomi loved ballads, but for the sake of her band she kept her music upbeat. She rebelled against tendencies of the broken heart and screamed her resistance of the societal norms. How fitting Tara thought. Behind her she heard and smelled Pam advance.

The lyrics were relevant. She nodded her head to the beat as an act. She loved the band's music, but Pam's revelation killed the mood that swelled when she saw the blond arrive. Tara knew in her mind Pam and she were just friends. Reasoning with the heart was an up road battle when it set its sights on Pam because of a kiss—maybe longer than that.

"This is a great song," Pam noted reclaiming Tara's hand.

The dark haired woman's head slowed from the action. She looked down at it then stopped completely looking at the dress and how beautiful she wore it. Leaning into Pam's ear, "did they appreciate the dress?"

Pam nodded.

Tara leaned in again stretching her neck upward since Pam's height, complimented by heels, required the extra effort. "Good."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx

"Die," Tara mumbled. She wasn't the biggest fan of violent games, but there moods where she was inclined to let out a little steam by killing zombies.

"Tara honey…"

"Fucking die," Tara whispered to herself shooting off the head of a portly zombie slowly, but surely advancing to eat her brains. "You wanna play?" The question was the only acknowledgement Lafayette was in the room.

Lafayette watched her play from his spot behind the couch, "no I'm good it's just early." He called it a night with the handsome Jason and woke up in the middle of the night to see Tara wide awake and enamored in her zombie killing game. He didn't think anything of it, until this morning.

"Too early for killing zombies?"

"Hookah did you sleep at all last night?"

Tara didn't answer. Something was upsetting her. His first thought was Lettie Mae. What had that bitch done now?

"Did something happen at the party?" Realizing who else was at the party his eyes widened in understanding. Tara heard him rummaging in the kitchen then he went his room. Pausing her game she turned around in time so Lafayette heading to the door in his purple hoodie and a knife in one hand and keys in the other.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she stood jumping over her jacket and pants she threw beside her, before she got comfortable to play in a t-shirt and checkered boxers.

"I'm bout to cut a bitch."

He tried to sidestep Tara, but his roommate wasn't moving.

"Naomi done messed with the wrong two bitches."

Tara frowned. "Naomi? No."

Lafayette narrowed his eyes. His hand hung in the air with the knife swinging from his limp wrist. "Then what the fuck Tara. It's too early in the morning for passive aggressive zombie killing unless some shit went down last night."

Sometimes Tara wished for the simpler days when she wasn't even asked how her day was. Her mother was never sober enough to read the small cues of Tara's unhappiness. Lafayette read her too well for her liking. Frustrated by the whole situation she came clean. Pulling out a seat she plopped on it holding her head in her hands.

"I like Pam," she admitted as it was one of the worst things she could do.

Lafayette didn't speak right away. Then his eyes widened in realization. "Work Pam?" he asked to clarify.

Tara nodded her head.

"Fucking 'uptight almost getting you fired now you go out to lunch ignoring your best friend' Pam?"

Tara nodded her head, this time meeting Lafayette's look of consternation.

"What about mystery kisser?" He slid his flyer from the table while its copies lay in a pile untouched. The corner crinkled from grabbing it recklessly.

Tara's face folded with pursed lips she answered pathetically, "she is mystery kisser. She's always been mystery kisser."

"You said all that shit because of the way Pam kissed you?" he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around Tara's crush developing into something more. Lafayette mistook it for a passing phase.

"Everything I said was true about the kiss, but it doesn't fucking matter, because she's dating someone else."

"How you know?"

"She told me last night," Tara groaned. "I had a great time I'm glad you thought so too."

Lafayette put away the butcher knife. "What?"

"I walked her to her car. Her phone was sitting on the seat. And you'll never guess the fucking name."

"Who?" The ways she said it meant they were someone knew or knew of. His friend's plight became a distance memory at the thought of something even juicer to add.

"Sam Merlotte."

And then waking up to a pile of dead zombies made all the sense in the world.

Lafayette lowered his gaze to pick through his mental directory, "bitch you is fucking lying. Her ass slept her way to the top?"

Even broken hearted Tara wouldn't see anyone including her best friend insinuate that Pam was a whore.

"Hey, she's way too fucking talented to stoop to that shit," She wasn't intimidating her under clothes; her roommate understood another comment like that would not be welcomed. "Fuck, I should be happy for her."

"Why?"

"She's my friend she's happy—he's perfect for her."

"Fuck that magnanimous shit. You got your work cut out for you, but that doesn't mean she won't end up yours at the end of the day."

Tara shook her head ready to retreat back to her game. Wild eyed Lafayette hooked his arm through hers and positioned her back in the seat she stood from. He looked at the table then he looked at Tara and then at the table where the copies were.

"It'd be a shame if those went to waste."

"What's the point; you know who she is now. The cat's out the fucking bag," Tara stated angrily.

The dark skinned man wasn't listening.

She was growing increasingly upset. She just wanted to go back to her game and forget that her feelings of Pam existed. Tara knew it wasn't as easy as willing herself to forget, but it wouldn't stop her from trying.