Page 30 of Twisted Shot
CHAPTER 11
THEO
Theo stands near the edge of the living room, half-hidden by a fake cobweb, filled with an overwhelming sense of regret.
People are everywhere. Loud, drunk, glitter-covered people. There’s music thumping through the floorboards, the smell of pumpkin beer and cheap body spray in the air, and raucous cheers as someone—probably Carter—tries to do a keg stand in his kitchen.
Jesse is in his element, wearing the shortest red overalls Theo’s ever seen. A fake mustache is glued crookedly to his upper lip, and a red cap tilts sideways on his head. A printed “M” is duct-taped to the front. His shirt is long gone, and so is most of his shame.
“Let’s-a gooo!” Jesse shouts, fist-pumping as he air-humps to the beat.
Theo, unfortunately, is standing beside him. In green. Also shirtless. Also wearing too-tight overalls.
Sexy Luigi.
It had been Jesse’s idea. Obviously.
Theo had said no.
Then Mila got mentioned.
And somehow it turned into yes.
Now, as someone spills jungle juice on the antique side table that his mother carefully selected, he’s wondering if Mila is worth it.
(She is, his brain says immediately.)
“Yo, Tall, you look like a goddamn chandelier!” Jesse yells toward the corner.
Theo follows his gaze.
Tall is decked out in a full-body LED suit that pulses in sync with the music, casting electric blue light across the walls. On his six-foot-six frame, the effect is less “costume” and more “sentient skyscraper.”
“I’m a cyberpunk ghost,” Tall says flatly, sipping vodka through a straw.
Pavel strolls by in a full Dracula ensemble—cape sweeping the floor, fake fangs glinting, and red contact lenses that make him look genuinely unhinged.
“Am I the only one who dress scary?” he asks, thick Slovakian accent curling around the words. “I thought Halloween is scary.”
“Bro,” Flea says, ducking under a dangling bat decoration, “you’re not gonna wheel any chicks with those fangs.”
He’s dressed as a shirtless cowboy—tight jeans, hat tilted just so, and twin plastic revolvers holstered at his hips. He pauses, cocks an eyebrow at Pavel’s costume, and reconsiders. “Actually, you might. Want to trade?”
“No,” Pavel replies flatly, baring his teeth.
Right on cue, Carter stumbles in from the kitchen dressed—unbelievably—as Jesus. But not just Jesus. Party Jesus. White robes open at the chest, long wig, gold sunglasses, a beer holster, and glittery sandals.
“I’m here to bless the water into wine, baby,” he shouts, raising a Solo cup high like it’s holy.
Laughter explodes across the room. Jesse howls, nearly doubling over. Pavel lifts his wineglass with a smirk. Even Tall gives an approving nod from under his glowing cyberpunk helmet.
Theo edges toward the kitchen under the excuse of refilling the snack bowls. Every step feels like wading through wet fog and someone else’s poor life decisions
He hates parties. Always has. The noise, the people, the constanteffort to look like he’s enjoying himself. It’s not that he dislikes his teammates—not exactly. But this isn’t him. It’s Jesse. Jesse thrives on attention and borderline nudity.
Theo thrives on silence and having his shirt on.
He pours more chips into a bowl and mentally calculates how long he has to stay before disappearing upstairs wouldn’t be considered a full retreat. He surveys the room, heartbeat ticking in time with the beat, waiting—hoping—for the only person he actually wants to see tonight.
