Because Halloween night was the end of the bet.

The terms of the bet were through the last night of the World Series, which was scheduled to be played on All Hallows’ Eve—her favorite holiday of the year. And this year it was going to be the best one ever.

At midnight on October 31 she would win her life back. As much as she loved running Mark’s club it still felt a little like charity. Which she appreciated, really she did. Her brother had given her a fresh start, a place to hide while she licked her wounds. But now she was ready to step out of the shadows and reclaim what was taken from her.

The phone rang, startling her, and she snatched it up. “Leslie Cutter.”

“Ms. Cutter, this is Jerry Patowski.”

Her spirits lifted. The superintendent from her building was finally returning her twelve or fifteen calls. It was about time. “Hi, Jerry. I’ve been trying to call all week. Is there any word on my apartment?” She missed it and wanted to go home. Mostly she wanted to soak in her own bathtub and sleep in her own bed.

She heard papers shuffling and a file cabinet squeaking, then a muffled cough, before he said into the speaker, “Nope. Sorry ’bout that, Ms. Cutter. But, more damage than anticipated was found and it’s gonna be a while still. Plus the plumbing’s so old the brand isn’t made anymore.”

“Can’t you just use a different one?”

He sighed and then said like he was explaining something to a child, “Not unless you gut the whole thing. Old fixtures are part specific. I had to order some special parts from overseas. It could be another week or so before they arrive.”

Leslie bit down on the frustration. “Can’t you expedite the parts from wherever they’re coming from?”

“That is expedited.”

“How many shipments are you expecting?” She didn’t have the patience to wait for several boxes to trickle in from halfway around the world. Not that she really had any choice in the matter, but still.

“Just the one.”

Fine. “Well, can I at least come by and grab some more stuff?” She’d been wearing the same bra for over a week. Even though it had been washed already, she appreciated having more to choose from than one lace bra and one sports bra.

“No can do, ma’am. We can’t let you inside the construction zone. Ain’t safe, and there’s the liability. The big boss would toss me out on my ass if he knew I’d let you in.”

She’d deal with Peter. “If I can get him to agree, you’ll let me in so I can get more stuff?”

The super guffawed into the phone. “You can try, girlie. But he ain’t gonna let you in. I promise.”

She’d just see about that. “Thanks for getting back to me on this, Jerry.” Finally. “We’ll be in touch.”

Setting the phone back in its cradle, Leslie smirked. She wiggled a heel off and it fell to the floor. Then she tucked her bare foot underneath her. What she wanted was clean underwear and something to wear to work besides her skinny jeans. She’d ask Peter about it.

If she were still in Miami with her old life she would have simply run out and bought more, but this new one of hers didn’t include a hefty salary to spend frivolously. This fresh start included budgeting, cooking from scratch, and not tossing a few hundred bucks away on new clothing if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

Leslie sighed again. Life.

Turning her mind to other things, she dug into work for the next few hours, making phone calls and checking the status of things. About six months ago she’d started preparing for the big Halloween party, getting the word out and generating interest. Now that the time was drawing near she was touching base with people again.

It was Hotbox’s first costume party, and she was going to do it right. The whole place would be turned into a giant haunted house, and the band she’d hired had agreed to dress up like zombies. The night’s winner of the costume contest would receive two coveted tickets to see Blues Traveler perform live at Celtic Tavern. The small venue promised a really good time and Leslie wished she could enter. She’d love to watch the band. John Popper played a mean harmonica.

Tucking a stray strand behind her ear, she went back to work making sure that all the gift certificates, tickets, and ad promos were in order. By the time she was ready to go for the night, not only was everything in order, but she had gotten a famous local radio duo to come down to Hotspot and do their coverage live on Halloween night.

Feeling proud of herself, Leslie turned the reigns over to her assistant manager and headed back to Peter’s house. His FJ Cruiser was parked in the garage so she knew he was home. As she entered through the side door Leslie wondered how he was going to react when she asked to get some of her things. If he was still awake, that was. For a big time ballplayer he sure hit the sack early.

Entering the house, she saw that the lights were still on and wandered down the wide hall toward the kitchen, her heels clacking on the hardwood as she went. Once she reached the kitchen and crossed to the refrigerator for a drink, a sound came from upstairs. It was muffled, but it sounded like Kowalskin was yelling something at her.

Glancing at the clock, Leslie noted that it was late and frowned. What did he need from her at midnight that wasn’t either a booty call or . . . well, a booty call? Popping the lid on a can of coconut water, she took a drink and headed back down the long hallway to the stairs.

Once on the second floor she made her way down the corridor to the last door on the right. Peter’s bedroom. It was one of two rooms in his house that she’d never set foot in. Nerves kicked to life in her belly as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It wasn’t what she expected. “Whoa.”

The room was clean and simple and decorated in varying shades or brown, gray, and cream. A thick cocoa-colored rug covered the floor and a huge brick fireplace dominated the far wall. Opposite the bed were a snazzy flat screen TV and a door that was cracked open with the sound of running water spilling through.

An acoustic Gibson guitar was leaning against a window frame by the bed, and on the wall over the head of the bed was a huge black-and-white canvas print of Bob Dylan’s face, up close and personal. The picture was way cool, with only half his profile showing.

Overall the room was uncluttered and surprisingly simple and cozy. Leslie shook her head. Would she ever understand Kowalskin?

“Leslie, is that you?” Peter called from behind the cracked door. From the sound of running water she could deduce that he was in the shower. Man, this was too easy.

She was so going to get him back for embarrassing her at her dance class.

Strutting across the plush rug, she swung the bathroom door open and said loud enough to be heard over the noise, “Yeah, it’s me. What do you need?” Hopefully it was something she could torment him with, like a towel.

He pushed the shower stall door open and poked his head out. His hair was wet and dripping and slicked back from his face. It only succeeded in making his eyes even more insanely amazing. “Hey, something’s acting up with the plumbing. I noticed it the other day when you started a load of laundry and I tried to rinse some dishes but all the water was ice cold. So don’t turn on any faucets or flush until I’m done in here, okay?”

Leslie couldn’t believe her good luck. Paybacks usually took longer to construct than this. “Sure thing, Peter,” she smiled innocently.

She was going to lure him into complacency first. Leaning against the door, she crossed her arms over her chest and asked, “How was the game today?” She’d missed it with all the work.

Okay, so maybe she’d missed it a little on purpose. Their trip to the mountains had flustered her and she’d needed some space.

The glass door was fogged up, but she could just make out the shape of his body and knew he was just starting to soap. He rubbed the bar across his chest and then moved lower to the flat plane of his belly. When his hand went even lower lust pooled heavy between her legs and she shifted.

The leisurely way he was soaping down there made her wonder if he didn’t know she could see him. It would be just like him to put on a dirty show on purpose.

“The game was good. We beat the Padres 6–1, so we’re moving on from the Division Series to the League Championships next week.”

“You know that if you win the World Series Mark is going to claim it was all Lorelei’s doing, right? He thinks she’s his good luck charm.” It was sweet really. Wrong, but sweet. The Rush were winning this season because they were a seriously talented team. But if her brother wanted to believe it was because of his wife then so be it. It didn’t hurt anything.

“C’mon, Leslie. She is his good luck charm.” He poked his head back out and leveled a look at her, water dripping from his nose and the black shadow of his beard glistening wet. “You know that better than anybody.”

True. Since Lorelei came along her brother was happy. Really, really happy. That did make her good luck, she supposed. Still didn’t mean she was the reason the Rush were on a hot streak. Mark was the superstitious one, not her.

“You guys are well on your way to the World Series.” She hoped they made it. Really she did. It would be the Rush’s first in a long time.

Peter had been listening, but now his gaze was roaming all over her body and going lazy. “Hey, pretty lady. Want to climb in and scrub my back for me?” The smile he gave her was anything but sweet.

She should have known.

Pushing away from the door, Leslie strode to the shower and pasted on a sultry smile. “Well sure, sugar.”