FELIPE UNFURLED his whip and assumed a dangerous and sultry pose as Abby took up her spot beside him. He might have just found a signature costume. Catwoman suited him perfectly, and he knew he was turning heads in the form-fitting getup. Though it was a sore point that even in his black leather stiletto boots, he still didn’t match Abby in height. His instincts had been right about her. She was made to be Wonder Woman. Together the two of them looked ready to kick comic book ass.
The one damper to his day was that Trask couldn’t see how awesome he looked. Felipe sent pictures, but it wasn’t the same. When he pranced by the Magick Den’s table, he got Mr. Surly Ryan, not his sexy Tin Man.
That was the problem when there were several cons running on the same weekend. Felipe missed dropping in on people he wanted to see. Jackie was at the con in Gaithersburg, and Felipe had needed to talk to her about designing the new Creatures & Cosplay webpage banner he wanted to surprise Abby with since she’d gone ahead and gotten them a domain name. That had been cool of her, and he had to reciprocate.
Then there was a collectible con in Tyson’s Corner, and Trask was at that. Trask was the owner of the Den. He had all the cash. So it made sense that he went to see what he could score for their store. But that con had no real use for cosplayers, and Felipe had gotten into this one for free. The prize for best costume was dank as fuck. So here he was. All those factors, though, meant no Trask-ogling for him.
Soon there would be a moratorium on convention life until after the holidays. Probably for the best because finals would be coming up soon. And his budget was taking a beating. He should’ve recycled his Link costume instead of staying up all night to finish the Catwoman one and blowing too much money on the boots. But the idea was so cool, and he was killing it. He’d handed out a good number of his business cards and taken a commission for his mask.
“Okay,” Abby said, cutting into his thoughts as the cameras finally lowered. “Let’s split up until it’s time to register for the contest. I want to watch the quick-draw panel. It’s always fun, despite what you think.”
“If I wanted to watch someone draw, I’d go hang out with Morris.” Felipe eyed the concession stand and shifted his stance. The boots were killer-looking and killer on his feet. “I think I’m going to go invest in something decadent.”
“You might want to ease up on the sweets.” Abby flashed him her dimples. “You don’t want to pop a seam before the judges.”
Felipe waved his hand in unconcern. “I’ll share the wealth with Morris. After all, everybody knows that calories shared meant they are practically zero.”
Abby sighed and shook her head. “Don’t I wish that were true. Some of us have to live in reality, Short Round.”
Please, the woman was literally an Amazon, and it showed. If Felipe had her height, he’d never have to worry about his waistline. Besides, he absolutely refused to be concerned about such things until he was at least in his thirties. Then he could angst for a decade or two before saying screw it, you only live once, and enjoy the fuck out of his old age.
Okay, a situation like this called for double chocolate brownies. Felipe crossed his arms as he stared up at the menu that sadly lacked anything remotely resembling brownies of any kind, though the oversized snickerdoodles were a nice consolation prize. As he stepped up to the counter to make his order, the guy behind the counter let out a low whistle. “Nice Catwoman.”
Felipe smirked and pirouetted on the killer stilettos. “Thanks.” Damn, cons were so good for his ego. He took his cookies and snuck off to the corner of the hall where he could have a few moments of quiet and watch the other attendees. He found the mix of people fascinating. He eased down onto a bench, pulled out a cookie and his phone. He wanted a little Trask time before diving back into the fray.
Hey, for Thanksgiving, want to come down the night before?
They could have breakfast in bed and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. They could go for a hike, and he’d show Trask the extent of their property. There were some beautiful spots out along the trails, and it was cold enough that Felipe didn’t have to worry about ticks. The four-legged critters didn’t bother him, but he hated the creepy-crawly ones.
I’m so sorry, Felipe. I can’t commit to Thanksgiving at your place this year. Please don’t get mad. I wanted to tell you in person this weekend.
Felipe stared at the message with acute disappointment as his day soured. He’d been so sure he had Trask convinced. What happened? I thought I’d changed your mind.
Something came up. We’ll talk this weekend. I promise.
Felipe broke off a piece of another cookie and bit into it savagely. It only made him feel marginally better. Too bad all life problems couldn’t be solved with carbs. Fine…. Trask wanted to be that way. Felipe could wait until the game next weekend, and he’d corner Trask then. He gave a moment’s consideration to calling him, but it would be an exercise in frustration to pull words out of him. Trask was not a phone fan. Felipe could usually get him to talk in person. On a phone, he heard grunts and mmhmms.
A shadow fell across him, and he glared up at Dakota as he took the seat beside him and had the fucking balls to steal one of his snickerdoodles.
“I will stab you with my stiletto if you take another one of my cookies,” Felipe warned.
“I’ve missed you too, Felipe,” Dakota countered, taking an unrepentant bite. “You looked sulky, so I thought I’d be a friend and check in on you.”
Sulky. He wasn’t sulky. He was fucking disappointed. After Trask’s letdown, the last damn person Felipe wanted to see was his ex-lover, who had disappointed him numerous times.
He started to deliver a scathing retort about the faithlessness of men and then thought of the game next weekend. If he said something, Dakota would get all hyperprotective the way he sometimes did. Which would only make the game uncomfortable, and Trask pretty much spelled out at the beginning that he wouldn’t GM a group like that. Dammit, Felipe wasn’t about to lose out on a game too.
Felipe narrowed his eyes at Dakota and stabbed a finger at him. “When I need your intervention, I’ll ask for it.”
Dakota regarded him thoughtfully a moment, his gaze unusually serious. “Before you think I’m just doing this in order to get you naked again, let’s clear this between us. I know you’ve moved on, and despite what others may think, I’m happy for you. You and I were never going to work long-term. We’re both too temperamental, and let’s face it, both you and I know I have serious commitment issues.”
This was a rarely shown side of Dakota, and it cooled Felipe’s temper. Their history aside, they were friends first and always had been. “Nothing’s wrong but a big case of disappointment and frustration.”
“Trask is at the collectible con, isn’t he?”
“That sums it up,” Felipe said, letting Dakota think it was just that. “I can’t get anyone to stop harping on why we wouldn’t work. I’ve got Morris crying over his age. I’ve got to get him to meet my family sooner or later, and that’s going to take some smoothing over until they relax. And I can’t prove it, but I think Ryan’s whispering in Trask’s ear about the evils of cosplayers.”
Dakota’s mouth lifted in his quicksilver, mischievous grin. “Some people need to chill out on that debate. On both sides. Personally, I think you and Trask mesh in a way that seems as if it shouldn’t work, but it does. So don’t sweat the others. Really it’s about the two of you, not the other people in your life. I mean, you don’t drag your family into your bedroom, so why do it for the relationship?”
“Ugh.” Felipe swatted at Dakota and stood up. “I will not thank you for that image in my head, but I see your point. I’m going to go check in on Morris and tell him you swiped the cookie I’d bought for him. You’d better watch your back. You know how that man views his food.”
“I’m perfectly safe. With Morris’s height, I can see him coming from across the con.” Dakota crumpled up the cookie bag and lobbed it over into the trash can. “Yes, nailed it!”
Felipe left Dakota with a shake of his head. He’d almost asked him about Brenden, especially after that crack about family. But he decided that was between the brothers and he was leaving it alone. If Morris was seeing things, Felipe did not want to be the one to plant that notion in Dakota’s head because there was no telling what he’d do.
Oddly enough, his discussion with Dakota helped him to feel better. As he neared Morris’s table he noticed Morris muttering to himself, his table devoid of customers and his hands gesturing along with his internal monologue.
“What’s wrong?” Felipe took up a spot at the corner of Morris’s table, close enough to chat but out of the way.
“Deadpool is being an ass,” Morris grumbled. “Or Iron Man… can’t fucking tell which.”
Now that was intriguing, because Morris definitely knew the difference between the two characters, which could really only mean one thing.
“It’s Deadpool, dude, he’s the definition of ass.” Felipe glanced around, searching for the source of Morris’s angst. “Iron Man’s not too far behind him, though still lower on the scale.”
“Yeah, but the comic book character can get away with it. Ryan Reynolds can too because he’s adorkable. But not some jackass cosplayer with a half-assed pieced-together costume who seems to think it gives him a license to ignore every bit of con etiquette because he’s in character.” Morris emphasized the last words with air quotes.
Felipe’s friend had a look of aggravation on his broad face, and it took quite a bit for Morris to get aggravated. “I hear that complaint about con etiquette more and more, not just about cosplayers either. It’s getting to be a little more cutthroat.” He scanned the crowd, looking for the man in question. They were only three hours into the show, but from the expressions on the row of vendors and artists, none of them were happy. “What did he do?”
Morris pressed his lips together in an angry line and pulled out one of his original art books. Felipe’s heart sank. Morris had hundreds of dollars of work in that book. Morris opened it up to what had been a sweet watercolor of Superman that Felipe always admired. An ugly ring blurred his face and splash marks stained the page.
“Oh fuck. I loved this piece. Can you fix it?” Felipe held up his hand. “Never mind, that’s not the fucking point. He set his drink down here?”
“Yeah, so he could pose for some pictures. I’d pulled it out of its sleeve to show someone who was interested in buying it. He didn’t even look. Just reached back and plopped it down hard enough to spill. Like it wasn’t already sweating. Then he caused a huge stink when I called him out on it and tossed the drink.” Morris jerked his thumb toward the trash can behind him. “He had the balls to demand I buy him a new one. I told him I would be happy to when he paid for the picture. I was about to close on an eighty-dollar sale. And it just went to shit from there.”
It was jerks like him who made it difficult for all cosplayers. Felipe clenched his jaw and scanned the crowd, looking for the bastard. Sometimes you just had to police your own. “Did you complain to Tiffany?”
“Tiffany doesn’t give a fuck. She already got my table fee. She doesn’t want to deal with the drama.” Morris tucked his book away. “Hell, I don’t want to deal with the drama. Last time an artist got into it with this dude, he got all his friends riled up online and they harassed him for weeks. It tainted the whole con.”
Felipe caught sight of Abby and gestured her over. “Don’t worry, Morris my man, I’ve got this.”
“Felipe.” Morris said his name with a note of warning. “What are you going to do?”
“Hey, it’s me. Trust me.” Felipe marched to intercept Abby. “Duchess, have you seen Deadpool around?”
“Which one? The straight-up Deadpool or the mashup with Iron Man?” Abby glanced at her watch, then toward the panel rooms. “The quick-draw panel’s getting ready to start, sure you don’t want to go?”
Wow, a mix of Deadpool and Iron Man. Felipe wasn’t sure one costume could hold that much ego. “Nope, I have business. The mashup sounds like the dick I’m looking for.”
“Last I saw him, he was in the far aisle, catcalling anybody in a costume. One of the guys from the Magick Den was trying to chase him off. So now he’s grandstanding in front of the booth.” Abby rolled her eyes. “When I ran into him he offered to use my lasso for a little bondage and tried to grab my butt. Not that I have much. You have more curves than me. But they are mine.”
Felipe ground his teeth and clenched his fists. Okay, this dude had fucked with two of his friends now. And he was pissing off Ryan. Felipe was already on the man’s bad side, and this would just clinch his opinion of all cosplayers. “I hope you told him off.”
“You know I did. Wait, what are you doing?” Abby asked as he stalked off.
Several options ran through Felipe’s mind. He wished this was the Escape Velocity con. The Klingon Security would’ve already taken him in line. Or one of Brenden’s cons. Oh man, between Brenden and Dakota, the guy wouldn’t have started a damn thing.
“I’m going to challenge him to a snark-off.” Felipe shot Abby a sharp smile as he caught sight of his prey. The jerk had his phone in his hand, music playing on its loudest setting, as he did the Macarena in front of the Magick Den’s stall. Felipe winced at the expression on Ryan’s face. He looked ready to stuff the dude into a bag of holding for eternity.
“Oh, heaven save us,” Abby muttered under her breath as she grabbed his arm. “Felipe, I’m not sure that’s the best approach. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s better than me cold-cocking him.” Felipe put his hands on his hips as he faced her. “He disrespects you and he ruins a watercolor of Morris’s. And it’s people like him who give us a bad rep. I don’t want to hear weeks of bitching online as the vendors and cosplayers go at it again.”
Abby grabbed his arm again as Felipe started off. “Wait. Your snark will lead to him cold-cocking you. He can’t compete with your mouth.”
“Then he’s wearing the wrong damn costume.” Felipe flicked his claws disdainfully at the guy when he started in on the Cha Cha Slide as the music changed. “He shouldn’t suit up if he doesn’t have the lip for it.”
Abby had a point, though. A snark-off would take time, and they’d be blocking the Den’s table even more. He had to lure the dude away. Then he’d have a few words with him in private. “Hold that thought. Actually, this calls for Catwoman. I’ll meet you by the green room.”
Felipe sashayed off, lightly tapping the coiled whip against his thigh as he moved with a lazy grace toward his target. The dude didn’t even notice him. He was too busy panning for the cameras and quoting movie lines. The idea for his costume was clever. Felipe would give him that, but he’d cut corners, and it showed, from peeks of his day clothes underneath to one of the armor panels starting to slip off due to his exertions.
Ryan saw him coming and threw up his hands with a roll of his eyes. Felipe would deal with him later. “What do we have here? A dick in a box, but without Timberlake’s sexy suaveness to pull it off,” Felipe purred as he strutted by.
Deadpool stopped midstep and put his hands on his hips. “Awww, did I piss in your kitty litter? Scamper off, unless you mean to use that whip.”
Felipe idly flicked the end like a cat’s tail and laid the back of his hand against his forehead, miming a swoon. “Darling, you couldn’t handle me and my whip, but say pretty, pretty please and maybe I’ll be a good little kitten and not the vixen of your nightmares.”
“Ramble on…. You’re blocking my photo op.” Deadpool held up his phone. “The Electric Slide is up next.”
“I warned you,” Felipe murmured. He snatched the dude’s phone out of his hand and skipped down the aisle, waving it in the air like a prize. “Catch me if you can, Deadbeat Man,” he trilled. “Or did the cat steal your tongue too?”
“Hey!”
Felipe snickered and quickened his steps. He’d had practice in making an escape on stilettos and slipped through the crowd with ease. Abby waited by the green room with her arms crossed and her expression stern. It only added to the whole Wonder Woman effect. He’d have to compliment her when he wasn’t being chased. He tossed the phone to her. “Hold on to that for me.”
Abby caught it one-handed and groaned. “Felipe, what did you do?”
“Give me my phone back!”
Felipe turned to face Deadpool as he came around the corner and blew him a kiss. “I’d love to play with you more, Deadbeat Man, but I have other fish to fry.” He grinned at Abby. “Catch you on the flip side.”
He scampered off again, heading for the exit as Deadpool closed in. They’d gathered a small crowd who apparently thought this was some kind of staged show. Which gave him an idea for him and Abby to do some quick skits at the next con they attended. Once outside, Felipe made his way around the corner of the building and then took up a position leaning against the wall.
Moments later Deadpool followed and stopped short when he saw Felipe. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s not funny.”
“Neither is ruining someone’s artwork, or touching a woman without permission, or deliberately trying to sabotage a vendor’s sales by showboating,” Felipe snapped as he straightened.
“Don’t be—”
“I’m not done, fucker.” Felipe advanced on him, and the guy took a stumbling step back. “Now, you’ve got two choices. You can leave right now, and I’ll even give you your phone back, but I swear I’ll have you blackballed from any con I have influence with.” Which pretty much just meant Brenden’s cons, but he knew Dakota would back him.
“But—” he started, and Felipe didn’t want to hear his excuses.
“I’m not done!” Felipe snarled, holding up his finger and pointing the claw at him. “Second choice, you go to Morris Proctor’s table and pay for the painting you ruined. Then you go and apologize to the vendors and any lady you offended, and not only will you get your phone back, and a new soda, but I’ll keep my lips shut about what a menace you are.”
“I’m the menace? You—”
Felipe held up his finger again. “Nope, don’t wanna hear it. I’m in a mood. Make it snappy because it’s almost time to register for the contest and I’m not being held back from that.”
“Fine. I’ll pay for the stupid picture,” Deadpool said in tones of deep aggravation. “But if you think I’m going to forget this, you’d better watch your fucking back.”
Felipe closed the distance between them until his nose was only a half an inch away from the dick’s. “Bring it. Oh, and if you touch my friend’s ass again, I’ll cheer her on while she mops the fucking floor with you. Ta-ta, bitch.”