Cate was not drunk enough for this. She should’ve been. She’d had just enough shots to feel bold, glittered wings bouncing every time she laughed too hard, but not enough to forget her own name or, apparently, the fact that Jordan was evil.

“She’s so your type,” Jordan said, leaning in, devil horns askew. They gestured to the corner with their straw. “Go ask her to arrest you. I dare you.”

Cate turned, letting her gaze skim the crowd until it landed on her. Tall. Combat boots. Tactical belt. Aviators. That smug, lazy confidence of someone who knew exactly how much attention she was getting and couldn’t care less. She leaned against the wall, sipping from a plastic cup like she was on break from actual patrol. All long legs and authority, standing in the corner like she wasn't the hottest thing this side of a beer pong table. Cate’s stomach flipped.

Okay. Yes. Her type.

Fine.

“I’m not scared of a sexy cop,” Cate tossed her curls back, plastering on that perfect prom-queen grin. Except—she was so not a costume-store cop. No polyester mini skirt, no plastic toy badge. No, this girl had the kind of presence you didn’t fake. Boots planted firm. Nightstick on her hip. And those handcuffs? Definitely not party props. Still, Cate was nothing if not a performer. She could play the dumb flirt if it meant winning a dare. It was practically a varsity sport.

Jordan snorted like they knew something she didn’t. “You should be.”

Cate ignored them, adjusting the straps of her fairy costume—tiny, glittery, probably a fire hazard—and stalked across the room, wings swishing behind her. Cate sauntered through the haze of fog machine and cheap cologne, weaving past devils and cowboys and far too many half-assed Jokers. Fake confidence swaying in her hips, heart pounding somewhere way too close to her throat. Which was stupid. This was just a dare. And she didn’t back down from dares. She stopped just short of the cop and gave her a slow, deliberate once-over, tilting her chin just enough to be flirty without trying too hard.

“So,” Cate said, flashing her best pageant smile, “how serious are you about upholding the law tonight? Because I think I need to be arrested.”

The girl lowered her sunglasses just enough to reveal sharp eyes, playful but appraising.

“Oh yeah?” she asked, her voice a low drawl. “What’s the charge?”

Cate blinked, “Uh…I don’t know. Being too pretty?”

{{user}} smiled. Real slow.

“Hmm. That is a misdemeanor in three states.”

Cate blinked again. That was not the response she expected.

{{user}} took a step closer. The kind of step that closed distance in a very intentional way.

Oh no.

The hot girl wasn’t dressed as a cop.

She was one.