Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) by Gemma Halliday (best e reader for manga txt) 📗

"I said a tight white cropped tank."

I shook my head. "You know I don't own any cropped tanks."

She pursed her lips. "Didn't I say a black mini skirt? Since when does Tifa Lockhart wear a peasant skirt?"

"Since she wants her mother to let her out of the house," I explained. "I didn't have a black mini skirt. I have black booty shorts on underneath though."

To be honest, they weren't initially booty shorts. I'd bought them two years ago before I'd gone through a growth spurt. But, they were short enough now that they fit the character Sam had assigned me: Tifa Lockhart from Final Fantasy VII. I'd had to google the character, and I'd totally said no at first. "Scantily clad" was an understatement. But Sam had assured me we could pull it off in a tasteful, subtle way and that she'd supply everything else I needed.

As I shimmied out of my skirt, Sam handed me a pair of long black socks and gloves. "What's this?" I asked, watching her grab a pair of suspenders.

"They're my dad's. He won't notice them missing." She helped me put them on, and then I checked myself out in the mirror.

Mom would have a coronary if she saw me with so much exposed skin. Truth be told, I wasn't feeling totally comfortable. A little chilly even. But, I tried to reason with myself, I was wearing more than I did at the pool during the summer. And that was considered decent, right? So, this was fine. I mean, all the important parts were tucked and covered. Barely.

I held on to that thought as Kyle texted to say he and Chase were outside.

Of course, Sam had also coordinated the outfits for the rest of our crew, and as we approached Chase's car parked at the Kramer's curb, I was impressed that she'd been able to rope him into it as well. Chase wore a black T-shirt under a black vest, pants that were cuffed up to just below the knee, black boots that almost met the bottom of the pants, and one black leather glove. Leave it to Chase to find a costume that was in his favorite color.

Kyle was standing by the hood of Chase's car, talking to him. His back was to us, and whatever they were discussing, Chase's lips were moving fast. When he spotted us though, his mouth stopped moving and hung open for a moment.

"He thinks you're hot," Sam whispered to me in a singsong voice.

My stomach knotted. I was already a little nervous about our mission. She wasn't helping.

Sam went to Kyle and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in until there was no space between them.

Chase's gaze traveled the length of me, slowly, and rested on my face. "Nice outfit."

I felt my cheeks heat. "Thanks. Uh, you too."

"My weapon is in the car," he said. "I'm Noctis Lucis Caelum."

"I have no idea who that is," I told him. "But I'm guessing we match. Sam says I'm Tifa Lockhart."

"You guys ready?" Kyle asked, opening the passenger side door for Sam and me to climb into the back seat. Kyle wore a black shirt with a high collar and one long sleeve and one missing, with black baggy pants. The crowning achievement was a wig of spiky blond hair. I didn't recognize him, but I assumed he was the fourth member of our Final Fantasy quartet.

"Who are you supposed to be?" I asked him.

"Cloud Strife." He rubbed his fake hair. "Sam insisted on the wig."

I stifled a laugh. "I'll bet she did." I shot a glance at my best friend, but she was pointedly avoiding my gaze.

"Are we ready?" she asked, grinning at her boyfriend's spike-shaped and not egg-shaped head.

We jumped into the car and took off. I wasn't sure if I'd gotten used to Chase's driving that week or if he'd actually slowed down on the way to the convention center, but when he parked, I wasn't nauseous and my organs seemed to still be where I'd last left them.

It was dark by the time we arrived downtown, parked, and walked back toward the con. However, the streets were as lively as if we'd been in the midst of Mardi Gras in New Orleans, rather than a Tuesday in Silicon Valley. The mood was festive as groups of costumed convention goers made their way toward the con—laughter, raised voices, and even a few songs filling the air. There was no sign that just days ago a man had been killed there—the collective mindset having quickly moved on.

As we entered the Grand Ballroom on the upper level, I easily spied Sophia Larson. She was dressed in full Athena gear, posing for photos with fans near the entrance. Her blonde hair was pulled back in an elaborate braid beneath a golden crown. Her long, tanned limbs were bare, a short gold skirt and sleeveless top covered in a gold breastplate finishing off the outfit. The hem was short, the neckline plunging, and the clinging fabric thin enough that I felt practically nun-like next to her. She looked every bit the bronzed goddess, and I had to admit, exactly like the poster plastered on the wall behind her, advertising the game. I could see why everyone had bought the line that she'd been Connor's muse. Of course, as Tyler had said, it was easy to paste someone's head on a character. But Connor had done an excellent job of conning everyone.

Sophia waved as I caught her eye, and we approached her just as she finished taking photos with a couple of guys dressed in Fortnite outfits.

"It's so nice to see you again," she said.

I was about to say the same thing, when I realized she wasn't talking to me—her eyes firmly on