He cocked his head a little. “How many times do I gotta tell ya my name is Bucky, Liv?  Even my ma doesn’t call me James, so it doesn’t feel like it fits.”

            “Okay, first off,” she held up a finger, “That’s what she said.”

            His responding laugh, one that wrinkled his nose and caused his eyes to crinkle at the corners, made her insides giddy.  Few things could make her as happy as knowing that the guy she was into thought she was funny.

            “And second of all,” she added, giving him a once over from head to waist, frowning a little because the damn bar obstructed the view below, “you do not look like a Bucky.”

            He gave her a somewhat amused but mostly questioning look, clearly waiting for further explanation from her, but she merely shrugged.  No way in hell was she going to tell him that he was way too hot for a name that belonged in June Cleaver’s house, right next to Beaver and Wally.  With his eyes steadily boring into hers while she sat there, completely wordless, the sound of drunk patrons having a fantastic time in a (relatively) small space faded until the only thing she could hear was the haunting music muffled by the blood rushing through her ears.  Maybe it was only five seconds of silent eye contact, but it was more than enough to make her face and chest flush, so she looked down, pretending to find something in her bag.  Sitting back up once her cheeks were no longer burning, she met his eyes again and let out a dramatic sigh.

            “But since you’ve brought the name thing up every time I see you, I give in.  You win,” she paused, talking a deep breath before relenting “… Bucky.”

            She looked sideways, mentally repeating the name several times.  After a few seconds of letting it sit on the tip of her tongue, she decided that it actually did fit, and she liked it…a lot- oh woah, what she said!  When she finally looked at him, he flashed her a smile bright enough to need solar eclipse glasses to look directly at it.

            “Happy now?” She blinked, wondering how the hell even his teeth were pretty.

            An impish, closed-mouth smirk replaced his blinding smile. “Depends how often I get to hear ya say it while beggin’ me for somethin’.”

            Liv bit the insides of her cheeks so her jaw wouldn’t drop at the…uh…implications…of his words.  Alright, she needed a drink- STAT.

            But there was no way she could say “Bucky, please give me a glass of whatever has the highest alcohol content by volume” without her brain giving up after “Bucky, PLEASE” which would be the very definition of begging him for something.  Nope.  Nope. Nope.  No begging for anything.

            Smirk still in place, he tilted his head. “Cat got your tongue, Liv?”

            She forced a laugh, trying not to focus on him mentioning her tongue because it sounded way too good coming from him.  Sure, it was just as a highly common figure of speech, but still.  Leaning into the back of her chair, she crossed her legs, attempting to look relaxed.

            “Just parched, is all,” she cleared her throat, “so how about you get me a house brew, please.” She stopped short of saying his name after please.  It was for the best.

            Bucky squinted at her, his lips pursing. “Haven’t I made about twenty vodka tonics for you?  Figured you’d want that.”

            She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t snort like an actual farm animal at his expression.  It was no doubt unintentional, but he was doing an uncanny imitation of Derek Zoolander, and holding back a cackle was making her sides hurt.  Despite the pain, she was thankful for the comedic relief.  She needed a break from a month of building sexual tension that was apparently reaching fever pitch tonight, or she was going to spontaneously combust right here.  But since he’d killed her a dozen times already, it was just par for the course.

            “Yes, vodka tonic is my go-to,” she conceded with a smile, “but since it’s Halloween, I shall face my fear -” she wiggled her eyebrows “-of beer.”

            It was perhaps the worst pun she’d ever made, and that was saying something, but she nearly fell off her stool from laughing, nonetheless.  Hearing a sigh then a groan next to her, she looked left to see Steve hanging his head and pinching his eyebrows between his thumb and forefinger.  Holding her stomach, she nudged him with her shoulder, and he lifted his head to eye her.

            “That was bad, Livvy.  That was really bad.  That was really really bad.”

            “Nah,” Bucky countered, and Liv turned back to see him leaning onto his forearms and grinning at her through eyelashes that belonged in a goddamn Maybelline ad. “I thought it was cute.”

            Bouncing the ball of her foot rapidly on the spindle of her barstool like she’d had about five espresso shots, she smiled back.  God help her.  He was being such a flirt tonight, and it was sending her pulse through the roof.  If she died from a heart attack tonight, her parents could have him charged with involuntary manslaughter.  For the love, her brain needed to go easy on the death metaphors, lest it decide to literally play along and kick the proverbial bucket before she had a chance to get her mouth on his.

            Speaking of his mouth…it was moving, but she couldn’t hear him over everyone dancing and screaming the lyrics to some edm trap crowd-pleaser that was now blasting through the house.  He may as well have been speaking Russian for all her ability to interpret what he was saying when all these people were freaking out over beat drops that were, to be fair, pretty damn orgasmic.  Bucky’s eyes were raised in question, and she shook her head, pointing to her ear.

            Leaning further toward her, now halfway across the counter, he raised his voice. “Porter, Amber, Blond, or Oktoberfest?”

            She sucked in her cheeks, at a complete loss.  Her experience with beer was, no joke, limited to a few red cups of piss Bud Lite back in college at that one frat party she went to before swearing them off for life.  Talk about vomit-inducing regret.  Both the beer, and the boys.  But, come on, Odin’s Ravens in house options had to be superior (both the beer, and the boy—ha! —or uh…man, obviously) and she felt daring tonight.

            Sitting forward, she spoke loudly. “What do you suggest?”

            Bucky chewed his lip, squinting at her as though trying to read her mind. “You one of those girls who’s into that pumpkin shit from Starbucks?”

            She made a face, shaking her head. “Hell no.  I know I fit the young… ish- ” she added when Steve smirked at her like a total ass “-middle class female demographic, but I do not want my coffee to taste like a bad imitation of Thanksgiving dessert in a paper cup.

            “My kinda girl,” Bucky said, giving her another knee-weakening crooked grin.

            “Shocking,” Steve droned, “since you called it pumpkin shit-” he made air quotes “-kinda gave yourself away there, bud.” He snickered when Liv shot him a look.

            “I’m not faking an answer just to agree with him,” she snapped. “You of all people know I despise pumpkin spice.”

            He held up his hands. “I didn’t say you were faking it.”

            “I don’t fake anything,” she said, lifting her chin as she glared at her friend.  She peeked sideways when she felt Bucky staring at her.

            His eyes roved over her face. “Are you still talking about coffee?  Or…somethin’ else?”

            She gulped, thankfully not audibly, blinking as she tried to think of a witty response.  Why was her brain shorting out on her?!  That damned little smirk appeared on his face again, and he scraped his teeth over his bottom lip.

            “Don’t answer that.  You’ll like the blond,” he said, standing upright and grabbing a pint glass. “Blond beer, that is.  Not guys.  No blond guys.” He set it under the tap. “Kinda smoky.  Hint of citrus. No pumpkin.  Smooth as hell.”

            Blowing out a shaky breath, she clasped her hands on the counter.  Could he just take a break from being, in his own words, smooth as hell for two seconds?  Telling herself to get her shit together, she watched him drop an orange slice into the full glass and set it onto a cocktail napkin in front of her.  Steve gave her a knowing grin and she almost stuck her tongue out at him.  Controlling that urge, she took a sip instead, then moaned very quietly at the shockingly satisfying flavor.  She downed the whole thing in ten seconds.  Yeah, it was that good.

            Steve gaped at her empty glass. “Seriously, Livvy?  I really didn’t wanna have to babysit you tonight.”

            Swiveling in her seat to glare at him, she set her jaw. “It’s one beer, dad, and by the way, nine times out of ten I’m the one doing the babysitting.” He started to respond but let out a defeated sigh instead when she looked away.

            “So, Bucky…” she began, but trailed off when she saw that he had disappeared to take a drink order on the other end of the bar.

            He turned at the sound of her voice and held up a finger, mouthing “just a sec” to her, then resumed talking to the other clientele.  Puffing out her cheeks, she exhaled loudly and draped her arm over Steve’s shoulders.

            “I’m sorry for being so snappy,” she frowned, leaning her forehead against his temple, “it’s just…ugh…he makes me nervous as hell, you know?”

            Raising his eyebrows, he laughed quietly. “I’d call it something other than nervous, but you do you.”

            He reached around her, giving her waist a good squeeze, and she patted him on the head sweetly.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bucky coming toward them, grabbing a cheap house red from the wine shelf behind him along the way.

            “You wanted me?” he asked, eyes on hers as he blindly twisted a bottle opener into the cork.

            He pulled the cork out with a pop, and she suppressed the instinct to blurt out, in very explicit language, exactly how much she did indeed want him.  Instead she nodded slowly, giving him a somewhat lop-sided grin, and he grinned back.  Admiring his hands as he filled a wine stem half full, she scooted forward.

            “So, Bucky,” she repeated herself, “what brilliant advice beyond beer flavors can you give me?  What color shirt should I wear on my next dinner date?  Glasses or contacts?  Can I pull off skinny jeans?”

            Quirking an eyebrow, he set the glass in front of a woman whose breasts were on the verge of popping out of her skintight catsuit, then walked back to Liv.  She heard the woman holler “DTF, Buck-eeee!” at his back about ten times, and it took everything in her to not throw her glass at the woman’s head.  Seriously?  What was wrong with people?  Nothing wrong with wanting to do all the things with him, but good god, save the shameless verbal thirst for twitter or something, not real life.

            “I so love a high-class lady,” Steve deadpanned, eyes rolling.

            “Tell me you don’t hear shit like that on a daily basis, Bucky,” Liv said tightly, staring daggers at catgirl or whatever costume that was as she cackled with her (presumably) friends.

            Would going over there and ripping out a chunk of that trash bleach job on top of her head legally count as assault?  Her narrowed gaze slid back to him when she heard him laugh quietly.  She really hoped he wasn’t about to say he considered that kind of blatant objectification to be a compliment.  Sure, he was a guy, and no doubt that woman would definitely be an easy lay, which was usually what straight guys seemed to live for but come on.  If it were the other way around, most people would call it harassment.

            “Not on a daily basis, no, but when it happens, usually people are a little more discreet about it,” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair to push the longer strands off his face. “Long as no one grabs my ass or crotch, I don’t really give a damn.  Types like that do tend to tip extremely well if I just smile at them once, so…whatever.  Pretty easy extra hundred bucks.”

            Unsure what to make of that response, she squinted at him.  Well, at least he hadn’t said he liked it.  She gave him a little smile as he bent down onto his elbows again.

            “Anyway, forget them.  You asked me a lotta questions about some hypothetical date.  Lemme see here…” his gravelly voice faded to a low hum, and he chewed his lip, looking her up and down. “Go with a loose, but not baggy, dark-ish shirt.  Your eyes are this sorta gorgeous ambiguous grey-ish blue green color, so stick with the contacts.  And if you can’t pull off your skinny jeans,” his gaze dropped to her mouth for a second, “I can help with that.”

            Before her jaw could unhinge from her skull, someone else called him by name, and he left her to take their order.  While he was occupied with the impressively convincing Edward Scissorhands (how was that guy going to HOLD a drink?) on the other side of the bar, Liv blinked, completely at a loss for words.  Was she having a psychotic break, or had he actually said that?

            If you can’t pull off your jeans, I can help you with that??

            She was so dumbstruck by his words that she didn’t see him come back to her, only realizing he was there when she heard him sigh loudly.

            “Sorry,” he said, counting out a cash tip in his hands, “that was beyond inappropriate.”

            Steve snorted then, nudging her with his shoulder. “She didn’t mind, trust me.”

            She didn’t notice the nudge or hear Steve’s voice at all really.  Setting her chin on her palm, she stared all dreamy-eyed at the guy who had just insinuated that he wanted to take her pants off.  Uh…Bucky Barnes could get it.   And he was gonna.  Tonight.

            She was so done with the this-is-going-nowhere innocent flirting thing they’d been playing at for a month.  Lowering her eyes to look at her hands in her lap, she smiled so wide it made her cheeks hurt.  This was like unwrapping presents on Christmas and getting everything on her Amazon wish list, even that ridiculous three-thousand-dollar emerald ring.

            No, it was better than that.  It was Halloween, and she had just unwrapped a goddamn dark-haired Adonis who apparently wanted to unwrap her too.  She raised her head again, shooting him a smile.  This was happening.  Good thing she had shaved her legs.

            “Want another one?” Bucky asked, pointing to her glass, and she nodded, unconsciously biting her lip at him while he refilled it.

            Setting her second drink down in front of her, he sighed again. “So, boss man made a royal decree at the staff meeting this morning.  Said we’re closing at ten instead of two.”

            Steve frowned. “What?  Why so early?  Of all nights, seems like this is a great one for business,” he said, gesturing to the packed house, “they’re all dressed up and everything.”

            “Maybe Odin just really wants to go trick or treating,” Liv shrugged, then picked up her glass and drank half of it. “He basically owns this city, so it’s not like he’s desperate for the extra cash ya’ll would make tonight.  Oh, and since you mention dressing up,” she hissed, earning her confused looks from both men as she set her glass on the counter forcefully, “why have neither of you complimented, or at the very least, acknowledged my costume?” 

            She waved vaguely at her clothes: Lavender scoop neck tank, unbuttoned blue denim jacket with rolled up sleeves, both splattered with fake blood.  Usually she just let her natural waves air dry because fixing them into an actual style took an hour, and she did not like staring at herself for that long.  But tonight, she’d smoothed it into a straight fringe with the hair dryer, setting the bad idea bangs she’d been growing out for months with a light coat of hair spray.  Splotches of temporary deep crimson hair color completed the look, and she was damn proud of it.

            Brow creasing, Steve looked her up and down. “That’s a costume?”

            Her jaw dropped, and she scoffed. “What?   Of course, this is a costume!  There’s blood all over me!  What, did you think I was attacked by a rabid dog on the way here?”

            Steve leaned back to avoid a likely smack to his shoulder. “My god calm down.  I thought that red mess all over your jacket was some weird fashion trend that old men in their ancient thirties, like me, don’t know about.  I never pay much attention to what you wear.”

            Rolling her eyes, she pointed to her head. “That red mess is in my hair, too, and only a dumbass wouldn’t notice that.”

            “In his defense,” Bucky piped up, and she turned to glare at him, “it doesn’t look like blood in your hair.  Looks like those random streaks of color some girls add to their hair when they get bored with it.  Or just…y’know…really drunk.”

            Growling quietly under her breath, Liv gulped down the rest of her drink.  Yes, she was drinking too fast.  And yes, it was already making her tipsy, but she didn’t care.  As though she wasn’t already worked up enough from the unbearable overactive sex hormones driving her insane, and now this.

            “I put a lot of time and effort into this costume.  Original and not total crap like those off the rack one size fits all things that smell like plastic and rubber.”

            She knew she sounded like such a bitchy Halloween elitist, but still.  She could forgive Bucky for not recognizing her costume because maybe he wasn’t a horror fan (that and wanting to rip his clothes off dulled her annoyance), but Steve had no excuse.  He’d known her for five years, and in that time, he’d probably seen this exact outfit on that sixty inch in her living room twenty times.  He was officially on her list.  She was on the verge of snarling at her friend for the unacceptable slight, but then Bucky cleared his throat, and she realized he was looking her up and down.  She forgot her best pal existed at all.

            Um…Steve who?

            Squinting at her, Bucky pursed his lips, then snapped his fingers once. “You’re the virgin heroine from a slasher movie.”

            Equal parts surprised and thrilled, she smiled wide, her tongue poking through her teeth.  So, he was a horror fan.  Talk about marriage material.  Inching forward to the edge of the barstool, she bit her lip.

            “Be. More. Specific,” she enunciated each word.

            Bucky set his chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted his head. “Uhhhh…90s hair, snug yet demure tee under a denim jacket covered in blood.” He paused, narrowing his gaze further. “Do you have a white cordless phone with you by any chance?” He smiled triumphantly when she produced a phone out of her bag exactly like the one he’d pictured, her eyebrows wiggling.

            “Sidney Prescott,” he grinned, shaking his head. “Now that I see it, I can’t believe that I didn’t get it right away.”

            Nodding her head, she flicked her hair over her shoulder and poked Steve’s shoulder. “See?  You should be ashamed for not know-“

            “Well, as her secret killer boyfriend, I oughta know more than him,” Bucky spoke over her, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip when she twisted to face him.

            First off, that lip-biting thing he kept doing had to be illegal, and secondly, she had to be seeing things. The music seemed to pound louder when he stood upright, pulling one flap of his plaid shirt aside, revealing “blood” on the white shirt underneath.  Eyes blowing wide, she watched him swipe his finger across the red stains, then put it to his lips, all while staring at her like he was villain dessert.  Christ…speaking of thirst.   Her stomach did an excited flip as he closed his mouth over his finger and licked it clean.

            “Corn syrup,” he purred- yes, purred – keeping his eyes on hers. “Same stuff they used for pig’s blood in Carrie.” Pulling a ghostface mask from his back pocket, which must have been hidden under his baggy flannel the whole time, he set it on the counter right in front of her.

            “Shut the front door,” she breathed, her face lighting up brighter than Kim K’s overused highlighter.

            Shooting her a quick wink, he spun on his heel, going to the sink to wash off his hand.  With his back to her, Liv blinked lazily at him.  Holy shit, someone give this man an Oscar because he hadn’t just dressed up as Billy Loomis, he’d nailed that iconic ahh! -plot-twist! quote.  She had never had a thing for the evil antagonist from Scream, but she did (apparently) have a thing for Bucky playing said evil antagonist.

            Congratulations, sir- You’ve just leveled up from main crush to must-have obsession.

            Did he still want to help her pull off her jeans?  Because she needed help with that.  Lots of very Bucky-specific help.

            “Wow,” Steve said, finishing his drink and smacking his lips. “Inadvertently wearing costumes for couples, guys?  It’s fate.”

            Tossing the now wet hand towel into the designated dirty towel bin, Bucky shot the smallest of smiles at Steve, then slid his eyes to Liv.  They were caught up in a staring contest with each other when Steve spoke again.

            “You got a bloody knife in your back pocket to go with the creepy mask?”

            To her extreme disappointment, Bucky broke their heated eye contact instantly at that, and her shoulders drooped.  Dammit, Steve.  Way to ruin the moment.

            “I wish,” Bucky sighed heavily, “I love knives.  Not in a weird way,” he added when they looked at him funny. “Remember I do Krav Maga with Sam?  ‘Course you do, since he won’t shut up about getting his black belt,” he groaned deep in his chest, eyes rolling, “which by the way, I earned mine first, just sayin.  We fight with knives almost every time.”

            “Ohhhhhhh,” Steve and Liv said at the same time, almost comically.

            Ignoring a guy in a giant banana costume shouting a drink order at him, Bucky stayed put and pushed some loose strands of hair behind his ears, a deep scowl creasing his forehead.

            “Like I said, I love knives, and I’m really good with them, but I lost the right to carry one as part of my costume in a stupid ass bet with Loki.”

            Liv opened and closed her mouth.  Hold the phone…had she heard him right?

            “Wait…Loki?” she asked, eyebrows shooting to her hairline as she leaned forward in her seat, interest piqued even further.

            Closing his eyes, Bucky hung his head, laughing quietly- darkly.

            “Yeah,” he nodded, looking up at her from under his brow, “Loki.”

            Exchanging concerned glances with Steve, Liv tapped her foot nervously.  Well, this should be good.

            Or bad, more like.

DEAD ALREADY CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 3: HIS HAUNTED HIGHNESS (LOKI). COMING NOVEMBER 2021.

Visit the main Dead Already page HERE.

Dead Already Chapter links: ¹SWEET AS CANDY (LIV) ²MMM…CORN SYRUP (BUCKY) ³(November 2021) ⁴(November 2021)

CHAPTER TWO FEATURED MUSIC:

“BONE” BY SO BELOW

“BLOOD DIAMOND” BY YELLOW CLAW FEAT. SEREBRO

THEME SONG:

“SOMETHING TO DIE FOR” BY THE SOUNDS