Page 48 of Haunt the Mall

I scuffed my boots on the carpet. Maybe I wasn’t the only VIP in the building.

He let go of my hand to open the door to theater ten.

Leaning his forehead against his curled fingers, he lowered his voice to an ominous purr. “I hope you have a nice nap.”

“I hope you have a nice…shift.” Fuck my stupid, sleep-deprived brain. How was I supposed to banter in this state?

He blinked and smirked. Perhaps I entertained him, anyway. He bowed, then he retreated into the hallway.

Oh, he wasn’t coming with me.

He had a shift, obviously. And yet part of me wondered why he didn’t go for another kiss before he left. Or try to hook up in a closet. Or make plans.

Was I still supposed to text him?

My brain throbbed from dehydration. I sighed and rubbed my temple. This didn’t have to be so complicated. I was supposed to turn my mind off for a bit. Relax. Enjoy some escapism outside of an orgasm.

I sat in the back row and settled in amid a smattering of older women. They had to be the target demographic for this flick. I ordered food and drink at an exorbitant price, even for a VIP. As the lights dimmed, a tall employee emerged from the darkness holding my order.

I sat up straighter. Victor?

No, the profile was wrong. It was the squirrely guy again. He handed off the meal and widened his eyes in recognition. “Uh, h-hi,” he said.

“Hi?” I took the food from him and glanced at the screen. Curtains slid aside with a whoosh to show the full picture.

Squirrel-boy’s hands twitched, and his mouth fell open. Was he waiting for a tip? It’d be weird to start a conversation right now, even if it was only the previews kicking in.

He hesitated, then scurried down the stairs.

Sorry, kid. This wasn’t an ideal time to chat. I popped a fry in my mouth, furrowing my brow when he glanced over his shoulder. What the hell was he gaping at?

I guessed I’d become a recognizable regular. Or a source of gossip.

Victor probably wouldn’t tell people we hooked up. It was ungentlemanly. He wouldn’t have hidden the cum-napkin if he wanted to brag we did something. Although he did bite me. Mark me.

I tugged at my collar. Maybe that was why Squirrel-boy was staring.

Eventually, the movie and warm food tugged my mind to other quandaries. When was the last time I went to a beach, like this protagonist?

The old woman in the movie spent most of her vacation people-watching and confronting the lack of excitement in her life.

Her arthritis-ridden fingers shook as she glanced up, tempted to steal a piece of cake from a stranger’s wedding.

Something splashed at sea. Dolphins? A mermaid? Ghosts of her family? I knew this movie probably wasn’t going to turn supernatural, but I kinda hoped she’d keep investigating.

That she’d beat feeling bored. And lost. And lonely.

A breeze flitted across my skin. Shivering, I curled my knees into my chest, hoping to conserve body heat. Everyone else in here wore cardigans. Smart cookies.

Later, the old woman in the movie snuck into the party and stole a piece of cake. She winced at the first bite, looked around for security, then smiled at her new potential friends by the bar.

“Who can resist a bite of happiness?” she said through a mouthful of frosting.

“A bite of love,” another character said.

“Of delusion,” another insisted. “It’s sugar and carbs. Enjoy the dessert and shut up about it.”

I stroked my collar and checked my phone. Was Victor trying to tell me something?