Page 49 of Haunt the Mall
< Me: Why’d you recommend this movie? >
< Victor: Ocean sounds act like a noise machine. >
< Me: Oh, right. >
I was reading way too much into everything.
< Victor: Why aren’t you sleeping? >
< Me: I’m cold. :( But I’ll be fine. I doubt you can turn up the heat. >
Five minutes later, shoes scraped against the floor with measured grace.
No way.
Was he bringing me something? Fire? Mittens? Body heat?
A scythe-like silhouette cut across the screen. The projector lights illuminated a beautiful, sharp face as he turned to the audience.
Victor.
I smiled and waved, my extremities finally warm.
Was I too into him?
He smirked, his eyes glinting. Maybe he didn’t mind my enthusiasm. He strode up to my row and flipped a high-collared black jacket off his shoulders. It billowed out like a cape. The ends floated down over my knees.
A blanket. For me. I hugged the soft fleece, but eased my toes out to graze his shins as he made his way into the seat beside me.
He stretched his arm across the back of my chair and purred, “Hello, Miss Silver.”
“Hello, Mister Sterling.” I snuggled into his side, my insides rumbling. “Here to provide me body heat?”
He stroked my arm under the fleece. “Only for a minute. I am still working.”
Damn. Couldn’t he stay until the third act? Like he said, he wasn’t exactly a model employee.
I hooked my legs over his closest knee and scooted in to hug him better. He chuckled and secured the jacket on my shoulder. His fingers lingered at my neckline, his stomach tightening under my arm. Did he see the mark he’d left on me? In darkness, in secret, in everything?
After a few seconds, he rubbed small circles into my skin. Heat seeped into my bones. Slow and steady. This man was casting some kind of spell on me.
I slumped into the welcome arms of darkness aka his chest.
Everything was warm. The perfume of sage and buttered popcorn His pulse thumped reassuringly against my cheek. It was fast, at first. Eventually, it leveled out to a soft orchestral soundtrack. Then, we were floating. Nesting.
His cold fingers cradled my neck.
“Sweet dreams, Kat,” he whispered, that silky voice drawing me into the depths.
A kiss dusted my forehead. Then, he eased from under me.
Wait. I tried to get up. I really did. But I couldn’t lift my lids long enough to make out more than a glimpse of his lips.
My Spider-Man…
I reached for him but slipped into dreamland once again.
It was nice in the darkness. I shifted awake and tugged his jacket higher on my shoulders. The old lady on screen lamented not taking more chances. She wished she’d persevered with what–and who–she loved.