Page 64 of Haunt the Mall
“Oh.” He straightened and blinked at the stalls with chopped-up targets. “Yes, we can do that.”He fished for his wallet,
I waved him off and said, “You got the haunted house tickets and dinner. Let me cover our drinks and ax-throwing.”
He nodded. “That sounds like a perfectly balanced evening.”
“Indeed. Like a grown-up trick-or-treating.” I beamed at the idea of frolicking station to station hand-in-hand with Victor amid a bizarre, beautiful world.
His eyes flashed. Did he also see some kind of fantasy? Or was he just looking at me?
My mind was on fire tonight. Probably all that adrenaline. I wanted to enjoy our night, not overthink it. At the drink stand, we got two plastic commemorative skull cups with some kind of killer-clown inspired drinks that had cotton candy garnish. It tasted like a mix of sports and energy drinks, which was probably where they got the rainbow coloring.
He winced after one sip. “This is disgusting.”
“Put the cotton candy in it.” I sprinkled the sugary confection into the bitter brew and offered him a sip. It was almost good, then.
He licked his lips and furrowed his brow. “Interesting combination.”
That didn’t mean he liked it.
I snorted and held up the mug. “At least we got commemorative cups.”
“To many more adventures.” He clinked his plastic skull against mine, our drinks sloshing much like my insides. We smiled at each other over our rims, pinkies raised in cheers.
Did he want more adventures with me? Or in general?
I guessed buying a trinket on a date meant our affection for it would change if our relationship ever soured. But it was a treat. A nice memory, even if it was plastic. At least I could donate or recycle it in some worst-case scenario where he’d ghost me after three weeks.
“One of us can mind the drinks while the other throws the axes,” I offered.
“These are hatchets,” the attendant corrected.
Whatever. It was a small ax and a big target, and we still managed to miss. The metal thudded against the wood panels, then dropped to the floor with a sad little clink.
“We would make terrible serial killers,” I said.
Victor quirked his brow. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Not if there’s a zombie apocalypse,” I said.
He snickered and shook his head. Leaning on his back foot, he readjusted his grip on the wooden hatchet handle and focused on the board, his forearm flexing under those rolled-up sleeves. His intensity slowed down everything around me. My heart pounded in anticipation.
He pushed off his foot, whipping the hatchet through the night air. It spun. It whirred. It slammed into the board in the third stripe of the target tier, splintering the wood behind it.
I hugged his side in a triumphant cheer. “Ah, congrats. That’s my killer.”
He chuckled and rubbed my goosebump-riddled arm. “Now, let’s see you do it.”
He helped me with my form, his fingers ghosting over my skin as he whispered suggestions. Fuck, his warm breath against the shell of my ear…his steady heartbeat against my back…the subtle, but firm way he spread my legs from behind… I wanted…
“Hey, you can’t stand that close together with the hatchet.” The attendant gestured for us to add some distance.
Victor bowed as he stepped away. “My apologies. I often forget she’s a dangerous woman.”
I glared without malice, every nerve ending on fire. My rough edges were half my sex appeal—at least at first glance. But he already knew about my soft heart. The girl who sacrificed The Widow viewing experience to make someone else smile. By now, he knew who I was. And what I wanted. I was done with hatchets. I wanted to fuck him.
Blinking fondly like a cat, Victor gestured to the target. “Dispose of last zombie at our reception, and then we can enjoy our honeymoon, my beloved.”
Beloved? Was this still part of the game or a sly confession?