Page 9 of Haunt the Mall

I eyed the popcorn. “Is this covered in ghost pepper flakes? Or discarded from another guest?” I joked.

“No. I’m not the kind of villain who causes stomach ailments,” he said easily.

“What kind are you?” I grinned.

He arched his eyebrow. “Perhaps I make people question their sanity.”

Well, he’d worked his charms on me. I’d basically accepted candy from a stranger after one conversation.

“Have a piece.” I shook the bag at him. “Join the madness.” And prove you’re not messing with me, I wanted to say.

“I’m working,” he replied dully. It should’ve meant no, but he plucked a kernel from the top, then ran his tongue along the crevices.

My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. “Why are you licking it?”

“I like to savor things.” He sucked on the kernel.

Even with the popcorn’s irregular, bulbous body, my mind raced with the idea of him sucking on various parts of me. A tingle ran down my spine and settled between my legs, jolting my insides as his fingers slipped past his thin, perfect lips.

Fuck me.

My thighs flexed. Most guys sexualized me, not themselves, when flirting. But he wasn’t looking at my chest or short skirt. His errant gaze lingered on the rolling credits.

He popped his now-empty fingers free and flexed them like a magician showing he had nothing hidden up his sleeves. “It’s coming.”

“What?” I rasped. Did he mean me?

“The post-credits scene.” His eyes glimmered in the low light.

“Oh, right.” I shook my head to clear it of depraved fantasies and turned to the screen, resting my ass on the railing. Eating popcorn helped distract me from the urge to lick a stripe up the manager’s throat just so he’d keep talking pseudo-dirty. Why was I so damned horny after a horror movie?

On-screen, people in the supermarket whispered about the final girl being dangerous. That didn’t stop a bagger from checking her out in more ways than one. After she got home, someone rang her doorbell. It was the bagger.

“You forgot these,” he said, offering her a tote and a flirty smile.

“Thanks.” She hesitated, then opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

He tugged his pants by the belt loops and let out an enthusiastic, “Yeah.”

She grinned, all teeth as a spider scurried across her kitchen window in the background.

The end.

I laughed. “That’s it?”

“What did you expect?” The manager scooped more popcorn from my bag. Kinda cheeky, but I admired his confidence.

The lights boosted to full power, and I squinted against the glare. “I don’t know. A reference to baby spiders? Although I guess that one in the window might’ve been from the main spider. Ooh, or maybe the final girl got pregnant.”

“There’s a good chance the bag boy had it in him," he said.

“Or the hunter.” I shrugged.

He narrowed his gaze at me and grabbed a broom. “You seem very child-focused.”

I scoffed and followed him. “Only for a sequel premise. But also, black widows can only make babies if they have protein from eating the male before, well, you know.” We’d been talking for five seconds, and I was already referencing sex.

He raised his eyebrows. “They mate like a praying mantis?”