“Pretty please?”
“Don’t bat your lashes at me. It’s not going to work.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Come on. What happened to facing your fears and overcoming them?”
“I never said I would do that. I’m perfectly happy locking my fears in the closet and pretending they don’t exist.”
“Ah, denial. The best way to go through life.”
“Slap it on a T-shirt and call me Egypt.”
Laughter burst from my chest at her unexpected pun. I’d heard it before, but it was better coming from her.
Everything was better coming from her.
Her knee grazed mine as she shifted in her seat. My smile vanished, and it took all my willpower not to jerk my leg away.
I’d done a decent job of keeping things professional the past few weeks (minus my unplanned detour to her place on Sunday). The occasional flirtatious remark slipped out here or there, but they were harmless.
However, it was easier to stay professional when we were in the studio. It was a hell of a lot harder when we were sitting next to each other in a dark, private theatre.
Every time we moved, we risked brushing against each other. The anticipation of those light touches was more stressful than the jump scares in a horror film. Plus, the faint coconut scent of her shampoo- my guest shampoo-lingered hours later. It made me want to bury my face and hands in her hair, which would be deeply un professional.
Second note to self: Restock guest toiletries with unscented products. Or better yet, with Lynx.
My father had worn Lynx exclusively since I was born, and it was the ultimate attraction killer.
Who wanted to kiss someone that smelled like their dad? No one.
“Let’s make a deal,” I said. “You watch this with me, and I’ll forfeit the rest of my choices for the night. We can watch as many heist comedies as you want.”
“Nice try. By the time it’s over, it’ll be time for bed.” Scarlett shook her head. “No deal.”
Dammit. I was hoping she’d overlook that.
“Fine. I’ll fetch you pistachio ice cream from the kitchen.”
“You don’t have pistachio ice cream. I checked.”
“When did you…? Never mind.” I mentally flipped through my other options. “Okay. If you watch the entire movie with me tonight, I’ll give you a pass for a future favor. Any favor you want.” I held out my hand. “Pinky promise.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “What are we, eight?”
But she was thinking about it. I could tell by the furrow between her brows as she looked up to the left.
Left meant she was pondering something. Right meant she was lying.
It was alarming how well I could read her after only a month.
“Any favor?”
I held back a triumphant grin. “Any favor as long as it’s not illegal.” I paused. “Well, depending on the activity, I could be persuaded even if it is illegal.”
“Good to know your morals, Donovan.” Scarlett tapped her fingers against the armrest before she hooked her pinky around mine. “You have a deal.”
Whatever favor I’d have to grant in the future was worth it for the sheer entertainment value of seeing her overreact to every tiny thing for the next ninety-five minutes.
“Oh my God.” Scarlett peeked out from between her fingers, her eyes huge. Onscreen, the scared-but-determined-looking housewife inched upstairs, the wood creaking menacingly beneath her feet. “Why is she going to the attic? It makes no sense! If I heard strange noises coming from my house, the last thing I’d do is investigate alone.”
“Maybe she’s braver than you.”
“You mean stupider.”
“Every brave act is stupid until it succeeds.”
“You- aaah!”
The scene’s ominous soundtrack crescendoed. Scarlett screamed and dove for me, burying her face in my shoulder and clutching my arm so hard I swore my circulation cut off.
“What happened? Did she die?
What’s going on?”
Her muffled panic was drowned out by my laughter. I couldn’t help it. Scarlett was usually so reserved and put together that seeing her lose it over a cheesy horror film was almost better than winning a match.
Almost.
Once the music calmed and it turned out there was nothing in the attic except for a creepy old chest, Scarlett lifted her head to glare at me.
“Stop laughing.”
“Your scream,” I choked out, my shoulders shaking. “I should’ve recorded it. Priceless.”
She shoved my arm in retaliation, but I barely felt it. Apparently, amusement was the greatest insulator against pain.
“You’re a terrible host,” she huffed. “Polite hosts don’t- aaahhhhhh!”
This time, there was a jump scare onscreen. Scarlett shoved her face into my shoulder again, and my laughter escalated into full-blown guffaws.
She spent the remainder of the movie attached to my side, peeking out occasionally when the sounds were calm and using my torso as a shield when they weren’t.
“This does not count as watching the movie,” I said. “You might as well be listening to an audiobook instead.”
Despite my words, I didn’t mind. Her hands were warm against my skin, and I liked the way she curled into me.
“Is it over?” she asked when the closing credits started rolling.
“Yes, you coward. You can come out from your hiding spot now. And by hiding spot, I mean the area between the seat and my back.”
Scarlett detached herself from me with great dignity, or as much dignity as one could muster with tousled hair and red cheeks.
“Great.” She straightened her top, the picture of prim elegance once more. “Tell anyone about this, and I will…”
“Scream some more?” I grinned. At this point, I was immune to her glares. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were a wuss when it comes to horror. I assume you’ve never performed in any spooky ballets.”
“Actually, I performed in
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.