Page 15 of Haunt the Mall

I dialed the theater, then twisted my necklace.

Someone, not my spider man, answered. “Westbrook Cineplex. How can I help you?”

“Hey, can I speak to a manager?” The edge of the vanity counter dug into my ass. “Nothing scary, I promise.”

“Okay.” They sounded dubious about that, but patched me through.

Spider-guy’s sexy voice swept through my phone. “Hello there, Miss Silver.”

I smiled, goosebumps rising across my arms. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Maybe I’m psychic.”

“Or you have caller ID.” He also could’ve saved my contact info from the profile I’d made to buy tickets online, presuming he wanted to talk more extensively.

“You’re onto me,” he said. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want to do the movie pass.” And you, I wanted to add.

His chuckle tickled my cheek. “You know you could sign up through the app.”

Was he baiting me? It certainly sounded like he was smiling.

I paced around the bathroom. “I wasn’t sure if you got commissions on that kind of thing. After all, you’re the one who convinced me.”

“What else can I talk you into?” he purred.

Fuck. Almost anything.

I dropped my necklace and glanced over my shoulder. No one was up here. The point of my cross pricked my chest. “I don’t know. What are you thinking?”

“Nothing I can repeat on a work line,” he said.

I chuckled and leaned against the wall. “Is anyone listening?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I hear breathing.”

I inhaled deeply, relishing the idea of him pulling me into the shadows of the theater to ravish me in secret. A small spider web in the corner of the bathroom caught my eye. Perhaps we did have a tiny audience. “How can you be sure that isn’t me?”

“Are you spying on me?” he teased.

“No.” But if I kept trying to run into him at the theater, did that constitute stalking? “I just really like movies.”

“Me too,” he said softly.

But did he like me?

“Which movie are you seeing tonight?” he asked.

“The Moon Pact,” I said.

He snorted a laugh.

I waved at the empty bathroom. “It looks fun.”

“It does.” His voice dripped with enthusiastic sarcasm as he typed. But there weren’t infinite scary masterpieces like The Widow on the marquee. “How many tickets?” he asked.

“Two.”

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