Page 6 of A Lucky Shot

Cass lit up. “There’s a new indie film fest in the West End next month, and I bet there’s a fun run Sunday morning for Jill while Libs and I sleep in.”

“Next month?” Jill said and paused her scroll of the flight list.

“We can look for a race with a cute shirt,” Libby pressed, and Cass snickered.

Movies for them, and a race for Jill. Maybe a spa visit for the three of them? It sounded perfect.

Jill looked both nauseated and determined. “Okay, one month from now. Let’s do this,” she said, and tipped her head back down to her phone. “Ha, flight sale.” Jill flashed her screen with a triumphant grin.

A pleasant surge rolled through Cass. This trip had been hypothetical for almost a year. She didn’t think it would happen.

Cass beamed. “When are the flights?”

The weekend unfolded, exactly as Jill had planned. Spa treatments leached every ounce of tension out of them, even though Libby complained the seaweed wrap made her feel more like a sushi roll rather than detoxified. A tasting menu at dinner, that Cass thought was more of a social media influencer’s dream than a foodie’s dream. Then a 10k race in the morning for Jill, complete with a cute shirt.

Even though everything was perfect, Cass didn’t think Jill would talk to either her or Libby ever again.

The theatre had seen better days. Generations of feet had worn the lobby’s blue-and-green patterned carpets threadbare, and the scent of fake butter and stale popcorn suffused the poorly circulated air. The jacquard curtains that bordered the screen had faded splotches where the spotlights had shone for decades. Cass had to squint through most of the film, the projector’s bulb on its last legs, and had sunk deep into a seat that had lost its springs two prime ministers ago. But none of that mattered.

The film played out with a creeping dread that crawled up the back of her neck and down her throat, the negative space layering a cold eeriness over every minute, changing the meaning of the scene before. Her blood pressure had spiked a dozen times, and her fingers were still getting circulation back from Jill gripping them. Cass had gasped out loud at the end. Not from a jump scare, but from the lack of oxygen as she held her breath, waiting for the characters to break out of the futile prison of their own making. She’d been riveted from the opening credits to curtain close.

“That was brilliant. The use of shadow? Silence? The waiting?” Cass gushed to her friends as they spilled out of the theatre and into the lobby. She pressed the back of her freezing fingers to her flushed cheeks. “What did you think?”

“That was terrible,” Jill answered, still shaking and sounding queasy. “I hate you both. Forever.”

“You love us. And if you need an extra boost of energy at the race tomorrow, you can just think about the ending,” Libby said, grinning.

“That is not helpful!” Jill squeaked. “I have to pee.”

Cass gave Jill a reassuring squeeze, then pulled Libby into a triple hug. “I’ll wait here and find our next movie, and I promise nothing scary enough to give you nightmares.”

“Won’t be a problem. I don’t think I’m sleeping for the next six months, anyway.”

Libby supported Jill to the washrooms, where there was more light and therefore less terrifying, and Cass turned her attention back to the programme.

Oblivion was hands down the best indie film she’d seen in the last few years, even with its rough spots. If it had been playing again, she would have jumped into the next screening. It had already been asking a lot to get scaredy-cat Jill to see the horror film they’d just left, and Libby had put in a request to see a rom-com.

No romances to be had, comedic or otherwise, but if they left now, they could hit a dark comedy. The reviews were mixed, but she’d worked with the guy who had done the sound design.

Actually, the dark comedy wouldn’t be comforting enough, and Cass searched the list for the sci-fi she knew was playing in a couple hours.

“Not a bad line up this year.”

The voice of raw silk spoke from just above her shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered shut to let it sink in. She almost wanted to break into song, so sure that his smooth low tones would complement her clear soprano. When none came, she turned to follow the words, and her own stopped.

Eyes like green ice narrowed down at her through fine black lashes. His thick black hair shagged in unruly waves around his face, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamonds. An old long-sleeved concert tee clung to his crossed arms, and distressed jeans hugged his long legs, all faded, all black, and showing off his sinuous frame. A climber’s body. No, with how he moved with a casual grace, a dancer’s body. Panther-like, purposeful. Like he knew exactly how he took up space, with that half-scowl, half-smile looking nothing short of trouble. Or a good time.

Or both.

She blinked twice and cleared her throat. “It’s looking really good.”

CHAPTER TWO

JOSH

He leaned into the corner, watching shell-shocked attendees exit the theatre. A few people looked pale, but that could just as easily be the tail end of a cloudy winter as lingering fear. He was too far away to hear anything, but it didn’t matter. No one was talking.

Was that good? Or bad? Fuck.

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