Page 36 of Pucking the Grump

“Right. Sorry. Focused. Let’s go.”

I poke my head out of the stairwell, checking both ways to ensure the long hallway is deserted, before waving Stone after me. He follows, guiding the heavy door shut with an almost silent click before following in my footsteps. We dash quietly past the family bathroom, where he quickly drops his phone, then on to the storage room, which is thankfully empty and giving off its usual haunted vibes.

Honestly, the haunted vibes I could do without, but the general creepiness of this part of the complex should lend authenticity to our claim. And it’s not like we’re the only people who’ve ever been accidentally locked in. It happened to Tank last year, and Grammercy, the transfer from Louisiana, just last week, not long after we freed Tank and Steph from the bathroom. The poor guy was trapped in the storage room for so long, he had to pee in his water bottle.

There’s definitely been enough trouble with this punch code door that they should have replaced it, or just taken it off the hinges, years ago. I mean, who’s going to steal the grungy old stuff the team stores in the overflow area anyway?

As we slip into the storage room and I pull the door shut behind us, I’m reminded again of how icky it is in here. The large, cinder block room is dim, lit only by the pale light filtering in through the high windows on the far wall. It stinks of moldy socks, must, and degrading plastic, and there are boxes everywhere. They fill nearly every shelf, all the way to the ceiling, and it doesn’t take me long to find one labelled “1980s. Scarves. Bucky.”

“There,” I say, pointing to the sagging cardboard on a shelf just out of my reach. “We’ll say I was going to grab a few vintage scarves to give to the kids at my volunteer gig. Ten-year-old girls like cool old clothes, right?” I wrinkle my nose. “Or, in this case, kind of creepy old clothes…”

“Totally. My niece is way into that stuff, and she’s only eight. She always wants to hit the thrift stores when she and my sister, Katie, come down to Portland to visit.” Stone leans against the wall by a pile of moldy towels I can’t understand why anyone thought were worth saving, looking pleased with himself. And with me. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a genius? I mean, legit. Genius.”

I can’t help preening, just a little bit, even as I wave him off. “Stop. I’m just glad I got the idea when I did and caught you on your way in. If you’d rushed into that meeting, it would have been too late.”

“Totally.” He nods for a beat before his brow slowly furrows. “So, how am I getting to the meeting before it ends? Since neither of us has a phone? And the walls are too thick for anyone to hear us scream?”

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Open it again.

“We could…” I trail off as I begin to suspect I may have made a tactical error. “Or maybe…” I exhale, tension creeping in to tighten my jaw as I confess, “Okay, so maybe there’s a teensy tiny flaw in my plan.”

Stone’s shoulders begin to shake.

“Don’t laugh,” I warn him, torn between the urge to freak out about being trapped in a haunted room and finding our situation at least a little amusing. “This isn’t funny.”

“Oh, but it is,” he says, snickering in earnest now.

“Stone, I swear, if you don’t?—”

“You should see your face.” He’s starting to tear up now, he apparently finds this so hilarious. “I’ve never seen you this pale before, Bossy. Not even last February, after a long, cold Oregon winter. You’re actually scared of ghosts, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” I say. “Ghosts are scary. I never believed in them until I started working here, but now I do, and I don’t like it. Or them.” A loud thunk sounds from the back of the room, making me suck in a breath and clutch a hand to my chest. “Oh my God, what was that?”

Stone bends over, bracing his hands on his knees as he continues to lose his shit. “The ghosts. You pissed them off.”

“Stop!” I beg, biting my lip as I scan the shadowed room.

“Better tell them you were just kidding and want to be friends.”

“But I don’t,” I say, raising my voice as I add, “No offense, ghosties, but I don’t want to be friends. And I really do not want you to follow me home.” Another thunk sounds from the opposite corner, making me emit an unusually girly squeal and cross my legs extra tight. “Stop it, please, Mr. Ghost, or you’re going to make me pee my pants.”

Stone loses it completely then, sliding down the wall to chortle on the floor.

“You’re such a jerk!” I insist. But soon, I’m giggling, despite myself. The absurdity of the situation is too much to handle with a straight face. “Fine, keep laughing,” I add. “But when I wet myself and you’re trapped in here with my pee stink, you’ll be sorry.”

“Never,” he says, gasping as he makes an effort to regain control. He wipes his eyes, grinning up at me as he adds, “Never going to be sorry to be stuck with you, Lauder. Not in a million years.”

My heart flips as my grin fades away. Our eyes lock, and his smile vanishes, too, replaced by a moment of such raw, honest connection, I know there’s no going back from here. This is it, the moment we get real about what’s actually going on between us.

But before I confess that I’m starting to want more, no matter how scary and complicated “more” will probably be for us, the door creaks open. We both jerk our heads toward the sound as fluorescent light slants into the shadows.

A moment later, Tank’s massive frame fills the doorway as he leans in to ask in a slightly spooked voice, “Hello? Anyone in here?”

“Yes, us!” I say, my breath rushing out as I start toward him, Stone close behind me. “Thank God, Tank. We thought we were never getting out of here.”

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