Page 10 of Scary In Love
“I can try,” she says, taking hold of my arm and pushing up onto her feet.
7
Jenna
Icouldprobablyhobbleon my own, but it’s much nicer to lean into this tall, handsome stranger who smells utterly divine.
His costume is smart navy trousers and a matching waistcoat, over a white shirt he’s rolled up at the sleeves. On first impressions, he’s dapper, but when you look closely, he’s a little rough around the edges. His shirt is grubby and torn at the collar, and his face is a bloody mess, I assume from a scuffle.
Quite the mental image. Trust me to get horny thinking about two dudes fighting.
I grip his elbow, and he juggles carrying his kit bag and his axe in the other hand. I hadn’t noticed he was still carrying it when he first appeared on the scene, and why would I? All I could focus on was the face of the man on his knees in front of me.
If I hadn’t been in so much pain, I’d have hooked a leg over his shoulder and pulled him closer without thinking.
“What’s the axe for?” I ask.
“Oh, you know. Breaking and entering, chopping my enemies into pieces, that sort of thing.”
“Who are you supposed to be?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Mason.”
“Mason Miller.” I try to remember his portrait from the family gallery, but I’m certain I’d remember this face. “Are you The Boy?”
“No,” he laughs softly. “I’m Mason. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”
He leads me into a makeshift office, with an old table in one corner, and chairs on either side. The walls are dark in here too, which seems to be the theme of the house, but most are covered in schedules, posters, and health and safety notices similar to the ones we have at my work.
Mason guides me into a chair and sets his things down. He instructs me to hold the icepack in place while he pulls another chair around to prop my foot up on.
“You hang out there for a second, and I’ll just grab some paperwork. Necessary evil, I’m afraid.”
I silently curse Peter as I try to get comfortable. This is not how I wanted tonight to go at all.
Mason flips through a folder and makes a surprised humming noise, uncapping his pen with his teeth. “Well, look at that. You’ve popped my cherry.”
“Pardon?”
“First incident form of the haunt.” He points to the number in the corner of the form. “001.”
“Well, I’d be honoured if I weren’t so annoyed. I’ve been looking forward to tonight for months.”
“Really?”
His expression is endearing, and I hope he’s better at scaring than first aid. All I’m getting right now are excited puppy vibes.
“Are you kidding me? Halloween is my favourite holiday. I’ve waited my whole life for a look inside this house, and it’s already over. This is officially the worst date I’ve ever been on.”
He sets another chair down in front of me and takes a seat, leaning in to rest his palm on my ankle. It’s warm and weighty, and his fingers curl around me. We both look down at where his thumb strokes a patch of my skin, though he doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it at first.
“I’ll make sure you get free tickets so you can visit again,” he says, pulling away and putting pen to paper. “What’s your name?”
“Jenna Laing.” I spell it out for him, knowing how often people miss the‘I’.
“Date of birth?”
“September 13th, 1995.”
