Page 15 of Scary In Love
“It’s Mason. We met last week. At the Miller house?”
Her makeup is more natural than the last time I saw her, but those lips are just as full and pretty. I watch them open and close, pinch into a pout, then break into a smile as her eyes run the length of my body.
“How could I forget? You still have blood on your face.”
She reaches for my cheek, then quickly pulls her hand back without touching me. I rub at the spot she’s been looking at, though I’m sure it does nothing.
“It’s the fake stuff. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid. Can never get it all off before I have to put it back on the next night. How are you? How’s the knee?”
“It’s fine.” She lifts her foot, extending and retracting her leg to prove it. “Think I have your magic ice-pack to thank for that.”
She’s wearing dark green trousers with clean white trainers, and a grey zipped-up hoodie underneath her black leather jacket. It’s a totally different look to the outfit I saw her in last week, but still cute as fuck.
I’ve had plenty of time to think about what I’d say when—if—I saw her again, but now I’m standing face to face with her, words fail me. The hold this woman has over me is unreal. I’m an actor, for fuck’s sake. I’m never speechless, but I can’t stop staring.
“Pumpkin spice latte,” the barista calls out. Jenna takes it with a warm thank you.
“Well,” she says awkwardly, her lips pinching together. “Nice to see you again.”
“Do you have plans today?” I blurt out.
She looks down at her feet. “I’m heading to work.”
“Can I walk you there?”
A passing interaction isn’t going to cut it for me. I’ll do anything to spend a little more time in her company.
Jenna stares up at me, a little crease forming between her brows. Her head tips one way, then the other, before she shrugs and her frown turns into a smile. “Sure. Why not?”
She heads for the door, and I bounce on my heels while waiting for my coffee, then almost knock a chair over in a hurry to catch up with her.
Late autumn sun warms the street, and she basks in it as she tucks her other earbud away.
She was gorgeous at night, but by day she’s something else entirely. A little softer, but with plenty of clues to her personality, if you’re looking for them, which I am.
A slick of black eyeliner. Dark red nails. A pin on her jacket of a skeleton reading a book. A pendant at the hollow of her throat that I mistake for a cross, but is actually a dagger.
No fishnets, unfortunately.
“You haven’t been back to the house.”
“Have you been watching out for me?”
“Maybe.”
She takes a tentative sip of her latte to hide her smile. I’m coming on strong, but she has no idea how disappointing it is when every guest who walks through that door isn’t her.
“I was hoping I’d run into you in better circumstances.”
“I have tickets for Wednesday night, so you might see me then.”
“Another date?”
Please say no.
“Friend from work.”
“Hopefully, this one is braver than the last guy.”
