Page 24 of Scary In Love
“It’s overdone. They’re so predictable in their movements, their pacing. You can always tell when they’re going to switch things up and lunge for you. Also not a fan of anything that relies on making disabilities and disfigurement seem scary. That never sits right with me.”
“Me neither. So what would really terrify you?” he asks, and I twist to face him. He’s closer than I realised, and I rest my bum against the edge of the desk.
“Your double bluffs are great. When I walk into a new room, I’m immediately checking behind me, because I know that’s where people will jump out from. You have the guy under the sofa, and those actors hidden in the hallways. They’re fantastic because nobody expects them to be there.”
“We built a fake wall, and they hide behind the paintings. Everyone wants a part there.”
“How did you recruit your actors?” My biggest worry about visiting was that I might see familiar faces, family of residents, or people from school I never talk to.
“A few are friends from London who catch the train up. Most are local volunteers, or students from the drama school in Bramwell. People do it because they love scaring, or it’s good acting experience.”
“I had no idea so many people in Crowmorne were into Halloween.”
“Guess you’re not the only creep in town after all.” His movements are subtle, but I feel the heat of him as he shifts closer. “I feel like you should have applied.”
“I’d rather be on the receiving end of the scaring,” I tell him.
He reaches between us to twist a strand of my hair around his finger, and I swallow hard.
“You like it when things are out of your control.”
It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact. He’s always watching carefully, making observations that go beyond the words coming out of my mouth. He did it when he said I wasn’t vanilla, honing straight in on my preferences from just a little flirting.
His close attention means he’s learning a lot about me, but I still know very little about him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he says, still playing with my hair.
“Most people would assume that scare actors are sick fucks who love to mess with people. But you seem like a genuinely nice guy.”
“That’s not a question.”
“I guess I’m asking, are you a nice guy or a sick fuck?”
He traces his finger down the column of my throat.
“Heaven forbid a man wants to be both.”
He nudges the toe of my boot with his shoe, and I shift to make room for him to step between my legs. This close, I have to tip my head back to look up at him.
Fuck, he’s so gorgeous. A girl could lose her grip on reality for a man like Mason. Maybe I already am.
His thighs press against the inside of mine, his hands sweeping my hair back over my shoulders. He drags them down the length of my arms, resting them on top of where I’m gripping the edge of the desk. This is the most contact we’ve had since he stroked the back of my knee, but I want more.
“Scaring people in real life makes you an asshole, but scaring people for a job is…” He falters, searching for the best way to finish his sentence. “Unique. I’ve always loved acting and improv. Creating work that makes people feel something is a rush. That feeling just happens to be fear in this scenario.”
“Do you get off on it?” I ask, desperate to know if his brain is wired the same way mine is.
“It gives me a rush, but I’m not working every night with a hard-on, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Well, if I wasn’t thinking about his dick before, I definitely am now.
“Hey, Jenna. My eyes are up here.”
Can you blame a girl for glancing downwards?
“What about you?” he asks. “Does it turn you on? Being scared.”
