Page 60 of Bend & Break
“Nope,” he says, popping thepobnoxiously. “Because I, unlike your textbook, actually care about your well-being. And”—he hops off the bed with way too much enthusiasm—“I have a surprise.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why do those words sound like a threat coming from you?”
“Because you have trust issues.” He yanks open the closet and starts rifling through my things.
“Hey—” I sit up straighter. “That’s my closet.”
“Correction,” he says, pulling something free from the hanger, “this is yourwardrobe of date night attire.” He turns, holding up a soft knit sweater dress in one hand and a pair of tights in the other. “Tonight, you’re not Blake the Exhausted Engineer or Blake the Murder Detective. Tonight, you’re Blake the Hot Girl Who Lets Me Take Her Somewhere Fun.”
I blink at him. Then at the clothes. Then back at him. “You’ve officially lost it.”
“Lost it ages ago.” He lays the outfit on the bed with exaggerated care, then winks. “But you’re going to thank me when you see where we’re going.”
“Not happening.” I flop back against the pillows.
Mads crosses his arms, mock-offended. “Wow. Zero faith. I thought we were building something here.”
“We are. It’s called boundaries.”
He huffs out a laugh, dropping onto the bed beside me again. “C’mon, Blue. Humor me. One night. If you hate it, you can go right back to chewing pens and glaring at textbooks you’re not actually reading. But I’m betting you won’t.”
I roll my eyes, but his grin is relentless, practically forcing me to cave.
I sigh, dragging it out just to watch him squirm. “Fine. But only if you tell me where we’re going.”
His expression twists into something wicked. “Drive-in horror marathon. Triple feature. Popcorn the size of your torso. You, me, and an obscene amount of candy.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
The fact that he even thought of this does make me feel better, but I can’t resist giving him shit. I feel like it’s our thing.
“Absolutely. Nothing says self-care like gore and gummy worms.”
I groan, but I swing my legs off the bed and snatch the clothes from where he laid them out. “You’resopushy.”
“It’s strangely effective.” He doesn’t move, just sits there watching me with his arms crossed, leaning against the headboard like he’s settling in for a show.
I hold the sweater dress up between us. “You’re not seriously planning to just sit there staring at me while I change.”
“Why not?” The look he gives me is pure sex, his voice dropping a register to match. “Already seen most of what’s under there.”
My face heats instantly. “Mads.”
“Yes, Blake?” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, closing the distance between us in a few strides.
I shove him in the chest, hard enough that he stumbles a step back. “Out.”
He laughs the whole way to the door, throwing me a wink over his shoulder as I slam it shut.
The drive takes lessthan twenty minutes. When we pull into the gravel lot, strings of orange lights loop between poles, flickering in the crisp night air, and carved pumpkins glow along the edges of the lot, their crooked grins glowing menacingly. The massive screen looms at the far end, already playing the countdown reel.
Cars are lined up in rows, some with trunks popped open and blankets piled up, others with lawn chairs set up like makeshift living rooms. The smell of popcorn drifts from the concession stand. Kids run around in hoodies, faces painted like skeletons, plastic fangs catching in what little light there is when they laugh.
Mads finds a spot halfway back, easing his SUV into place at an angle that gives us a perfect view. He backs it in, the rear hatch facing the screen, and kills the engine. When he glances over, I know he’s waiting for me to admit he was right. I don’t—at least not out loud—but my chest loosens anyway when I take in the scene. It’s loud, chaotic, festive—and for once has nothing to do with murder or midterms.
He pops the hatch, and we climb into the back. The mess of blankets he crammed in earlier gets tossed around until he finally wrestles them into something that actually resembles a nest. Satisfied, he hops out and heads for the concession stand, leaving me sprawled in the back to ponder how the fuck we got from where we were less than a month ago tohere.
When he finally comes back, he hands me a bag of popcorn big enough to drown someone in.
