19. Creature of the Night
19
Creature of the Night
The movie was a masterpiece. Its second half surged into advanced puppetry and prosthetics for the horrible creatures on-screen.
“I miss them making things,” I murmured, rubbing my chin on Victor’s sleeve. “Like creatures, you know what I mean?”
“I do. That’s why I love The Widow.” He scratched my leg and rested his cheek on the top of my head.
The monster inside of me wriggled, purring and giddy.
He loved the spider. Not me. I mean, we were in first date territory. But in my orgasm-rattled mind, it was linked.
“She is pretty magnificent,” I said. “And great marketing. Did every theater get one?”
“No, I knew somebody who could make it for a reasonable fee. I had to make certain promises to get her in, though,” he murmured, that sexy voice of his rumbling low.
This man loved being ominous, so naturally, I had to play with him.
“Blood sacrifice?” I suggested.
He lifted his head and gave me a wry look. “Not quite.”
“No feeding her after midnight?”
“She’s not a Gremlin,” he chided.
“Did you have to seduce people into memberships? Or was that more for fun?” I challenged, leaning closer.
“Kat,” he warned, but his smile told me he enjoyed it.
“What, then?” I raised my brows.
He swept his bangs aside and slunk his gaze away. “I…have to hit certain sales.”
“Oh.” Kinda mundane, like my own job, when I got down to it.
He nudged my knee. “That means I also had to ‘sacrifice’ other movies to show The Widow more often.”
“Ooh, diabolical. You really made a deal with the devil. How will people get their cultural enrichment without the option to see Real Fast Racers 7 at 3:15?” I teased.
He smirked and squeezed my thigh. “She’s worth it.”
“She is, indeed.” Oh great. One date and he had me speaking semi-formally. His hand was incredibly distracting. The only way to stop the swelling urge to pry open his mind and dig inside would be to move my leg out of his reach or still his hand with mine—and wasn’t it a bit early for hand-holding? Considering what we’d just done, he’d probably find it weird if I pulled away. Each time he played with my tights, he tugged my stupid heartstrings. Maybe it was my hormones talking. How else could he so easily puppet my feelings?
I glanced at the dividing wall by the entrance, similar to the one in the other theater where he’d pranked the audience with a stuffed spider. “You have a smaller spider too. Did you have to do anything for her?”
“Not really.” He walked his fingers between the crisscrosses in my tights to hopscotch on bare skin.
Why didn’t he answer questions with direct answers? Was he that determined to maintain an air of mystery? Or did he love them more than anything…including actually connecting with another human being?
I lowered my gaze. We connected physically, but maybe he didn’t want to talk much, let alone get to know me.
He’d met my sister, but the conversation had been pretty surface-level. He hadn’t asked me anything about myself tonight except if it was okay to hook up and what I liked to eat. Maybe he wanted to keep things light. Or in the dark, as it were.
It wasn’t like I’d pushed to know him either. I’d almost hooked up with him before I even knew his name, for fuck’s sake.
The idea of suppressing my desire to know him twisted my insides with the ruthlessness of a screwdriver. He wasn’t rejecting me. Just drawing boundaries, maybe.
“Where is she? Bitsy.” I swallowed hard around the building panic in my throat.
He smiled and shook his head. “I’m not telling.”
I sat up straight. Wait, was this a game? “She’s here, isn’t she?”
He’d said at another of our meetings that he hid her around the theater. I twisted around, scanning the railing, then the seats.
“Just enjoy the movie,” he purred, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
That was easy for him to say. There wasn’t a jump scare waiting for him around the corner. Would he involve his ‘minions’ in some nefarious deed? He smiled at the screen. I got the feeling he’d do any pranks himself. But when? And how? And if our date was good enough, would he give the spider plush to me?
The rest of the movie was amazing. It had blood, banter, and presumed boning—not to mention some quality sequel bait.
Despite a great movie, plenty of food, and an orgasm, I was incredibly uneasy. My leg jiggled as the lights came back up. Why weren’t the minions coming in to sweep up? Were they setting up something? Victor could pull a string as we left and dump fake blood or spider plushies on me in an ode to that famous prom scene in Carrie.
I knew it was unlikely. Yet my heart kept thumping.
He kissed the side of my head, then gathered our trash.
“I can help.” I reached for the pretzel case.
He snatched the wadded napkin from the lid, wrapped another napkin around it, and slipped it into his pocket.
Stunned, I blinked. “Did you…do you have a cum kink or something?”
His eyes widened, and he jerked back as if electrocuted. “No, I just didn’t want to dispose of this at work.”
“Okay.” But he was fine having sex here. Something was up, and I couldn’t tell if any of this was red-flag territory. Black flag, maybe, because he’d gotten some booty.
I shook my head at myself. It was time to go home. There were too many hormones and mysteries to be objective about this evening.
I stretched until my spine popped, then strolled up the stairs to check each aisle, half expecting beady little eyes to peer back at me.
Victor stood and frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Checking for the other spider, Bitsy.”
He chuckled and sauntered toward the side divide with his arms full of trash. “She’s a very evasive lady.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll stop looking.” I squinted at the high window the projector normally shone through. I could’ve sworn a shadow shifted behind the reflective glass. Was someone—or some thing up there, watching?
The crew couldn’t have seen us in the dark, but maybe…
Victor’s voice floated over the divider. “Kat, you coming?”
I had, already.
“Yeah,” I called. Did he want to end our date? Or did they need the theater for another showing?
I galloped down the stairs, tracing the top of the divider for balance. “Is Bits—eeee!”
The rest of my sentence trailed off in a shriek as something fuzzy danced over the railings and across my fingers. It was fucking fur. He got me.
“I can’t believe… Where was she hiding?” I laughed, holding a hand to my chest so my heart didn’t launch into his arms along with the spider.
Victor grinned up at me and wiggled the plushie’s limbs. “Would you like to guess?”
Where could she have been? The door hadn’t creaked open, so he hadn’t left to get her. I leaned on my forearms and frowned. “You didn’t hide her in the garbage, did you?”
“I would never.” He cradled the spider and stroked her bulbous body with the care of a villain in need of a contradiction. “She had a nice dark corner by the entrance.”
“You mean I walked right by her?”
He shrugged, his face aglow from the hall lights. “You were too busy looking at me.”
Well, fuck. He had it all figured out, didn’t he?
“I-I was excited about the movie.” I marched to him to squeeze Bitsy’s paw-arm-leg-thing. “Sometimes, I do love a mystery. But tonight, I wish I could’ve gotten to know this one better.”
“Maybe next time.” He blinked slowly and offered me a crooked smile.
“Next time?” My heart pounded harder despite the soft fur at my fingertips. Was he asking me out again? And would it be a date or a hookup session?
He stroked my arm. “Text me. We’ll meet you in theater thirteen.”
Ah, he wanted to make out during another movie. The idea wasn’t exactly unappealing. I fiddled with my cross and nodded. “Lucky number thirteen.”