Michael
“Look at your menu,” she says. I keep my eyes on her for a few seconds longer than necessary, just to rattle her, before finally glancing down.
“What’s good here?” I ask.
“Everything.”
I raise a brow. “Everything?”
“Trust me. I’ve had nearly everything on this menu, and it’s all good. You can’t go wrong.”
She doesn’t look up when she says it. Her attention stays on the menu, and for the first time tonight, she seems a little less tense. A server steps up to the table.
“Hi, I’m Megan. How are you tonight?”
Her attention lands squarely on me.
“We’re good,” I say. “You?”
“I’m good. It’s a little busy tonight, but that’s Saturdays for you.” She smiles again—at me.
Katie might as well be invisible. I reach across the table and take Katie’s hand. The server’s eyes finally flick down to where our hands are joined.
“I bet,” I say.
When I look back at Katie, she’s grinning at me.
“I’ll take a Dr. Pepper,” she says.
The server finally shifts her attention to her. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“And for you, sir?”
“Water with lemon.”
The server walks away, and Katie says, “That was fun.”
I’m still holding her hand. She hasn’t tried to move it, so I lace our fingers together. She lets me.
“Yeah?” I lean toward her across the table. “I don’t need another woman thinking there’s even a possibility.”
“Okay, stalker. I might sort of like you,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Give it time, Doll.”
We order. She tells me about her job, and I give her the legitimate details of mine. The sanitized version—CEO of Amato Operations, real estate, development, port shipments, investments. She only insults me a few times.
By the time the check comes, she’s been talking for ten minutes straight about a summer she spent in Spain through a travel-abroad program in college.
I’m barely listening. I’m watching her. Everything about her is goddamn mesmerizing.
Her eyes. Her curls. The way she scrunches her nose when she’s trying to remember something she wants to say.
She’s telling me about a cafe in Barcelona and how she wants to go back someday. The last time I was in Barcelona, I was there to collect a debt from a man who thought he could ignore me. He learned otherwise. Of course, I can’t tell her that.
So I settle for, “I’ve been there a few times for work.”
“I bet you get to travel all around,” she says as we stand to leave.
“Yeah. I’ve been pretty much everywhere.”
It’s true. My job takes me to every corner of the world.
“I’m so jealous.”
We step outside, and she slips her arm through mine. I smile to myself. I knew it was only a matter of time.
“Where next?” she asks.
I nod toward the theater across the street.
Her eyes follow the motion. “The movie theater?”
“Yep. New horror movie’s playing.”
“Stalker,” she deadpans.
I shrug. She loves slasher films. Her social media made that clear. She’s been talking about this one for weeks.
I lean down so my mouth is close to her ear. “I think you secretly like that I stalked you.”
Her breath catches, and she shoves me back. “Get over yourself.”
“Come on. We don’t want to miss the previews. I know how much you like those.”
I wink and drape my arm over her shoulders. She lets it happen. By the time we reach the ticket line, she slips out from under it and threads her fingers through mine. I smile to myself but don’t look at her. She steps a little closer.
At the ticket window, I say, “Two for Camp Summerhill.”
The kid behind the glass looks at me. He does a double take when he sees Katie.
“Ms. Miller!”
Here we go again.
“Justin,” she says, letting go of my hand. “Hi.”
“You watch horror movies?” the kid asks.
Katie shrugs. “Uh, yeah. They’re fun.”
His attention drifts to me. I can practically see the moment he realizes I’m not only standing next to her. I’m with her.
“Is this your boyfriend?”
Katie turns to me, eyes wide. The question hangs there for a second. I step forward and lean toward the ticket window, one hand resting casually on the counter.
“Here’s my card, kid.”
The card slides through the slot. The kid takes it slowly. I straighten and glance down at Katie. When I straighten again, Katie’s still looking at me. Waiting for me to correct him. I don’t. He slides the card and two tickets back through the slot.
“Enjoy the movie.”
Katie gives him a tight smile. “See you Monday, Justin.”
Before the kid can say another word, she grabs my wrist and pulls me away from the window. I let her. Mostly because watching Katie Miller panic in public is quickly becoming one of my favorite hobbies. By the time we reach the lobby, she finally releases me and turns around.
“Next time,” she says under her breath, “we are going to a different town.”
Next time. I put my hands in my pockets, a slow grin pulling at my mouth.
“Next time?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Oh, please. Don’t act like you didn’t know there was going to be a next time.”
I step closer to her.
“I didn’t,” I say calmly.
She narrows her eyes.
I lean down slightly, lowering my voice.
“I mean, I assumed.”
She shoves me again. I catch her wrist this time and pull her toward me. Her body presses against my chest, and she lets out a quiet breath that she clearly wasn’t planning on.
“What if,” I murmur, “instead of shoving me, you give in and let me put my arms around you?”
She swallows and looks up at me. Her wrist is trapped gently between us, and her pulse is racing so hard I can feel it through my fingers. I look down at it.
“Katie,” I say.
Her breath catches again.
“You’re not very good at pretending you don’t like me.”
“Let’s just go watch the movie,” she says.
I nod and step back, but I don’t let go of her hand. My fingers stay threaded through hers as I guide her toward the theater doors. She doesn’t pull away.
I steer us toward the hallway that leads to the screens and push open the door with my shoulder.
The theater is dim already, previews flashing across the screen.
I find seats near the back, dead center.
Best view in the place. I let her sit first. My hand finally slips from hers long enough for her to settle into the seat, but the moment I drop beside her, our fingers find each other again.
Katie stares straight ahead at the screen, her posture a little too straight.
I lean back in my seat, watching the light from the screen flicker across her face.
The movie starts, and within the first five minutes it’s already a bloodbath.
Classic summer camp slasher setup. A group of teenagers, a dark forest, and the world’s worst decision-making skills.
Katie’s social media told me she likes horror movies. Which is interesting because right now she has a hand covering her eyes. Not completely, but enough that she can peek through her fingers. I bite the inside of my cheek.
The killer appears behind a girl brushing her teeth in a cabin bathroom. Katie gasps and grabs my arm, clutching my bicep as if she’s about to climb me like a tree. A second later she buries her face into my shoulder. Her fingers tighten in my sleeve.
“I thought you enjoyed horror movies,” I murmur.
“I do,” she whispers into my arm.
Another scream erupts from the screen. Her grip tightens. I look down at the top of her head and grin.
In the span of ninety minutes, Katie screams at least five times.
Every single one of them was loud enough that I’m pretty sure half the theater knows exactly where we’re sitting.
She hasn’t let go of my arm once. Her fingers stay wrapped around my bicep, and honestly, I’m not convinced she actually saw half the movie.
Most of it she spent hiding in my shirt.
When the credits roll, Katie finally lets go of my arm.
My bicep might actually be numb. We file out with the rest of the theater, and as we step into the aisle, I reach my hand back without looking.
Her fingers slide into mine. By the time we reach the lobby, she looks up at me, completely serious.
“That was really good.”
I lose it. I bend over laughing, one hand braced on my knee as the sound bursts out of me.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“What?” she asks, completely serious.
“You didn’t even watch most of it.”
“Whatever. Yes, I did.”
She stares at me, mimicking a petulant child who refuses to admit she’s wrong. It’s adorable.
We’re out on the street now, the night air cool after the crowded theater. I can’t help myself. I hook a hand around her waist and pull her against me.
“Doll,” I say, trying not to laugh again, “I’m pretty sure my shirt has an imprint of your face on it.”
I’ve got both arms wrapped around her waist now, and she doesn’t move. Her hands rest against my chest as she tilts her head back to look at me.
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she says.
I chuckle. A curl has fallen across her brow. I reach up and brush it aside, my fingers grazing her temple before sliding down the curve of her cheek. My hand settles on her jaw and I tip her chin up. Her breath catches, and I kiss her.
For the briefest second she freezes in surprise, but then she melts. Her lips soften beneath mine, and her hands press into my chest as she leans into the kiss. The small sound she makes against my mouth is enough to make my arm tighten around her waist, pulling her closer.
She kisses me back. It’s not cautiously or shyly. Her lips move against mine with a sudden certainty that sends heat straight through me as her hands shift slightly against my chest as she leans closer.