Chapter 3
THREE
WARREN
This is how I’m rewarded for being a supportive brother: locked in a haunted house with a woman fixing to bathe me in holy water.
I’m not usually one to cave to peer pressure, but when all the other guys bought their tickets, the last thing I wanted was to be the grumpy asshole refusing to have fun.
Not that I’m having any.
It smells like a frat house, the floors are sticky, and it’s too fucking loud. When some punk tried to get the drop on me halfway, I took my chances and snuck off somewhere quiet. I’d spotted the one-way lock on the outside of the storeroom before sneaking in here.
My new friend did not.
“What do you mean, our only way out?” Her voice is raspy and soft all at once, honeyed and sharp.
“I mean we’re stuck. The lock is on the outside. Did you not see the bucket propping the door open?”
“No.” Sarcasm drips from her. “If you hadn’t noticed, it’s pretty dark in here.”
“Clearly,” I grunt. She’s right, it’s pitch black, not a sliver of light to be found. “This is great, good job.”
Something between a scoff and a laugh tumbles out of her mouth. “Are you saying this is my fault?”
“No. I’m implying it.”
The door handle rattles again before her fists bang heavily on the door while she shouts and hollers. “We’re in here! Hello? Help! Anyone?”
“The music is too loud,” I call over the racket. “Save your energy.”
“How about some help?”
“You got us into this mess.” I shrug, a pointless move, all things considering.
“God, you’re a charmer,” she bites. “What are you doing in here alone anyway? If you try anything weird, I know self-defense.”
“You’re the one who violated my personal space.” I push off the shelf she shoved me into. I’d presumed I wouldn’t need my phone or be at the fair for long, so I left it in my truck. Fucking hindsight. “Rather than getting yourself all worked up, why don’t you call someone?”
Crickets.
“You’re not doing anything,” I point out bluntly.
“I stored my bag in a locker at the entrance,” she murmurs, feet scuffing on the floor.
Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I exhale a slow breath. “Perfect. Fucking perfect.”
After the month I’ve had at work and being forced to mingle with my brother’s friends, my mental bandwidth is at max capacity.
“There’s no need to be rude. Where’s your phone?”
“Not with me, obviously.” I attempt and fail to hide my jaded attitude.
Something jabs me in the chest.
“Did you just poke me?” I step back.
“Yes. I’m sorry for ruining your pity-party-for-one. Believe me, the last place I’d like to be is in here with an impolite.” Poke. “Patronizing.” Poke. “Asshat who lurks at funfairs.”
The heat of her body hits me as she closes the distance, chest brushing mine. Though the color of her eyes is a mystery, they’re definitely throwing daggers my way. Something floral floats through the air, subtly sweet, the opposite of the dressing down she’s giving me.
“Quit pointing fingers so we can figure out how to get out of here,” she whispers menacingly.
It shouldn’t turn me on, but it does, especially when she stomps her foot in frustration. When was the last time anyone got this much of a reaction out of me?
“Are you done?” Shadows hide my smirk or she might test her self-defense moves.
Her breath washes over my face, a combination of mint and spiced wine. “Far from it.”
If an emergency arises, I’m more than capable of kicking the door down. Not wanting to be slapped with a bill for damages, though, I keep my boots firmly on the floor.
Settling against the shelf, I fold my arms. “Listen, my friends will probably be searching for me.” Unfortunately. “And I’m sure your boyfriend is wondering where you are. Let’s just hang tight. We’re not dying in here.”
“Friends,” she mutters. “I came here with my friends.”
I don’t ask if this means she’s single. Not my business, nor should it interest me.
An awkward silence stretches between us. The eerie soundtrack from outside echoes through the door, and every so often, a chorus of screams sounds. She’s either unaware of how close she’s still standing to me or is preparing to strangle me.
Places like this are not my idea of fun. Truthfully, I rarely socialize, only leaving the house for work and seeing my family regularly enough they don’t report me missing. I’m only here for my brother, and after we were done with the haunted house, I had my excuse to leave at the ready.
I’m going to blame the beer and the fact I have no choice but to be stuck in here with this woman for my next question.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitates. “Why?”
I sigh. “Because referring to you as The-Woman-Who-Trapped-Us-In-Here might piss you off.”
“Oh, that ship sailed the moment you opened your mouth.”
“God.” I swipe a hand through my hair. “You’re infuriating.”
She scoffs. “Me? You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine.”
There’s a swish of fabric and another stomp of her foot, and then we’re both silent before she reluctantly says, “Harriet.”
“Warren.”
“Not nice to meet you, Warren.” I hear her grin, and curiosity has me wondering what it looks like. All in her eyes? Closed mouth? Toothy and wide?
“You said you came here with your friends?”
She shuffles, either uncomfortable or restless. “Yeah. It’s actually my birthday.”
My eyebrows jump. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you, um, get anything nice?” My attempt at small talk fails miserably.
“Apparently, being locked in a tiny room with a grumpy asshole.” This time, her tone is playful.
I smother my retort. I’m not friendly. It’s anyone’s guess why I’m invited to this bachelor party, even if the groom-to-be is my brother. We owe each other nothing, but hearing the sad tilt to her voice makes me uncomfortable. Plus, it’s her birthday.
I feel along the shelf, gauging there’s enough space for two. “Give me your hand.”
“Why?”
“So I can help you sit. Nothing weird. You’re not my type anyway.”
Harriet snorts. “You don’t even know what I look like.”
“Come on. Relax.”
A soft hum sounds while she thinks. “Okay, but no funny business.”
“Scout’s honor.”
I raise my arm, searching blindly until soft fingers meet mine. We both jump at the contact, and a current runs through me. It’s difficult in the dark, but after some guidance, she lowers next to me, our thighs and arms brushing.
“Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.” This close, the mysterious floral scent grows stronger.
This is far from ideal, but the last thing I want is to make her uneasy or think I’m a pervert. Because being myself isn’t working, I change my approach.
“From your accent, I’m going to guess you’re from out of town.”
“New England.” Her tone is cautious. I get it. I’m a stranger. At least she’s street smart. “What about you?”
“I’m a unicorn.”
“A what?”
“Born in Nashville, still live there. We’re a dying breed.”
She snorts again. It’s far from ladylike, and I silently decide I like that about her. “Ah, so you’re not an aspiring country music star following his dreams? With your blinding charisma, it’s the ideal career for you.”
I recline, ignoring the blunt object sticking into my spine. “Sadly, I’m hideous. There isn’t a single record label that’ll sign me.”
“Oh my god. A joke. Who knew you had it in you?” She bumps her shoulder into mine.
“No.” My voice is rigid, though my lips quiver in amusement. “I’m covered in boils. Crooked teeth. Four nipples—one on my forehead.”
She’s silent for a beat before laughter pierces the air. Her body shakes uncontrollably as a delightful melody bounces off the walls. Maybe being one sense down heightens my hearing; either way, it’s one of the loveliest sounds I’ve heard in a long while.
I swallow when the shelf stops vibrating. “What do you look like?”
“Me? Disgusting. I don’t even have teeth; it’s all gum. Don’t get me started on the full-body rash. The doctor said it isn’t contagious. I’m not too sure.”
“Sounds like we’d make the perfect couple.”
Her laugh rings out again. Apart from my nephew, I’m not typically known as the funny guy. I’d like to make Harriet laugh again.
“What are your plans to celebrate once we’re out of here?” I stretch my legs out, and the movement causes our hands to brush. She doesn’t flinch, and I don’t move away.
People do the craziest things when forced in confined spaces.
“Hmm, I’ll probably head home soon.” She pauses. “My friends and I have been here all afternoon, and my bed is calling my name.”
“Bed? What are you, sixty?” I tease, our pinkies graze.
“Did I not mention that? My bad. Blame the old age.”
My smile feels foreign as my mouth twitches on one side.
I can just make out her shallow breathing. Something tickles my arms every now and again, and I realize it’s her hair. It must be long, maybe reaching her waist? I also have a hunch she’s not short, maybe half a foot smaller than my six three by the way our shoulders align.
“What about you?” Her voice pitches a little at the end.
Same old shit. Avoid going home. Clock less than four hours sleep.
But I don’t say that, and a tiny part of me doesn’t want to either. The desire to be someone else takes over. I don’t have to be the Warren my friends and family know. Harriet is a stranger, and we’ll likely never see one another again after tonight.
They must be pumping this room full of nitrous oxide, because suddenly, the idea of being locked in here with her isn’t so bad. She’s fun, witty, and doesn’t retreat at my irritable attitude.
I clear my throat, pulse hammering in my neck. This is not where I saw the evening heading. “If you’re not too busy, maybe you’ll let me buy you an apology slash birthday drink when we get out of here.”
“Oh.” She straightens in surprise. “I guess—”
I don’t find out if she’s surprised in a good or a bad way. Banging on the other side of the door cuts off her response.
Then, it flies open, and bright white light floods the room.