reed
. . .
“C’mon,” I murmur, pushing my door open. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
She nods, climbing out, her hair shimmering beneath the porch light, and for a second, I watch the way she hugs her hoodie tighter, and the way the night wind tugs at her hair.
Damn, if it doesn’t hit me right in the chest, that quiet, dangerous thought I’ve been trying to avoid since she stumbled into my life.
My house is dim when we walk in, the air cool and faintly tinged with whiskey and orange bitters. I set the takeout bag down on the coffee table and nod toward the couch.
“Hope you like semi-cold fries.”
She flops down with a dramatic sigh, kicking her shoes off. “At this point, I’d eat airport carpet, so cold fries sound gourmet.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. She grins when she hears it, like she’s proud of herself for pulling it out of me.
We settle in, wrappers crinkling, the room quiet except for the hum of the paused TV.Terrifier 3is still frozen on the screen,Art the clown’sgrin stretched too wide.
“Of course you were watching this,” she says, chewing on a fry. “Go ahead, I don’t mind.”
I glance at her, skeptical. “You sure?”
“Very sure.”
“You asked for it.” I grab the remote and hit play.
The movie continues to play, kicking back onto the shower scene, which I already know is going to be brutally gory. She squints at the screen, curious but a hint of horror flashing across her delicate features.
“Reed,” she whines, “why does he look like that? It’s gross.”
“He’s a horror icon.”
“He’s a nightmare,” she whispers, clutching a fry. “The way he’s smiling is freaking me out, like, why are his teeth black, please.”
I smirk, leaning back. “You talk a lot when you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” she shoots back immediately. “I’m just… narrating my trauma in real time.”
The brutal, gory scene finally flashes across the screen, and I glance over at her, whose eyes are wide in shock.
She screams, actually screams, and bolts off the couch so fast she knocks her drink over. “NOPE. I’M OUT. ENJOY YOUR CLOWN!”
I choke on a laugh, setting my cup down before I spill it. “You alright?”
Her voice bounces from the kitchen. “Reed, what in the fuck is THAT?!”
Standing up from the leather couch, I make my way over to the kitchen, where I find her crouched behind thecounter, her hair falling into her face, still clutching that sad fry, which is now limp in her fingers.
I crouch down across from her, resting my elbows on my knees, still fighting back a grin.
“You hiding, sunshine?”
“Yes,” she whispers dramatically. “And I’m not coming out until that disgusting clown dies.”
“Unfortunately, he doesn’t die.”
“Oh, well, that’s fantastic!” she says mockingly with her hands thrown in the air, still clutching the fry between her fingers.
