Page 63 of Scaredy Cat
“Happily,” Brynn assures him, while I sit there and think of all the ways that would go poorly for them.
Shiloh just gives him his charming puppy grin, but when he speaks, it’s closer to his normal voice than the one he uses to charm the masses. “Don’t worry, Mom and Mom-in-law,” he jokes. “I don’t want to hurt Persy. I’d rather let her hurt me than make her cry.”
The promise definitely works on them, and after the waiter takes our orders, they switch the line of conversation to something socially casual instead of interrogating him any longer.
Once we’re outside and I’m sure I can never eat pasta again with how full I am, Shiloh pulls me off to the side, though he waits to do so until Brynn and Madison have left the parking lot. He backs me into my car, and before I can say a word, he kisses me sweetly, with one hand cupping my jaw. His tongue licks at my lower lip, tasting and begging, though I barely hesitate before giving him access to my mouth.
I love the taste of him, after all, so it’s almost purely selfish to do so.
“I’m sorry I have to work tonight,” he sighs, not breaking the kiss. His hands rest against the hood of my car on either side of me, and I give in to my urge to twine my arms around his neck. “You’re going home? Oh, no, that’s right.” He pulls back to nuzzle my cheek. “You’re going to a haunt, right?”
“Yeah.” I gaze up at him through my lashes, nausea mixing with the pasta in my gut. I’m lying to him, just like I’m lying to my friends. None of them would be okay with what I’m doing tonight, but I don’t know what else todo.
I’ve talked myself into going to Miscreant Manor if only because I need the crap they’re saying about me to end. I can’t stand how they’re poking malicious fun at me and continuing to pull screengrabs from my videos to mock me on their social media platforms. And while I know I should just get over it andlet it die down, I can’t. I don’t knowhowto do that. “But I’ll see you the next time you show up at my door?”
“You have my number.” Shiloh rolls his eyes. “You could just text me.” He kisses me again, and then murmurs. “Are we dating?”
There’s a hint of vulnerability in his voice I don’t expect. Like he’s unsure. Like he needs toknow.All this time I've been half sure that everything between us has just a game to him, but that little bit of uncertainty…
My heart twists in my chest, and this time I’m the one to initiate the kiss. I don’t let him pull away until we’re both panting and probably giving the restaurant’s patrons a hell of a show.
“Yeah,” I tell him with my fingers tangled in his auburn hair. “I think we’re officially dating now. I suppose.”
Shiloh laughs and kisses me again, though eventually pries himself away from me. “Text me about your haunt,” he calls over his shoulder, opening the door to his truck.
“Text me about your, uh…” I mime stabbing someone dramatically, to which he only rolls his eyes. Again, I worry about my sanity, and why I’m okay with him hurting and killing people.
But again, I have a million excuses to convince myself I’m not unwell. That I’m not fucked up and a fear-seeking adrenaline junkie with absolutely no moral compass.
If only I could believe that.
In my car, I wait for him to drive away, and my heart sinks like a stone in my chest. I shiver as the car warms up, my breaths visible in the air in front of me. When I’m sure he’s gone, when I’m sure I’m alone, I pull out my phone and type the address that will take me to Miscreant Manor into my GPS, where I’ve promised I’ll never go and whose waiver I already signed and sent back to them this morning.
If Madison knew, she’d kill me. If Brynn knew, she’d tie me upforMadison to kill me.
And if Shiloh knew?
Well, I doubt he’d be very thrilled with what I’m about to do. But it’s better to explain and ask forgiveness after.
Right?
26
The fact MiscreantManor sits behind a large, festive pumpkin patch with happy scarecrows holding signs with information on where to buy apple cider feels…wrong. It’s a very autumn-themed property, with orchards and a corn maze, though I only glance warily at the swaying, brown stalks I can barely see under the moon.
My headlights illuminate a tractor hooked up to a wagon stacked with bales. Also on the wagon is Gloria, sitting perched on the rail. She’s not looking at me, however. She’s staring up at the moon, which washes out her features as she kicks one leg back against the trailer under her.
This is a mistake.Every part of me is rebelling against this, telling me I shouldn’t be here. Iknowthis is an awful idea, but I’m at my wit’s end this year. A messy combination of my family and the comments and posts being made about me online has driven me to do something to stop the onslaught from at least one side.
And since it would be easier to move a mountain than to get my parents to accept my choice of career or to stop hounding me about it, here I am, hopeful that my attendance at Miscreant Manor will stop the online harassment.
The way my heart races in my chest is unpleasant at best. At worst, it’s downright foreboding as I get out of my car, with my phone and keys in the pocket of my jeans. I suddenly wish I hadn’t eaten so much pasta at the restaurant, even though it was really delicious ravioli. Not that my stomach cares as nausea climbs my throat, giving me yet another sign that I shouldn’t be here.
“Craig thought you’d chicken out.” Gloria still isn’t looking at me. “That’s my brother. He thought you were all talk when you signed that waiver.”
Mentioning the waiver does nothing to reduce my nausea, but I don’t reply. The night has cooled off, and I’m chilly enough that I shiver and shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie I changed into once I was out of the restaurant and away from civilized company. If I’m going to do this, I’d rather be comfortable and warm, at least.
“Is this all for show?” I gesture with my chin at the pumpkins, the orchards, and the playgrounds. “Just like, a really elaborate set?”
