Page 27 of Lovesick (The Minnesota Mustangs #1)

SCARE FACTOR

CREW

I think it’s become undeniably obvious that I have no idea what I’m doing.

When Merit proposed a date at the drive-in movie theater, it didn’t seem terrifying in the moment.

But now that I’m going to be forced to sit in close proximity with her for two hours, I’m beginning to realize that I’ve grossly underestimated the severity of the situation.

Popcorn bucket nestled in the rent of my arm and hand gripping a packet of Red Vines, we walk toward the parked Volkswagen (courtesy of Harlan), taking in the packed scenery of the numerous couples who had the same idea as us. Not saying that we’re a couple or anything.

Needlepoint stars pierce the veil of darkness overhead, shimmering like freshwater pearls tucked underneath a continental quilt of reflective, rippling ocean.

The last bits of lush greenery cushion the soles of my shoes, a light posse of fireflies twirling around in the fading dusk and hovering above patches of grass as if they’re bioluminescent fungi illuminating a pea-shingled path.

And the projector screen stands tall before the dense tree line, a circlet of browning aspens surrounding the makeshift drive-in .

Since we’ve sped into October, Halloween decorations have been thrown up all around Maple Grove, bringing an air of autumn-colored whimsy to an old-fashioned town.

Bales of hay are scattered throughout the clearing, adorned with stacks of homegrown pumpkins that display a variegated array of greens, whites, and oranges.

Solar stake lights strung together with ghost cutouts line the main pathway, and there’s even a giant, inflatable black cat positioned off to the side.

The snack bar emits a warm, golden glow, the service window plastered in blood splatter decals and a spookily expensive treat menu that doubles a regular person’s Red 40 intake.

Lastly, to add to the organized chaos, groups of horror fanatics amble about, meandering through the maze of cars.

It’s as cold as expected, but my keyed-up anxiety has been steadily disemboguing heat into my veins.

Merit looks beautiful tonight. Sure, she’s just dressed in sweatpants and a faded Miami Beach baby tee, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy for me to keep my eyes off her when the movie starts.

Meadowview Movie Theater has decided to show the ever-classic Sinister , and I think it’s a bit too late for me to confess that while I can appreciate a good horror movie, I first have to get over the initial jump scares. I get scared easily—especially if there are demonic children involved.

Any other guy might think that this is the perfect opportunity to get some cuddles in, though I haven’t decided if I’m willing to get my eyes clawed out by Merit if I so much as try something. She’s skittish. And feisty. And scary.

Sweat prickles along my hairline, and my tongue flirts with the idea of conversation before my nervous stomach rejects the mere thought.

I’m on a date. With my Coach’s daughter. What am I supposed to say to her? Should I just be myself? What if—what if I say the wrong thing? What if I make her uncomfortable? What if I decide to not be myself and she notices? I’m making a big deal out of nothing, right? RIGHT?

“It’s beautiful out here,” she whispers in awe, her eyes glimmering like she’s been fireside. Her side profile is a sculptor’s dream, her button nose and upholstered cheekbones primed pink from the weather’s cold reign.

Fingers pinching into plastic packaging, I successfully carry out my first screwup of the night by letting my spring-loaded words enter the atmosphere without a second thought.

“You’re beautiful,” I mumble dazedly.

“What?”

Fear congeals in my throat, leaving a chalky taste on my tongue. “Uh, I said you’re horrible! For thinking that I don’t agree with you because, pish, it’s obviously beautiful tonight. Look at—look at the cars…and stuff.”

Smooth, dude.

Merit’s gaze plows into me, inlaid with a minutia of amusement that doesn’t make my singing heart any less vocal.

“The cars and stuff?” she repeats with a chuckle.

My Freudian slip buries me under a traumatic replay that will undoubtedly haunt me long after this date. What is wrong with me? Where did all my charisma go? We’re just watching a movie together, not walking down the damn aisle.

I gulp. Loudly. “Uh-huh.”

Merit swings around to cut off my trek, her hands linked behind her back as she rocks on her heels. “You’re strange, Calloway.”

Calloway.

Is it bad that I love the way that sounds coming from her mouth? Merit Calloway has a nice ring to it too. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Thankfully, the distance from the concession stand to the car is short, and once we make it back to home base, I hand off the snacks to Merit so that I can make the perfect fort for us.

Popping the trunk, the back seats are already prostrate, which means the large comforter, miscellaneous blankets, and pillows are ready to go.

I couldn’t imagine us making this work in my tiny Toyota Camry.

The puffy duvet is the first to be laid down, then I throw three blankets of varying thickness on top before adding pillows into the mix. I hope it will be enough to keep her warm—I tend to run hot.

As I pretty up the space with far too much diligence, I can feel Merit’s eyes on the back of my neck, the noisy crunch of popcorn slicing through the otherwise awkward silence.

“I’ve never been to a drive-in theater before,” she says between mouthfuls, her tone undercoated with childlike excitement.

“Neither have I,” I confess, anxiety clamping around my heart as I turn back around, preparing myself for an inevitable gridlock of awkward pauses or embarrassing stutters.

Whoever said that going to the movies isn’t romantic was lying. Like, sure, both parties will probably be focused on the film, but the closeness, the darkness, the shared food? That all screams domestic bliss to me.

“You haven’t? But you’re so prepared.”

I blanch. “Uh, I might have… looked up what to bring ,” I whisper the last bit to myself, as if the words are blasphemous.

Unfortunately for me, Merit has excellent hearing and a superb no-bullshit detector.

“Wait a second, you’re telling me that you did research before our date?” she exclaims.

Date.

How I love that word.

“You don’t have to sound so shocked,” I joke.

Merit climbs onto our makeshift bed, cradling the precious, over-expensive cargo in her arms while she plops onto her butt. She piles our stock of saturated fats like a crow hoarding shiny materials. “Sorry, I just—I didn’t realize you were such a lover boy.”

Lover boy?! What? That’s—I’m not a lover boy.

Seriously, dude? You’re the definition.

My mouth hangs open, but she doesn’t allow me the chance to respond.

“Don’t get your dick in a twist, Crew. I’m just messing with you,” she chuckles, her smooth, soft voice rushing over me like a babbling brook and causing an uptick in my nervous system.

Realizing that I’ve been standing here this entire time, I warily take a seat next to her, watching as she swings her legs back and forth against the rear bumper. She offers the comically large popcorn bucket to me.

“I think it’s actually really sweet.”

My stomach binds. Eating is the last thing I want to do right now. “You do?”

“Yeah, I mean look at this setup. It’s perfect.”

She thinks it’s perfect? I thought for sure that I didn’t bring enough blankets, or I parked too far away from the screen, or ? —

“Get out of your head,” she coaxes. “We’re just watching a movie.”

Merit and I have hung out a few times before this. Why am I freaking out? I shared a heart-to-heart with this woman. A movie and some small talk can’t be what takes me out.

“Mm-hm” is all I can manage, trying to ignore how good it feels when she sidles up next to me.

The projector screen flashes to life without another second to waste, and the whole drive-in screams in elation, some poor moviegoers abandoning their snacks to race to their vehicles.

I lean back to switch to the corresponding radio station for the sound, turning up the dial so that the volume is loud enough to be heard from the back seat.

Sinister is supposed to be one of the scariest horror movies in existence. I’ll be lucky if I get through this screening without screaming like a little girl.

Mirroring my thoughts, Merit makes a throwaway comment. “You’re not easily scared, are you?”

I answer a little too quickly. “Me? Of course not. I’ve been watching horror movies for so long that I’ve become desensitized to them.”

Not entirely false, but no number of black-eyed children crawling on walls and turning their heads a full three-sixty degrees can desensitize even the strongest of veterans.

“Yeah? I bet you’ll flinch at the first jump scare,” she challenges, the resplendent sapphires of her eyes roaming over me, stopping to read between the lines. A piece of licorice dangles from between her fingers.

Maybe it’s foolish arrogance (which I seemingly have plenty of), but I bench some of my pesky nerves, grateful that our effortless banter has made a quick turnaround. “Oh, really? I bet you’ll be leaping into my arms before you know it.”

“I think you just want an excuse to cuddle me.”

“You’re the one who proposed we go to the movies. And would a cuddle really be so bad?”

“With you? That answer is obvious.”

Oh, I know the answer. The answer and I have long-standing beef. But acknowledging the truth is only going to kill the mood, so I do what I always do and use humor as a defense mechanism.

“It’s because I’m irresistible, isn’t it?” I drawl, leaning in and holding intense eye contact with her as I bend down to bite a chunk of her Red Vines.

Her hand wavers.

“Keep dreaming,” she quips, though she isn’t in a rush to break our pseudosexual staring contest.

“I will. My dreams usually consist of you, anyways.”

The movie starts out as expected—foreboding ambience, tragic backstory, a non-horror actor that redefines the genre completely.

I should be grateful that some of the pressure to pilot this hangout is off my shoulders, but now I’m too focused on the smell of her jasmine-infused perfume, the softness of her skin, and the endearing way she peels the segments of her Red Vines like they’re string cheese.

I’m on edge the entire time. Between looking at her and the screen, I’m not sure which one raises my pulse more.

Doing that fake-yawning-shoulder-move would be really inappropriate, right?

Yeah, she’d probably punch me in the balls.

Okay, be cool, Crew. Just sit normally. Don’t think about the fact that if it wasn’t for your coach, you could be kissing the most beautiful girl on the planet right now.

I greatly underestimated Merit’s tolerance for horror because she hasn’t cringed once. Not when a mass hanging happened, a family was barbecued alive, or a masked killer slit the throats of multiple people.

About halfway through, I unknowingly lose our little bet. A tamer scene lends me deceptive reassurance, and when the protagonist watches some sketchy Super 8 footage, a lawnmower runs over a contorted woman.

I, the unfortunate keeper of the popcorn, shriek at a decibel unbeknownst to humans while simultaneously showering our space in buttery kernels. It’s reflexive when I bury my face in Merit’s shoulder, fear and adrenaline thrumming under my skin.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, dusting food off our overflowing comforter.

I don’t risk a glance at the screen—especially not now that I’m snuggled up next to her. “Jesus,” I grumble into her shirt, popcorn bucket discarded and hands gripping onto any available part of her with might. “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. ”

Maybe it was stupid of me to, I don’t know, expect her to agree with me, but her profanity is for an entirely different reason.

I can practically hear her grinning. “You are a scaredy cat!”

I lift my head in defiance. “Fuck yes, I am! You expect me not to be afraid of a demonic-ass woman? Nobody’s head should bend at that angle. It’s not anatomically possible.”

Still cradled in my arms, Merit laughs before gently picking a piece of popcorn out from my hair. “No, no. I get it. Your reaction is valid.”

God, I want her so badly. None of this is fair. I could continue holding her like this, and nobody would notice. Why am I even considering my scruples right now? The world threw me into a tough position, and it can’t be mad at me when I do everything in my power to look for a fail-safe.

I glance down at our unplatonic predicament. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be…”

“I don’t mind,” she blurts out. “It feels nice.”

It feels better than nice; it feels like I’ve got the best thing in the universe right here within arm’s reach. My missing rib—a part of me that was never supposed to be separated, and a part of me that I refuse to be away from any longer.

I adjust my embrace so she’s comfortable, my lips twitching into a grin. “Does this mean I can hold you for the rest of the movie?”

“Nice try, Casanova. Ten minutes tops.”

“Fuck it, I’ll take it.”