Page 8 of Scary In Love

Jenna

This is the best first date I’ve ever been on, and technically speaking it’s not even a date.

I have a great seat at the bar, my leg propped is up on a cushion, and every second Mason isn’t fixing drinks, he spends flirting with me. At least, it feels like flirting.

I keep catching him looking at my legs, and every time it makes my heart race. His eyes coast a little higher each time until I’m certain he’s not just checking on the wellbeing of my knee. Nobody has ever really looked at me this way, certainly not Peter, and I like it a lot.

Every ten minutes I watch a new group launch themselves through the door while escaping whoever terrorised them on the other side. I love seeing their panicked faces slip into relief when they realise they’re in a safe place at last.

The room hums with nervous energy, and the people-watching is unmatched. Some can’t stop laughing, some are on the verge of tears, and a few look like they might throw up.

Mason beckons them over to the bar and hands out ‘I survived the Miller Mansion’ stickers. He is charming as hell, and every minute I spend in his company makes me want to know more about him.

Who is he, and where has he been my whole life ?

He has a knack for cocktails and flair. When anyone orders shots, he lines the glasses up on the flat side of his axe and pours them from a height, never spilling a drop.

I watch their expressions change when he stretches his arm across the bar, holding the axe level with their faces and barking ‘drink’ at them with his best snarl.

He introduces me to Lulu, a stunning woman whose character flirts outrageously with all her customers, playfully degrading men who look like they were seconds away from pissing their pants.

Now and then, Mason breaks into a bit with one of the other staff, pushing and shoving and tussling until a third steps in to break up their ‘fight’, but it always ends in more brawling.

When one guy pulls a fake gun from behind his back, Mason quickly wrestles him into a headlock, and it turns out I was right. The sight of the two of them tussling and grunting turns me on far more than it should.

I’d let him put me in a headlock. With his thighs, ideally.

Jesus, I need to get laid.

By closing time, I’m not even sad about missing out on the haunt. I’ve had a front-row seat for a show most of tonight’s visitors would only see for as long as it takes to finish a drink.

When the last customer leaves, Mason asks Lulu to make sure the staff are okay, then escorts me to where his car is waiting at the back of the house.

It’s a mild night, but a fine mist hangs in the air. With no lights on this side of the building, I can’t see far. If we were still in the haunt, I’d be waiting for a wall of zombies to rush out of the darkness any second.

Mason is a lot quieter on the drive, which eats away at the confidence his company has been building all night.

I felt so at home back there with him, but in the real world, I can’t help but wonder if it was all an act.

Perhaps what felt like flirting was just very thorough customer service.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve misread signs.

“You can just drop me off here,” I tell him when he turns onto my street. My house is barely a three-minute drive, and I’m wishing I walked.

He stops the van, gets out, and darts around to the passenger side. He opens my door with a warm smile and holds out his hand.

“I’d prefer to walk you to your door and make sure you get inside safely. If that’s okay with you?”

Oh, of course he’s a gentleman, too.

I’ve had a long time to check Mason out tonight, but I can’t put my finger on what’s so attractive about him.

I don’t exactly have a type. When you live in a small town, and have a reputation like mine, beggars can’t be choosers.

Not that I’m desperate enough to beg, it’s more that there isn’t much choice in the first place.

After a couple of hours of ice and elevation, my knee is fine, but I play along, taking his hand and letting him wrap his arm around my shoulders. He cups my elbow, his grip reassuringly strong. No surprise with hands the size of his.

Mason is tall and slim, with a cute, boyish face that matches his excitable energy, but sometimes an aura of dominance washes over him, and it completely disarms me. Did I dream that thing he said about dying if he didn’t get to eat pussy? I cannot figure this man out.

He follows my lead, and I walk far slower than necessary up the short driveway to my house. We’re almost at the door when I hear footsteps behind us, and two little furballs fly past our feet and up the front step.

“Hiya, sweetheart, was beginning to wonder if you were staying out all night.” Dad hurries past me to unlock the door. “Go on Dolly, get inside. Whitney, stop sniffing around.”

Mason looks down at the Pomeranian spinning in circles at his feet, a confused look on his face. I step out of his hold, putting space between us while Dad eyes up his torn-up costume.

“What the fuck happened to you, lad? You get in a fight?”

“He’s one of the haunt actors at the Miller house,” I explain. “This is…”

I pause, remembering he’s not in character anymore. I’ve spent several hours quietly swooning over this man, but I don’t actually know anything about him.

“Sorry, I never asked your real name.”

“Mason is my real name,” he smiles.

“Mason?” Dad interrupts. “I thought your date’s name was Peter?”

“It was. It’s a long story.”

Dad crosses his arms and glares at me until I elaborate, playing down my injury and leaving out the part where Mason curled his fingers into the back of my knee. And especially the dirty talk part, even though his words have not stopped circling in the back of my mind.

Mason looks back and forth between us. It’s not the first time someone has misread our situation. My parents were twenty when I was born, and Dad still has all of his hair without a hint of grey.

“So Dad ,” I emphasise. “This is Mason. Mason, this is my father, Terry.”

“Ah, your Dad,” he sighs, holding out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr Laing, and happy to make sure she got home safe.”

“Well, thank you for that. Now, are you coming in, or shall I give you five minutes for canoodling?” he laughs, turning serious as he points a finger at Mason. “Five minutes and not a second longer, you understand me? ”

Mason stands tall and makes an awkward, strained noise. Dad closes the door, leaving us alone under the porch light. I am so mortified I want to disappear into the mist.

“He lives to embarrass me. Sorry.”

“You live with your dad?” he asks, stepping further back. His tone is even and non-judgmental, but shame curdles beneath my skin. Thirty years old, and still living at home. What a catch.

“Both my parents,” I correct him, as if that makes it any better.

“And my brother. Well, he moved out for a bit, then he broke up with his boyfriend, so now he’s back.

I’m saving up for a deposit, but the housing market is out of control around here.

You can’t even buy a one-bedroom place unless you’re loaded, which I’m not. And anyway, it’s handy for work, so...”

Shut the fuck up, Jenna.

We’ve had a lot of short snippets of conversation tonight, and I think I did a half-decent job of playing it cool, but I was bound to overshare and screw it up at some point.

He doesn’t need to know this stuff. Mason is hot, and funny, and has an interesting job he’s clearly very passionate about.

Of course, he wouldn’t actually be interested in me.

“What do you do for—”

I cut him off, reaching for the handle and stepping inside. “Thank you for driving me home. For the drink and the chat. And the icepack.”

Once the door is closed, I lean back against it and finish the thought in silence.

And for making me feel more alive than I have in months.