Page 72 of Whatever It Takes

A shriller scream blasts from one of the foggy mazes nearby. Our current spot resides closer to the main entrance, and I’ve already been briefed how this table is “home base” in case anyone gets lost.

Which—if I had to bet would be Lily. Scratch that, she’s clinging to her husband so tight, there’s no way she’d drift away from the pack.

Maybe I’d say Daisy, but she’s going to be chilling at home base all night. Daisy’s white husky is sprawled across her lap as she digs into a bag of cinnamon rolls that Lily and Loren brought back from a Cinnabon run.

I was kind of surprised Daisy even came along to this, considering she has PTSD, and this place should be hell for anyone who gets triggered by sudden, piercing noises. But maybe she just didn’t want to miss out.

The night is special enough that the Calloway sisters brought costumes for everyone. Albeit,simplecostumes, but they thought about that shit.

A flower crown rests on Daisy’s blonde hair, an identical one on Ryke’s head. Lily and Loren sport glittery alien antenna headbands, while Rose and Connor wear these regal golden crowns. I don’t even think they’re plastic. Like, legit crowns. The Cobalts have to be the most extra people I know, and honestly, I can’t believe I work for one of them.

I fix my backwards baseball hat. It lights up to spell out the wordboo.

Maybe my costume is a literal flashing hat so that Loren makes sure I don’t ditch them, but I kind of like that it’s loud but nottooloud. The flopping antennas would have annoyed the fuck out of me.

I glance up from my phone just to see Connor and Rose still arguing over the route. The park map is spread over the table, and they both brandish Sharpies like there’ll be a test at the end of this.Fastest Through the Mazesisn’t a thing.

“What are you doing?” Rose snaps at her husband. “That is the worst path. You can’t go from Texas Chainsaw Massacre to Nightmare on Elm Street.”

“Why not?” He grins like he knows what she’s about to say but wants to hear it anyway.

“We’re not doing gore back-to-back.” She gathers her hair on one shoulder and traces a line on the map. “It’s better if we do The Ring maze in between.”

A chainsaw roars, pretty close. Girls run away from the masked actor as he chases them. Legally, he can’t touch them, so running away is the wrong way to go. From experience, the actors prey on the people who look like they’re about to piss their pants.

I’m about to return to my phone, but Rose’s voice grabs my attention again.

“Gore does not frighten me,” Rose retorts. “If you don’t believe me, give me a fucking knife and I’ll stab you myself and you’ll see how frightened I’ll be.” She motions to him for a knife.

Connor’s attraction to her threat is clear in his eyes, like he could go down on her on the fucking table right now. Jesus, they’re weird. His grin expands, and he steps closer to his wife.

Loren interjects, “Careful of her talons.”

“She won’t harm me,” Connor says easily. “But I appreciate the concern.”

“I will gut you, Richard,” Rose threatens. Her chin rises as he nears again, towering above her. Confidence mixed with dominance.

“And?” he questions in a deep breath.

“And I will remove all of your organs slowly and painfully.”

“Painfully,” he muses. “You exaggerate.”

Lily is grinning from ear-to-ear. She’s obsessed with everyone being happyin love. I should know. She’s asked me how Willow and I are doing about a hundred-and-one times. To the point where I think she’ll be as devastated as me if we end up not working out.

Rose glowers. “Fear. Me. Richard. I will annihilate you in a murderous, bloody…” Her breath hitches as he steps nearer, their legs thread. She reaches back, palms hitting the iron table. He almost has her pinned.

“Fear what, Rose?” he breathes against her lips.

She says one word in French, and he says two more in the same language.

Honestly, they look like they’re about to kiss.

And this is where I’m definitely glancing back at my cell. Avoiding Instagram has been my mantra since I saw Salvatore Amadio. I don’t need to look him up and have visuals of his entire life. So I’m not about to torture myself tonight with pics of his six pack abs or Porsche (not that I know he has either but with my luck, it’s probable). Shit, stop thinking about Salvatore.

Tumblr, it is.

Willow hasn’t reblogged anything in weeks. Her account is practically dead. Mine is almost the same, but I’ve got a couple gif sets from the latest season ofAmerican Horror Storyon my feed. I haven’t had time to make anything in a while.