Eye Candy

“Okay.”

I’m not entirely sure this is a good idea, but I move anyway, heading up the stairs and toward the top floor of the building. I try to avoid fallen decorations as I climb the stairs as quietly as I can, keeping the flashlight low. I reach the top without drama, and flash my light down the hall, left to right. I walk toward the storage closet when I see Oliver running down the hall. He charges at me and throws us into the storage closet, the door slamming closed just before I hear the thumping sound of what could honestly be a bowling ball coming bounding past.

“Ah,” I shout before he covers my mouth with his hand.

It’s deathly dark in here, and Oliver keeps his arms around me, panting, his breath tickling my ear as we listen. I don’t really know what we’re listening for or even waiting for, but Oliver is dead still. He doesn’t move; he just hangs on to me. More crashing sounds happen outside, and then dead silence. After a few minutes, Oliver takes his hand off my mouth. “You okay?”

“What just happened?” I whisper.

“Someone threw a bowling ball at my damned head.”

I blink. I thought as much, but I guess I didn’t want to believe that’s actually what it was.

“A bowling ball?” I squeak.

“Yep. I just saw you get to the top of the stairs and turned around to see someone lifting one above their head. I ran toward you, as fast as I could, and they threw it. Just missed us.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“No. Whoever it was, they were fully dressed in a costume. I’d say that’s how they got in here without any suspicion.”

“Do you think it was someone who comes here regularly?”

He shrugs, still keeping his arms around me. “I honestly don’t know. None of it makes sense. It seems like a prank, but if that ball had hit me on the head . . .”

“Yeah. You’d be hurt.”

He shudders a little and pulls me closer.

“We’re stuck in here now,” I say. “This door doesn’t open from the inside.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Probably the safest place to be right now.”

“Not if they know we’re in here . . .”

He squeezes my arm gently. “I don’t think they care. They probably think it’s funny.”

We hear some more screaming coming from below, and I clutch Oliver’s arm. “What do we do?”

“Nothing we can do from in here except call the police again?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

Oliver dials the police station and we’re informed officers are currently locating the key and will be on their way. He tells them the situation has become dangerous and they need to hurry. When he hangs up, he shifts us around until his back is pressed against the wall and I’m leaning with my back against his chest, sitting between his legs, his arms around my waist.

“Just think, this is how we first started talking,” he tells me in a soft, husky tone.

“Yes, it is. We had to be locked in a closet to make conversation with each other.”

He starts rubbing his hand on my belly, making small circles with his finger. “I wanted to talk to you, but you always looked away when I made eye contact so I didn’t figure you wanted to talk to me. I didn’t want to freak you out, so I let you be.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice still trembling from the events. “I get a little bit shy.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I’m glad you fell into this closet.”

We stay quiet for what seems like hours, but in reality is probably just a minute.

“Do you think everyone is okay?” I ask him, so concerned my body feels wound up. My shoulders are tense. My neck aches. And my back hurts.

“I hope so, but there is not a single thing we can do from in here except wait. Whose phone is this?”

“I think it’s Marlie’s. I’m not sure, she just handed it to me.”

He flicks it on and starts going through the contacts. “Yeah, I think it’s hers. I’ll try Kenai’s number.”

He dials the number but no one answers. He tries again. Then he tries Kaity’s number. No one answers. Half the place has probably gotten their phones jumbled up running around trying to figure out what the hell is happening, it’s not a wonder we can’t get hold of anyone.

“So we just have to sit here and wait?”

He squeezes me softly. “Calling out could put us in danger. If no one is coming in here then we want it to be that way. Help will come, we just need to wait and keep quiet. There is nothing we can do. Panicking won’t help. Kenai is tough and so is Marlie, they’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” I whisper, knowing he’s right. “Then let’s talk about something because I need a distraction or I’m going to keep freaking out.”

Things seem to have quieted down a little downstairs, which I’m not sure is a good or bad sign. Still, I try to relax a little.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asks, making circles on my belly again.

I want to deny it, but I can’t—my sex clenches. I can’t help the reaction, not when his hands are making small circles on an area of my body that’s so close to it. I hate that it’s happening, especially right now, so I squirm a little, moving so his fingers aren’t so close. I decide to start talking or I’ll get even more distracted.

“Tell me something about yourself, anything. Have you ever been married?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Have you ever been close?”

He shrugs. “I thought about it once with a girl I went out with for three years. I loved her, but I don’t know . . . it just wasn’t quite right, you know? It was a situation where I just don’t think we were meant to be, in the long run. She wasn’t a terrible person or anything, but there were just things about her that I didn’t admire in a woman.”

“Like?” I question.

“Like the fact that she wasn’t really a good mother. She had two kids, and she just . . . didn’t put them first. She didn’t really care what they did or who they spoke to. She was selfish like that. She cared a lot more about herself and that should have been a sign. Still, when you love someone, you tend to overlook the things that are really quite obvious from the start.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. I ignored some of the things Terry did, too. Those things came back to bite me in the ass.”

“Like what?” he asks, circling his fingers a little lower.

“Like his possessive side. I thought it was sweet at first, how he’d get all flustered when someone else looked at me, but then he started imagining it. He thought every man wanted me, every man was looking at me, and he became paranoid. Then he started taking it out on me, saying I was smiling at them, or encouraging them. Honestly, I never even noticed there were men paying attention. I don’t even think they were.”

“There are always men payin’ attention, darlin’,” he murmurs near my ear. “But a confident, normal man knows the girl is his and he does right by her to make sure it stays that way. What he does not do is carry on, become controlling, and abuse her because of his own insecurities.”

I swallow and nod. “Yeah, you’re right.”