“Not all of it. I’m up to episode four.”
“I’m not even through the third episode and I don’t know if I can handle the rest.”
“It is creepy. They did a good job with this show.”
She picks up the pillow and stretches her long legs out on the coffee table. “Want to watch it with me? You can hold me accountable not to chicken out.”
“Should I indulge you with junk food too?”
A smile plays across her face. “I’m starting to think you get me, Mr. Dawson.”
“You know you can call me Wes, right?”
The smile gets bigger. “It makes me feel like I’m on the Titanic.”
“What?” I ask, my own lips curving into a half-smile.
“Seriously?” She pushes up on the couch and leans forward, and God help me, I can see down her shirt. She’s dressed for bed and not wearing a bra.
“I’m not following.” I run my hand over my face, needing to physically block out the sight of her perfect breasts.
“Isn’t that part of the reason you named your son Jackson, so you could call him Jack Dawson?”
I shake my head again. “He’s named after my grandfather.”
“Oh. Well then, never mind.” She leans back only to round on me again. “So you’re telling me you’ve never seen the movie Titanic?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“We can’t be friends now,” she says seriously.
“That puts a strain on this whole situation, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” She slowly moves her head back and forth and picks up the remote again. “If only there was a way to solve it.”
“You want me to watch Titanic, don’t you?”
Laughing, she nods. “Not tonight, though. Tonight, we need to find out why angry spirits are haunting this family.”
“Go ahead and keep watching,” I tell her and cross the room. “I’ve already seen this episode.”
Several minutes later, I come back with popcorn, Oreos, and a bag of chips.
“You delivered on that junk food,” Scarlet says, folding her legs up under herself, freeing space on the couch. She pats the seat next to her and I can’t move. Usually, the floor is lava and Jackson and I are jumping off it onto the couch, but right now it feels like it’s the other way around.
“Do you like horror movies?” I ask, forcing myself to take a step forward and place the food on the coffee table.
“I do. I have a slight fascination with paranormal stuff. What about you?”
“They’re okay. Most are lame nowadays, though. I miss the old slasher flicks from my childhood.”
She tips her face up to me, eyebrow raised. “You watched a lot of slashers when you were a kid?”
“Actually, no. I watched them at a friend’s house when I’d spend the night and then would have to lie about why I was so scared when I came home. My parents were kinda strict.”
“Mine weren’t.” She grabs the bowl of popcorn, and I’m still standing there, eyeing her down like she’s Kryptonite and I’m Clark Kent. “My dad wasn’t around much until later.” As soon as the words leave her lips, she leans back, almost as if she’s surprised with herself for the confession. Seeming a bit flustered, she shoves a handful of popcorn in her mouth and grabs a blanket off the arm of the couch.
I go around the coffee table and sit on the couch, moving a pillow in between us.
“The flashbacks threw me,” I say, wanting to break the silence. “I’m not good at remembering names in shows.”
“Yeah, it took me a minute to get it too.”
I watch her face, knowing a rotten body is going to fall out on screen when the closet door opens. Scarlet’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t jump.
I did.
“This house is old.” She turns to me, pulling the blankets tighter over her shoulders. “But it’s not haunted, is it?”
“I’ve never seen anything. And even though Jackson says he does, I don’t really believe him. I’d think he’d be scared if he saw a real ghost.”
“So you believe in ghosts?”
“I haven’t seen enough to sway me either way.”
“Smart man.” She takes another handful of popcorn, and by the way she shuts down, I have a feeling she has seen something to sway her. But not necessarily a spirit. Something more real. Something that can hurt you in a way a ghost can’t.
We finish the rest of the episode in silence, and then the next one starts. I’ll admit, this show is creepy. There’s something about weird shit happening to everyday people to get you thinking and make you become paranoid…which is exactly what the writers of this show wanted. They succeeded.
Halfway through the new episode, I reach for the chips the same time Scarlet does. My hand brushes over hers.
“Your skin is freezing,” I say, using it as an excuse to take her small hand in mine. I splay my fingers over hers, sandwiching her hand between both of mine. Her skin is cold but so smooth and soft. Blood rushes through me, and the tip of my cock tingles, imagining that small, soft hand wrapping around it.
“My feet are even colder.” She shifts her weight and pushes her freezing cold feet underneath me, laughing. “They get cold at night. I used to want a dog just so I could have them lay in bed and keep my feet warm.”
“That’s a good reason to get a dog.”
“I know, right?”
I let go of her hand and move mine to her feet, cupping them both against my palm.
“You’re so warm,” she says quietly and leans back. I start to rub her feet—to be helpful, of course. There’s no need to make her be cold.
“I tend to run warm. I’m always hot.”
“I’m the opposite. I get cold easily and my hands and feet feel like ice if the temp drops below eighty.”
I laugh. “I can tell.”
She lays back, throwing the blanket over her legs. I don’t mean to keep rubbing her feet, but I do, making sure she’s properly warmed up. She twists, laying on her side but keeping her feet on my lap. I swallow hard, tempted to run my hands down to her thigh and see if the skin on her calves is as smooth and soft as I think it’ll be.
She inhales deeply, slowly moving her feet against my thigh, and I can’t help but think she’s doing it on purpose. Does she know the effect she’s having on me? Certainly a woman like Scarlet is well fucking aware of what she can do to a man.
Episode four ends and five begins, and Scarlet’s legs are still draped over me. This episode is even freakier than the last, and Scarlet does jump a time or two. When episode six starts, we’re both too far down the rabbit hole to stop. Scarlet gets up to use the bathroom, hurrying down the hall during the opening credits.
“I was convinced someone was going to jump out of that closet and bring me into the spirit world,” she says when she gets back, taking her spot on the couch. Instead of leaning against the arm on the opposite side, she moves the pillow between us and scoots closer. “Feel.” She holds out her hands, and I freeze, mouth going dry as I raise my gaze to her face.
Her blue eyes are wide, and red-and-blue flashes from the TV illuminate her face. A slight flush colors her cheeks, and her full lips are parted. She’s so damn pretty it hurts.