Before I can process what’s happening, the doors burst open with a thunderous bang.
“What thefuckis going on, Sora?”
I whirl around to see Forrest—the real Forrest—standing in the doorway, in dark jeans, a hoodie, and leather jacket on top, holding a different mask in his hand. His face is a storm of emotions.
Oh, shitastic hell.
I leap away from the masked stranger as if he’s suddenly burst into flames. “Forrest! You said you’d be in a Scream mask. I thought I was kissing you,” I blubber up, overly defensive, before I narrow my eyes at the Ghostface in front of me. “What the actual hell, dude? You didn’t stop me?”
The stranger slowly reaches up and pulls off his mask, revealing a sheepish young man who can’t be older than twenty. “I’m just an actor, ma’am. I’m supposed to stay still. Part of the haunted house experience.”
“You can’t even break character to let a woman know she’s kissing the wrong guy?”
He shrugs innocently. “I mean…you’re hot, and I’m interested. What’s the problem?”
“I’m your problem, fucker,” Forrest growls out as he storms across the room, his eyes blazing.
I catch him by the wrist before he can buck up on Ghostface. “What happened?” I ask.
“I found a cooler mask.” He holds up a black mask with red exes for eyes and a smile made of stitches, proving his point. “I thought I’d surprise you. I didn’t realize I’d have to worry about you making out with the first Ghostface you came across.”
“Don’t you victim-shame me, sir.” I throw my hands up in exasperation.
“Victim?” the actor grumbles out.
Ignoring him, I point my finger at Forrest’s chest. “You said,and I quote, ‘Look for me in a Scream mask.’ This guy”—I point accusingly at the now-unmasked actor—“is wearing a Scream mask!”
“I’m just gonna…” the actor mumbles, his eyes fixed on Forrest’s balled-up fist. He edges toward a side door. “I have other rooms to haunt. Sorry for the confusion.”
“Don’t you dare move,” Forrest growls, but the actor slips through the door before Forrest can stop him. “Coward.”
“Calm down,” I say, though I’m fighting a ridiculous urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “This is your fault for not updating me on the costume change.”
“My fault?” Forrest rakes a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I turn my back for two seconds and you’re kissing another man?”
“I thought it was you. How much did you see?”
“Enough,” he bites out.
A rush of heat burns my cheeks. “So you didn’thearanything?”
“No, hear what?” His voice drops, the anger giving way to something more vulnerable. “What did you say to him?”
The humor of the moment dissipates, replaced by the weight of my heartfelt confession that’s now lost with the whispers of this hell house. “Nothing.”
Forrest takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Are you mad at me?”
“For the mask mix-up? No.” I shrug. “Hard to stay mad when you’re this hilariously jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You just scared off a minimum-wage haunted house employee because he got a peck on the lips.”
“It was more than a peck,” Forrest barks out, closing the distance between us. “And fine, yes, the thought of anyone else touching you, even by mistake, quite frankly pisses me off. But is that fair? I don’t own you.”
“Since when have you played fair?” I whisper.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
