I don’t hear him. I run. This absolute hypocrite is not going to stamp out our party for being a filthy heathen activity only to appear at the haunted house I’m using as a consolation prize. There is no way I’m letting that happen.
I don’t know if my friends follow. I don’t check, just keep running, darting through rooms full of fake blood and menacing props. Denis bursts through one room, then a second. People scream in this latter one, genuinely shocked by the two of us barreling past them. He doesn’t simply leave this room, though. He opens a door at the back, one hidden behind fake trees. He tries to slam it shut after him, but I manage to catch it just in time. We struggle, grunting as we wrestle for control of the door. Denis gives up so abruptly that I stumble backward, almost ramming into the guests trying to enjoy the haunted house.
“Sorry, um, boo!” I say, trying to play this whole thing off as part of the attraction.
I doubt they buy it. The last thing I see before rushing after Denis is confused blinking.
I can’t worry about what strangers think of this. If they report that the haunted house wasn’t all they were hoping for, it won’t be my problem. Maybe it’ll be Denis’s problem since apparently,inexplicablyhe works here.
Oh, he is so not getting away with this.
What a fake! After shutting down a totally normal Halloween party for violating the student code of conduct, Denis has the gall to work at a full on haunted house. How is that not an even bigger violation? I am going to make this jerk confront his inconsistencies if it’s the last thing I do.
We’re behind all the normal haunted house rooms now, racing down some kind of back hallway I assume employees use to move around between rooms without being seen. It isn’t lit, presumably so no light slips out into the haunted house rooms, and that does not help in my pursuit.
Then I hear another door slamming. I run without a second thought, chasing the sound. This door is closed, but not locked, thankfully, and when I burst through it, I pause for a moment, taken aback by the lights on the other side. They’re a bit dim, but after so much spooky darkness, they feel like a spotlight.
And there’s Denis, stumbling toward the end of the hallway and a flight of stairs. This is the back rooms of the back rooms, a place that must be purely functional. The barn is more exposed here, all the spooky decorations forgotten. The floor creaks as I pound toward Denis and catch him by the shoulder.
I use that shoulder to spin him, throwing him hard against the nearest wall. He hits it with a thud, eyes squeezing shut and hands going up as though he expects me to punch him. As much as a piece of me would like to after he ruined our party, I’m not the violent type, never have been. I’m not some bully here to beat him up and take his lunch money. I want justice, not retribution.
Denis tries to wriggle away when he recovers, but I’m bigger than him, and I grab his wrist and easily pin it against the wall beside his head. Behind the dorky glasses, he blinks big green eyes at me. With his mouth parted in surprise, he’s way cuter than he should be. I hate myself for even thinking it, but the second my brain heads that direction, my eyes flick to my hand on his wrist, the way he’s pinned to the wall, the way he’s stopped fighting. His eyes dart that direction as well, and then this day gets even stranger than it already was because Denis,thatDenis, the same one who reported a normal Halloween party for being too sinful for his delicate sensibilities, fuckingblushes.
God, it’s so pretty on him.
I half expect it to fog his glasses with how hard and fast it hits. In an instant, the consummate uptight nerd with his tidy little haircut and nerdy glasses and pasty skin flushes the loveliest shade of pink I’ve ever beheld. His zombie makeup renders him even more pale than usual, but that blush burns right through it and turns his eyes as bright as emeralds. The fake blood and dirt on his neck and arms don’t matter anymore. The torn-up zombie costume fades into the background. I forget for a moment why I was even chasing him. All that remains is that blush, and the sudden heat of his pulse caught in my grip.
“Trick or treat indeed,” I murmur to myself, still in shock.
His swallows, throat bobbing, and warmth stirs inside me. If this is a trick and not the most unexpected and delightful treat of my life, then Denis is one hell of an actor.
Judging by his attempt at playing a zombie, he’s no kind of actor at all.
Chapter Three
Denis
“I CAN EXPLAIN,” I say, but even I don’t believe it.
The quirk of Emmanuel’s mouth says he doesn’t believe it either.
The heat flooding my face burns hotter when I notice the curve of his lips. The fire flashed to life when he grabbed me and threw me against the wall, and I’m trying really, really hard not to think about why that might be. I’m just surprised is all. Except that doesn’t explain why the curl of Emmanuel’s full mouth and his dark eyes boring into me and that dark stubble shadowing his tan cheeks stokes the fire even higher.
“Emmanuel, please, I can explain.”
His eyebrow quirks up. “You know my name?”
“We had biology together in freshman year.”
“That was almost four years ago. You seriously remembered my name all this time?”
I press my lips together more tightly against the heat that wants to crawl up my neck. He’s right. That is a long time for me to hold onto one random guy’s name, and I’ve never admitted even to myself why I remember him and no one else from that throwaway elective. When he joined the fraternity across the street, my heart both soared and fell. I shouldn’t have recognized him, I really shouldn’t have recognized him. I had no reason to recognize him. I came to this school to work hard, get my degree and go on to grad school so I can get a respectable job. I’m supposed to become a lawyer or a doctor, something normal,something to make my parents proud. I’m supposed to have an ordinary life with a wife and kids and 401K. I’mnotsupposed to remember a guy from freshman year bio and blush when he throws me against a wall.
No, I’m not blushing. I am definitely not blushing. I’m a Christian. That’s why I called campus police about that horrible, satanic party that was going on across the street. I’m not the sort of person who blushes when another man pins him to a wall.
“Denis,” Emmanuel says, “if you’re going to explain, I suggest you start.”
Something happens to me when he uses my name, something verging on demonic possession. It’s like my mind and body are no longer my own. Something else inhabits them, a spirit that is anything but holy.
