SLOANE
“The state fair has a haunted house this year.” I sit in Storm’s passenger seat with my feet on the leather, bent at the knees, and I scroll through my phone, trying to find out how much tickets cost to the haunted house. I’m sure it’s an extra fee over general admission.
“Ah,” Storm says, and I’m not sure he’s listening, or perhaps he doesn’t care about the fair like I do. I haven’t gone in years, not since I was a kid, and Heather was tasked with tugging me and Caspian through the crowds and making sure we didn’t get lost or hop on rides too big for us.
Henry was in the stroller then, and I think my parents must have liked each other that weekend. We stayed in a nice hotel with an indoor pool. At least, it seemed nice to me then. I have no idea what kind of hotel Storm is taking us to now.
“It starts in one of the farm buildings.” I saw it on social media. Their marketing is on point. It actually looked terrifying, the red and black color scheme giving it an eerie vibe. It opens up into the woods around the fairgrounds and half of it is outside.
The concert Storm got us tickets for starts late and goes all night. They did the same event last weekend and I read people didn’t get home until sunrise, so we have time to do both, or we can do the haunted house tomorrow. If Storm agrees to another night.
Since we slept in my bed and made out until we fell asleep, then got ready this morning—he stopped by his and Cortland and Remi’s house to get changed and grab a leather duffel bag—I’ve been bugging him about it but he hasn’t exactly said yes.
I don’t think he’s a morning person.
He’s sneezed a few times too.
I don’t want to think about why. Maybe he’s coming down with a cold but I think it’s something else.
“Oh wow,” I say, blinking at my phone as Storm merges onto the highway that we’ll stay on most of the drive to Raleigh. We’re leaving early and we’ll be there right after lunchtime, which is perfect. I want to get day drunk. Being with Storm makes me feel twitchy and the alcohol will calm my nerves.
“What?” Storm asks, a sharpness in his tone.
When I glance at him driving in the fast lane now, his eyes are narrowed as he looks at me, then the road. His tattooed fingers are curled around the wheel and his jaw is tense.
I feel myself blush because what I’m about to say doesn’t warrant that kind of reaction. “Nothing, it’s just, the haunted house is expensive.” I stare down at my phone even when I feel his eyes on the side of my face, the low purr of his engine filling the interior of the car alongside Baroness, a band I’m surprised he listens to and one I love.
I lean down anyway and swipe up my Bartholomew Bear Jellycat purse, the soft handles reassuring beneath my fingers. It has my road trip essentials in it: Tom Ford sunglasses Mom bought me with guilt after a particularly brutal fight with Dad, cherry Chapstick, Pillowtalk lipstick, and my Jellycat pouch inthe shape of the sun that serves as a wallet. I snatch that from the bag resting now in my lap, but before I can unzip it to grab my card, Storm’s fingers circle tight around my wrist, stopping me.
I snap my head up.
His eyes are on the road but a bone in his jaw jumps, the dragon tattoo up his throat moving as it does. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I have one hand on the pouch, the other clenched around my phone. I wonder if he can feel the way my pulse is beating in my wrist.
“I’m buying the tickets for the haunted house.” My mouth is dry and I lick my lips. “Are you too scared to go? I can do it by myself, if so.” I don’t taunt him; I just state it as a fact. I’ll go alone, although it makes me miss Remi, because I’m sure she’d do it with me.
Storm’s cool fingers tighten around my bones. “Honey.”
I would have mocked that nickname like I did a few weeks before when he first called me it, but at this moment, it feels like a warning, and it’s sexy coming out of his perfect mouth.
“Is tomorrow better? Do you…not want to go at all? Or?—”
“Put down the sunshine wallet.”
I glance at it in my hand and frown. “Why?”
He releases me without an explanation, then snatches open the hatch of the center console. I watch, bewildered, as he pulls out a slim black leather wallet with a skull and crossbones stitched on the front of it. He offers it to me.
“You’re not fucking paying, baby.”
My heart skips a beat.
I stare at the wallet, but I don’t take it.
A smile curves my lips. “But it’s like fifty?—”
“I don’t care if it’s fifty thousand dollars. Use the black card. Book it for tomorrow so we have time to enjoy both.”
