Page 35 of Mixed Signals
I drag my palm over the back of my head, anxiety curling in my gut. “We’re in the tropical island room, right?”
“Uh, no.” Eric continues scrolling on his device. I have no idea what he’s looking for. “We had to put you in the zombie apocalypse room.”
“The what?”
“The zombie apocalypse room.”
“Why?”
“Because someone was doing weird stuff in the tropical room and we needed to sanitize it.”
Layla tries to cover her laugh with a cough.
“Do you have anything other than … zombie apocalypse?”
An end of the world scenario featuring flesh-eating, undead creatures is not the setting I was hoping for.
“We have an outbreak room.”
“An outbreak room and a zombie apocalypse room?”
Eric nods. “Billy is super into the undead.”
I forgot Billy owns this place. He used to work part-time at the funeral home two towns over. I guess he found a new spot to channel all of his … enthusiasm.
“Didn’t Billy used to wear all black leather?” Layla whispers to me.
“Still does,” Eric supplies. “Some days he wears fake vampire teeth, too.”
Layla’s smile falters. “That’s … great, I guess?”
“It’s a choice is what it is,” Eric grumbles. “Alright, I’ll show you to your room. You’ll have an hour to escape. Everything you need is hidden within, but you get three clues. Give a shout if you need one and I’ll come over the speaker. I’ll be monitoring you the whole time, so please don’t destroy anything while you’re in the room. Any furniture nailed to the floor should remain that way.”
Layla nods along, her face set in grim determination. I didn’t realize furniture adjustment was a concern. “Um, what?”
Eric waves us behind the desk and through a small entrance way. We wind our way down a narrow, dark hallway lined with nondescript black doors. I have to duck to keep my head from smacking into the low hanging lights, Layla barely visible in front of me. Sounds are muffled back here, like we’re underground.
I can see why Billy likes it so much.
Eric continues his instruction as we walk. “Like I said, I’ll be monitoring you, so please don’t do anything weird.”
Layla is interested, I can tell. “Can you define weird?”
Eric’s face is half in shadow when he turns. “You’d be surprised by the things I’ve seen.”
Layla snickers into her hand. I swallow around my unease. This is not what I expected. Eric stops in front of a door that’s wider than the rest, a bloody handprint right above the handle. A scream echoes from inside.
I curl my hand around Layla’s wrist and she tips her head back to look at me. It’s the closest we’ve been since we started this thing and I’m dazed by the feel of her. Like this, I could wrap both of my arms around her shoulders and tuck her close. Press a kiss to her temple and drag my lips down the line of her jaw. Slip my hand in the collar of her shirt and feel the delicate skin beneath. Work at the place between her shoulder and neck with my mouth. I want so many things with Layla.
Right now, I’d settle for a normal date.
“What’s up?” she whispers.
I swallow. “Nothing. I just wanted to be sure you’re okay with this.”
Her face breaks out into a wide grin. That smile is temptation and delight, topped with a sugary sweet glaze of distraction. She’s wearing cutoff denim shorts again today, a white, billowing top that’s tight around her arms and loose everywhere else. It looks impossibly soft and temptingly thin. I bet I could feel the heat of her skin through it. I bet the gauzy material would bunch at my wrists when I slipped my hands beneath.
I clear my throat and stare pointedly at the bloody handprint on the door in an effort to distract myself. Layla’s smile grows.
