Page 38 of Mixed Signals
“Thank you,” I say to Layla, resisting the urge to smooth my hands up and down her arms. If the fake zombies don’t kill me, this shirt will. I caught a flash of bare skin when she lifted her arms to reach the top of the cabinet and I had to stare hard at a jar full of eyeballs to collect myself. “What happens if we don’t escape the room?”
Layla gives me a fierce look. Her shoulders roll back, her chin tips up and those pretty eyes that look like a summer storm narrow. It tugs at something deep inside me and I am instantly, inexplicably, turned on.
Christ.
“We are escaping this room,” she says with a steely level of determination. I don’t doubt her for a second. I do, however, doubt the three idiots with their heads pressed together over the safe, trying to wedge it open with a fake foot.
“I should probably go help them.”
I need a distraction or I’m going to escort Layla to the darkest corner of this room and give Eric some more material for his therapy sessions.
Layla nods. “I’ll work on finding the key.”
The key. The combination. The antidote. I keep forgetting all the pieces of this puzzle. I head over to where they’ve abandoned the foot and have started shaking the safe instead. There can’t be much time left. I just need to endure the next half an hour, at most, and Layla and I can go somewhere quiet.
Alone.
Together.
With ice cream, preferably.
“How can I help?”
“I need you to stop flirting,” Gus demands. “And focus on getting us the hell out of here.”
“I’m not flirting,” I grumble.
“You are.”
“Here,” Clint offers. He hands me something that looks like a poorly constructed hammer. “Start smacking this safe.”
“Shouldn’t we be trying to figure out the combination?”
Gus sighs and glares at the ceiling like I’m the dumbest person on the planet. “The last clue was telling us we need to use brute force, obviously. The combination is a decoy.”
“A decoy?”
“Yes, Caleb. A decoy.”
“Sorry, it’s difficult to hear you now that you’re not screaming in my face every three minutes.”
Monty hides his laugh in the crook of his arm. Gus cracks a smile. “You know, you’re funnier than you let on.” He nudges me forward. “Come on. Take a swing.”
“You’re sure?”
He is two seconds away from using my face as a hammer on this safe. He rolls his eyes. “I’m sure. Swing away, pretty boy.” He adjusts one of the sweatbands cuffed around his forearm. “Unless you think you won’t be able to manage it?”
I stare pointedly at the faux hammer hanging limply in his left hand. I can hear Layla somewhere behind us, muttering to herself about antidote ingredients. I want this to be a good date for Layla. I want to be someone she can have fun with.
I want to help us escape this room.
“I can manage it.”
Gus holds his hand out in the direction of the safe, like he’s offering me the best table at a fancy restaurant. If only. I bet I wouldn’t have to look at severed toes if I decided to take Layla to dinner like a normal human being.
“Have at it.”
I sigh and lift the hammer.
