I went through half my closet, trying to figure out what I was going to wear, before settling on a tight top, a swishy skirt, and cute boots with scrunched down socks.

Byron was taking me out to a haunted house—at my request. I hadn’t been to one in years, and it seemed like it would be a stupid-fun time. We’d get to hang out together, have a silly experience, and then, if things went right, who knew?

“Easy access, eh?” Whitney said, cruising by my room on the way down to hers, eyeing the skirt I’d picked out. She cackled down the hall before I could say anything.

I met Byron down by the fountain again, flying into his car the second he drove up. I didn’t even try not to beam at him, and as for his part, he told me, “You look amazing,” the second my seatbelt was buckled.

“Thanks,” I said, hiding behind a lock of hair. “The parts of you that I can see look good, too.”

“That was oddly specific,” he said with a grin, pulling out of the parking lot.

“I mean, the rest of you that I can’t see could easily be covered by tattoos of your uncle, sooooo,” I said in a leading fashion.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he teased, before putting his hand on my skirt-covered leg and hitting the gas.

**

The haunted house was set up in this creepy barn outside of town, run by assorted campus departments and volunteer groups, and full of other people our age looking to get their scream on. I could hear the sounds of people shrieking and shouting even through the glass of Byron’s car as he parked.

We got out at the same time, and he angled over to wrap an arm around me. It was a cool night, so we were both wearing hoodies, but I liked the fact that he felt free to touch me—no, that he wanted to touch me.

“So you like to be scared?” he asked me, his breath a whisper against my ear.

“Sometimes,” I confessed. I looked up at him. I mean, it was why I was here, wasn’t it? Because of his KILLER, kinda-sorta? “As long as everything’s safe by the end of the night.”

“Guaranteed,” he promised, squeezing me closer against himself, as we joined the end of the line.

**

I had to hand it to my school’s drama department—they were giving it their ALL.

There was a whole cannibal buffet set up in one room, though it was a little disconcerting to read TEDDY BEAR above the head of the guy on the table. It was hard not to giggle at him, or the FEMINIST eating what appeared to be fruit roll-ups out of his supposed abdominal cavity.

We went through set-piece after set-piece: creepy hospital, creepy school, getting air blasts from the walls, walking through dimly lit passageways with fishing wire hanging down. It was like every horror movie franchise from the last twenty years had been barfed up into one wild celebration of fog machines and fake blood and I loved it. I stopped reading people’s words and just gave in, hiding behind Byron or being bold in turns, grabbing his hand and pulling us past clown statues before any of them could move and scare us.

He didn’t jump like I did, or shout, or startle, though he did seem to be having fun. I tugged us into an autopsy-chamber—a room full of “bodies” on haphazardly placed gurneys, blood splashes on the walls, and a black light overhead.

“This isn’t very realistic,” Byron whispered to me, and I laughed.

“Shush!” I told him. “One of them is going to get us.”

“Try to get us,” Byron corrected me, pulling me behind him for safe-keeping. I used that as an excuse to full-body lean up against him, and let him be the brave one, leading us through the jumbled maze of gurneys.

I was so busy looking forward—and leaning forward—that I forgot to look back—until I heard a horrible clanging sound from behind.

I shrieked and whirled, finding a newly risen zombie actor. He’d rammed two gurneys together and was coming after us—and Byron was there, picking up what I dearly hoped was a prop axe, to defend me.

The actor sank back as Byron loomed. “Whoa, man, I just work here!” the kid yelled.

“Sorry,” Byron said, instantly defusing, and tossing the axe aside. It bounced, oh thank God!

The actor paused, then said, “Grrrr?” holding his arms out.

I laughed, and pulled Byron away from the zombie—for the zombie’s sake.

**

Three rooms later, Byron was stuffing all the cash in his wallet into the tip jar as other patrons raced out shrieking.

“Guilty conscience much?” I asked him, grinning.

“Supporting the arts.”

I laughed and walked out of the barn and away from him, while the sound of a chainsaw picked up from somewhere behind. People screamed, and I was sure my heart was still beating fast as theirs, but its cause had changed. If Byron was a KILLER, kissing him at a haunted house was only right.

“Did you have a good time?” I asked him, when he caught up with me.

His eyes narrowed and the corner of his lips quirked. “Watching you, Sunshine? Always.”

I took a step nearer him, settling my shoulders down some as I tilted my chin up. “Would you like to have a better time?”

The moment paused and spun while I watched him decide what to do next, until he reached for my face, running his fingers underneath my jaw. He stroked the pad of his thumb across my lips. He was definitely smirking now, and that dimple was in full force.

“Does somebody want to get kissed?” he asked me.

I nodded subtly against his hand. “Yeah. That imaginary girl I set you up with. She’s been waiting a while now.”

Byron’s smirk slid into an incredibly wholesome smile as his other hand moved to cup my chin. I closed my eyes to stay still, knowing what was coming, and that I wanted it. His KILLER was completely forgotten. His lips brushed mine and I got the sense of his presence nearby as he pressed closer with everything, a wall of muscle and heat and surprising gentleness, all of him asking for more. I quickly slid my arms around his neck and opened my mouth to let him in, making a soft thoughtless sound with his tongue’s first swipe, as another burst of screaming people flew out of the barn behind us.

In before-Byron life, I’d never been a PDA person, but now I didn’t care who saw us. I leaned into him, pushing my tongue against his, as one of his hands slid into my hair and the other wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer possessively.

And then what’d started as careful turned into claiming.

Byron always seemed reserved—even when he was holding my hand, it felt like he was holding back—until right now, this very moment. He kissed me like I had been starving him. All this time I’d been afraid of him being a KILLER, when his world truly should’ve been HUNGRY.

He pulled back, leaving me breathless and swaying. If he could’ve read my word it ought to have said YES, and I put my hand to his cheek to tell him as much—but he bent his forehead to mine, and his eyes closed in pain.

“Please believe that I absolutely want to ignore this phone call,” he said.

I darted a hand down to where I knew he kept his phone in his back pocket, felt his phone buzz, and used that point of contact to pull his hips a little against mine. “Then…do,” I told him.