Chapter Text
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks as he’s snaking an arm around her waist, the inside of his elbow already against her hip before she’s managed to finish her question. She leans like she means to move away, only to knock his chest with her shoulder. “Being sneaky?”
“Trying to grab a couple chips, y’know,” he says, popping a Cheeto into his mouth by the time she peers over her shoulder at him. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”
“Cheeto breath down the back of my neck? Yeah, that’s a little hard to ignore.” Sam grins, side-stepping until she can face him head on, in the back of her mind thankful her hair’s down for once, obscuring the red tint creeping up the back of her neck. What’s also a bit hard to miss is the fact that they’re currently the only two people in the room, the way he steps a little close to her space to come across as accidental, the way his head tilts in the dim light above the island that’s usually blinding.
The party’s in full swing behind them—or as full swing as it can get, because a Giddings get-together pales in comparison to a Washington shindig, hardly holds a candle. They run in similar social circles, but there’s a difference between saying Sam’s hosting a costume party and Josh is throwing a rager. The BYOB tacked onto the bottom of her mailed out invites had been proof of that.
The orange and purple lights she’s strung around the kitchen cast an array of shadows across Josh’s face, reflected in his eyes as he looks down at her, when his gaze cuts to members of the track team on the deck and then back. The social circle she literally runs in, she muses.
“What are you supposed to be, anyway?” he asks, but he’s smirking as he looks her up and down, takes in the hair that’s not in its usual bun, the outfit that went from fashionably distressed to looking like she went a few rounds with a chainsaw. The costume make-up and paint Hannah slathered on her face earlier itches.
“I’m a ghost!” she says, lifting her arms with a grin to give him the full effect. Or as much as she can without shoving him away to give her room to twirl. They can hear Matt hoot at someone from the next room, followed by Chris, and Josh gives her a step back while she resists the urge to smooth her hands down her shirtfront like they’ve just been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Had one of their friends been in the room they’d likely be giving them leers by now, elbowing one another and whispering amongst themselves with knowing looks, as if Sam and Josh getting in one another’s space is something unusual.
“Oh yeah? Gonna moan and rattle a couple chains?” he says, and luckily for Sam she only rolls her eyes with a hardy har rather than a snort.
“You’re terrible,” she says, reaching out to swat his chest. Once again he’s decked out in one of those studio grade costumes, because of course Joshua Washington doesn’t half ass Halloween, and he low-key has to make all of his friends’ store bought costumes look bad. She finds she still favors Hannah and Beth’s ketchup and mustard duo from a couple years back, though.
“That’s not what they usually say,” Josh shoots back, and she makes an undignified noise in the back of her throat.
“I think I liked you better with your mask on. I don’t have to look at your ugly mug that way.”
He raises an eyebrow, levering himself on the island with one hand, head ducked as he leans into her space again. Any closer and if she moved her head he’d come away with white powder from her forehead smeared across his nose. “Is that what you’re into? Duly noted.”
Briefly, the image of Josh shirtless and slipping on the Jason Voorhees mask flashes through her mind just as quickly as she squashes it, because it’s both creepy and weird for a multitude of reasons. The lip of the island digs into the heels of her palms as she leans forward, both as emboldened as she is hesitant in the back of her mind, because this is a line they’ve been toeing for years, but their timing has always been incredibly off.
His stance shifts, and Sam watches as his gaze flickers from one eye to the other, the lopsided grin of his still there.
“I also usually prefer to be chased around the woods by a madman with a machete,” she says, and maybe it’s the lack of audience, the way she knows Hannah would be pulling a sour expression if she could see them right now that her toeing that same line he is. Or maybe he’s not, maybe she’s not, and they’re just keeping their repartee going because that’s what they do. “Really gets the blood flowing.”
“Oh yeah? Best to my knowledge the final girl doesn’t typically end up with the villain.” Josh’s expression borders on unreadable, but maybe that’s just because it’s dark, because their friends are in the next room, and near strangers surround them, because to read too far into it is to make it out to something it might not be. “Besides, I left my machete in the car. Something about terrorizing oblivious teenagers got in the way of pigging out on junk food. I had to pick my battles wisely.”
She shrugs. “Maybe you should have drowned instead.”
Josh frowns, and leans back enough that they both have breathing room, jaw working like he’s trying to think of something smart to say, say she’s really cut him to the bone. Say that he’s going to go tell his sisters that Sam threatened to drown him, because last time she almost went through with it and he really is traumatized now.
“I’m getting a lot of mixed signals here,” he finally says, and her hands leave the counter as she takes a step forward, away from all the candy and chips that have been mostly reduced to crumbs and discarded wrappers at this point.
“Maybe you should learn to read between the lines.”
She’s closer now, enough that there’s intent behind it, that she knows his breath smells like Cheetos and the whiskey he’s been pulling from the flask tucked into his pocket all night, and that hers tastes like Smarties. His throat works as Sam tries to gauge where they go from here, as he studies her before his head tilts and she can feel his next exhale at the Cupid’s bow of her lip.
“Pity, I never learned how to read,” Josh murmurs.
She lifts her chin up, makes eye contact like a silent dare. “It’s a wonder how you got this far in life.”
“I tend to make things up as I go,” he says, voice soft, and then he’s reaching around her with his free arm, enclosing her in his space as she reaches up, hands lingering between them like she doesn’t know where to put them, hasn’t thought that far ahead, and then Josh’s leaning back again, pulling away with a small handful of candy and a wink.
Something flares deep inside her, like she could smack him right now and feel no remorse for it.
She manages not to, somehow, bless her and lucky for him, and if Mike spots the white paint smeared across his cheek when he comes stumbling into the kitchen looking for the bathroom, he’s too buzzed to think much of it.