When we walked in, I noticed he seemed oddly nervous, glancing around too often, his smile stretched just a little too tight.
Halfway through the previews, I reached into the popcorn tub — and my hand brushed against something hard wrapped in tissue.
Inside the tissue was a small note, written in messy handwriting: “Check your phone. Now.”
I pulled out my phone under the dim light of the screen.
A message notification blinked — from an unknown number.
It read: “This isn’t your first date tonight. Be safe.”
My stomach dropped. I little knew what it meant, but instinct told me not to ignore it.
I pretended to feel unwell, and excused myself and walked straight to the restroom, locking myself in a stall.
I texted back, asking who it was.
The reply came instantly: “The girl at the counter. Please trust me.” Continue reading…
