7.

"I never understood the American fascination with these fucked up malls." Mason said as he stared at a couple of goth teenagers making out by a fountain. "It just goes to show you that we, as a society, are slave to our own wealth. It defines us, it sustains us, and most importantly, it keeps us looking hot…Oh capitalism is a beautiful thing, isn't it, Georgie? Now what store shall we frolic through first?"

"I think it would be a good idea of we keep the frolicking to a minimum today." George commented as they weaved their way through the teenagers and adults who were milling about.

"Oh, come on. Couldn't you spare just a little bit of frolicking? It's fun, I promise. We can lock arms and everything." Mason grinned and nudged her with his elbow. She glared at him disdainfully.

"I'm pretty sure Brooks Brothers has a strict No Frolicking rule, with absolutely no exceptions." She retorted immediately, waving her hand to emphasize her point.

"And since when has good ol' Mason here ever followed rules or any sort of restrictive impositions placed on one's life?" He stared out across the mall as he spoke, distracted by the shiny stores and masses of people. Keeping his attention was certainly a feat, and George was shocked she had maintained it for this long.

She stopped where she was and simply stared at him stone-faced. He stopped also, and turned to face her. "No frolicking," she grumbled, and he frowned sadly.

"You are an angry, angry human being."

---

"I don't like this, George. I don't like this one bit." Mason called out from behind his dressing room door as she sat in the hall, rolling her eyes.

"That's not for you to decide. Plus, you've hated everything you've tried on in the past five stores. And if you didn't notice, it's getting pretty late and I haven't even found a dress yet."

"You should really go with something scandalous. Nothing spells sexy more than scandal. Knock 'em dead, know what I'm saying?"

"MASON. Get out here. Now."

With that, Mason hopped out of his dressing room, clearly frightened by her warning tone.

"Alright, alright!" He replied, shaking his head. "Now do you see what I'm talking about?"

George just stared at him, her jaw agape, and a smile slowly creeping over her lips. "That. Is. Perfect." She jumped from her chair and tugged on Mason's right sleeve before taking a step back, crossing her arms, and shaking her head in approval. "Fuck, I'm good. Really good. I should seriously consider a future in fashion consulting."

"But Geeeorgie," he whined, slouching his shoulders and making a disgusted face, "this suit is all wrong. All wrong."

"What's so wrong about it?"

"First of all, it has pinstripes."

"Pinstripes are hot."

"That may, in fact, be true, but not on tall, lanky Brits such as myself. All it does is call even more attention to the fact that I'm freaklishly tall and, well, lanky. It simply won't do."

"Pinstripes are classy."

"Yes, but—"

"Mason. You're wearing the pinstripes."

"Okay, fine. But hear me out, will you? This suit is too stifling. It reminds me of what my parents used to make me wear back in the day. I just feel uncomfortable in it, Georgie. Are you going to respect my opinion or not?"

"I think I'm going to go with the latter and say no, I will not respect your opinion. Now I understand, this look isn't very you. And although I must say I prefer your look to this, you look good, Mason. Really good." She preferred his look to this. He had a look. And she preferred it. He smiled inwardly, feeling suddenly triumphant. "And if it's that bad, then I'll cut you some slack and say you can ditch the tie."

"Alright, but—"

"And I also understand that you probably don't feel very comfortable in this, but it's just one night, and you can pretend, can't you?" She stood there with her arms crossed in front of her, staring expectantly at Mason. He looked down at his feet; the gaping holes in his socks making the occasional toe pretty unmistakable. He took a deep breath and suddenly clutched his chest emotionally.

"I'm sorry, George, but this just brings back too many painful memories." He shut his eyes tightly, fighting back tears. She simply stood there, watching the spectacle play out before her as he lifted his hands and rubbed his face tiredly before speaking up again. "Back then, life was so different. Everything was so structured, so safe, you know? I had my mum and my dad, and they had this image of me that they wanted so desperately to maintain. The heir of the family name; their only son who would graduate first in his class in Oxford before traveling the world and bringing fame, fortune, and even more prestige to the family. But no. I had to break free; live my life...In other words, become a destitute druggie." He sighed sadly, pausing for a moment before continuing. "All I did my whole life was disappoint my parents and we never spoke to each other after I left. I died without even having the chance to clear the air and tell them that, regardless of all that shit, I'm still their son and I still love them. I never got the chance, George." He was now on the verge of tears, leaning on the wall for support. "I never got the chance." George just stared at him, unaffected by his little act.

"Aaand, scene. Mason. Cut the bullshit, you're wearing the pinstripes." She said resolutely before grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "Now change, we still have a lot of shit to take care of before tonight."

"Oh, fuck it!"

---

It took exactly thirty three minutes to reach the banquet hall from George's place, yet Mason could have sworn it took years. Although they had spent the afternoon shopping together, he had somehow managed to take his mind off of what had been bothering him for the past week. But now that they were in such close quarters, he found it harder to avoid. He never noticed how uncomfortable the passenger side seat was and how stifling seat belts were until thist particular car ride. And although the radio was on, filling the silence between them with melodies and harmonies, slightly easing what could be construed as awkward first date jitters, it didn't help take his mind off of her. Sitting inches away from him. In that dress.

He tried desperately to keep his attention directed on anything but her, but the task grew increasingly hard as his eyes kept wandering over; every movement heightened under his watchful gaze. He watched intently as she placed a stray strand of hair behind her ear; as she reached to change the station, then bobbed her head to the music; as her calf flexed as she hit the gas.

The first time she caught him staring, she laughed and asked if everything was alright. He turned and smiled to himself, thankful that she couldn't see him blush in the dark. He told her she cleaned up real good, and then cast his eyes upward, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars. She grinned to herself, strangely excited.

The second time she caught him staring, she asked if she had something in her teeth, because if she did and he didn't tell her, she'd fucking kill him. He just laughed, shook his head, and looked back out the window.

The third time she caught him, he looked away before their eyes met. She didn't say anything; no lame jokes, no sarcastic quips. Instead, she pursed her lips and stared back out over the road, suddenly nervous. They didn't say anything for the rest of the ride over.

---

"Bloody fuckin' Hell. Look at them. Look at them all. Yupping around like the yuppies they are." Mason scoffed as they entered the hall. George just rolled her eyes; considering the number of guests at this particular fundraiser gala, they could have had it much worse off. It was a relatively low key event, with a crowd large enough to make finding the Davenports in question a difficult task, but small enough to make it nowhere near impossible. She glanced down at her Post-It, studying it briefly before shoving it into her cleavage. "Ow-ow! Look at Georgie-girl here, aking a turn for the kinky!"

She scowled and held nothing back as she punched Mason hard in the arm. "Shut the fuck up!" She snarled, pointing a warning finger at him. "You are going to be on your best behavior tonight, got it?"

He simply stood there, his jaw agape and shoulders hunched as he rubbed his now sore arm. "…Alright. Jesus Christ, you could have just asked politely and I would have agreed."

"And that means no booze until the souls have been reaped. Got it?" Immediately, he opened his mouth in protest, prompting George to raise her fist again. Terrified by the sight, he shut his mouth and nodded his head quickly.

"Got it. No booze 'til the deed's done."

Normally, finding two people in a crowd of two hundred would be a nearly impossible task to accomplish on such short time. Luckily for George and Mason, it seemed as though J. and M. Davenport were related. Not only were the soon-to-die married, they also just-so-happened to attend George and Mason's imaginary engagement party, thus giving the reapers a completely legitimate – that is, if lies somehow constituted legitimacy – reason to find good ol' Jim and Missy. They had to thank them, of course! For the lovely crystal vase and set of wine glasses. They knew it would just look lovely beside their three kitchen guillotines.

"So how did you do it, son? Get down on one knee, like us old timers did back in the day?" It took all the willpower Mason could muster to hold back the laughter. He bit his lip, feigned a misty, doe-eyed look, then reached his arm around George's shoulders and pulled her close to him, much to her surprise and disapproval.

"Oh, it was only the best for my little Georgie-girl here." He kissed the side of her forehead, secretly reveling in it until he felt a sharp pinch in his side. "FUC—" He stopped himself before the expletive exploded out of his mouth, turned to George with a saccharine sweet smile and narrow eyes, then turned back towards the couple. "It was lovely, really. A candlelight dinner on the beach; starry night, not a cloud in the sky. The ring was in her glass of champagne. But," he laughed and shook his head jokingly, "I forgot my darling Georgia isn't exactly the sharpest tool in the box, if you know what I'm saying," Mason nudged the stout old man playfully then squeezed George tightly, getting back at her for the pinch. "My poor baby choked on it! The rock got stuck in her windpipe; tore the thing up. I had to do the Heimlich and everything…First time in years. She almost died, she did! Right there and then!" He paused for a moment, sighing nostalgically. "It was terribly romantic…Wasn't it, darling?" The older couples standing around them gasped in horror and George simply stared at Mason disdainfully.

"More like terrible," she grumbled, giving him her trademark death stare. He let out a loud, exaggerated laugh, then rubbed her arm playfully.

"Oh, you're so silly, my little lovey-dovey…Chia…Pet…" he trailed off, confusing himself with his own ridiculousness. She simply stared at him in complete and utter disapproval. She shook her head sadly, then turned to the couples around them.

"It was lovely meeting you all, it really was." With that, the two of them gracefully excused themselves from the conversation and took a seat at a table strategically placed within striking distance of both the dance floor and the bar.

"What the fuck, Mason? What the fuck?" She asked, smacking him angrily.

"Whaaat? What did I do now! I thought I played it off well. Very convincing, if I do say so myself."

"Your 'lovey-dovey-Chia-Pet'!"

"Okay, everything except that, really…"

George sighed, shaking her head. "Whatever, lets just find this couple so we can get out of here. This place is seriously giving me the creeps. It's reeks of …Old people with excessive amounts of money."

"That it does, Georgie, that it does." He thought to himself for a moment, then turned to her. "Do you think they have a Bentley, these Davenports? Fuck, I could really use a Bentley."

"What could you possibly need a Bentley for?" She asked, looking over at him skeptically.

"There's plenty I need it for." He rolled his eyes as she continued to stare at him, not buying a word of what was coming out of his mouth. "And why do I suddenly need to justify my need for a Bentley to you of all people?"

"'Of all people'? What the fuck is that supposed to mean!" He rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated by the bickering that seemed to characterize their relationship. As he looked up, he caught sight of the Davenports; heading in their direction, no less.

"As much as I'd love to continue this amazingly fascinating line of questioning, I must propose that we postpone it for another time and place. Preferably to never." Before she could get another word out, he motioned to the Davenports. She shook her head and sighed heavily, marched over to the couple, took Missy's soul from behind, then sat back down.

"Don't think they're gonna get in the way of what I was saying." Mason just laughed, and looked down at her with a huge smile on his face.

"You are really one of a kind, George." He said, his eyes glowing as he turned away and walked toward Jim Davenport.

"Hey there, Jimbo. Great party here, yeah? Here's a drink, on me." Mason patted the man's back – effectively taking his soul – and gave him a warm smile before walking back over to George.

"Real smooth," George joked, trailing off, as her attention was diverted to an older couple dancing pretty spryly for their age. She looked at them, slightly confused, but mostly disturbed. Mason just watched her, a silly grin on his face, and his head tilted to one side. After spending a few minutes in silence – she pretending not to know he was staring at her, and he thinking he was getting away with the crime of the century without her even noticing – he reached his hand out reluctantly and placed it on her knee. She looked down at it, then up at him; he was all smiles with a hint of nervous energy. She smiled back, unsure whether she should be unsettled or excited.

"Dance with me, Georgie." He blurted out suddenly.

The smile on her face seemed to grow wider and brighter, and he sprung up from his seat with a hop in his step as he extended a hand to her. "Sure," she replied with a light laugh, as she took his hand and they made their way to the dance floor and began to move with the music. Their bickering, sarcastic banter from mere moments before seemed to be forgotten entirely as he smiled down at her and twirled her around, laughing as she squealed with each spin. He never took her as being the squealing type, but he figured you learn something new every day. She, on the other hand, despised the squealing type, and would blame her behavior solely on champagne consumption; Mason may not have been allowed any alcoholic beverages, but that didn't mean they were off limits to her.

After spending their first few moments on the dance floor goofing around, they were surprised as the music transitioned almost seamlessly from that relatively up-tempo, jazzy number to a slow, smooth one. As the rich voice of the heavyset woman standing with the band crooned through the speakers, Mason watched his hands slide slowly down the sides of George's body, finally resting resolutely on her hips. His movement surprised her – and him too, at that – and her eyes suddenly were glued to his grip. When she finally looked back up at him, she saw his Adam's apple rise and fall as he swallowed, his nerves rearing their ugly head once again. Languidly, he dragged his eyes from her tiny frame up to meet hers. His smile was friendly but deceiving, but there was a glint in his eye that she wasn't entirely familiar with. She smiled back at him, a little more at ease with his smiling face staring back at her rather than a serious one.

His eyes dropped down again, and he chuckled lightly to himself before tugging on her waist, effectively closing the gap between them. He could have sworn he heard a gasp escape her lips as her midsection and his met and melded into one. He smiled to himself, and when he realized her hands were stiffly at her side, his smile only grew. He reached over and gently lifted her wrists over his shoulders and let them rest on the back of his neck before reclaiming her hips as his own. He tried to hide the grin that so desperately wanted to come out, but failed miserably.

"You're tense," although she shouldn't see his smile, she could hear it in his voice. She couldn't help but find it strange that somehow, by not saying her name, the whole thing felt so much more…intimate. Perhaps it had to do with the way his voice was an octave lower than usual or maybe how he was speaking barely above a whisper. She felt goose bumps spread over her arms, and as she closed her eyes images of Mason as more than just a friend began to flood her senses. "Stiff as a bloody board."

"I guess I've never really done this before." She replied as she slowly opened her eyes, only to be greeted, once again, by that familiar smile that washed away all the distracting thoughts in her mind. Maybe she was just imaging it; the longing in his eyes and the hunger in his voice. Yes, that was it. It was all just a figment of her imagination. She forced a smile – which gradually became genuine – and continued telling herself that it was just Mason. He looked at her, slightly surprised, and shook his head with a smile.

"Don't worry, love, it's easy. Just follow my lead."

As they began to move to the music, the gaze she had firmly planted on the second button of his shirt slowly made its way to his lips. She stared at them, feeling strangely overcome with feelings foreign to her when it came to Mason. He simply looked down at her, his eyes locked on her preoccupied gaze. A voice in his head told him this was a good thing – a very good thing – and for a moment, he pondered the meaning of such an overt signal. Maybe now was the time. Maybe this was the exact moment when he was to act on everything he had been struggling with for the past week, and, to be completely and utterly cliché, seal it with a kiss. He swallowed again, nervous, but thankful that George was lost in her own thoughts.

After much deliberation, Mason let his eyes close and he leaned in closer to her, resting the side of his head on the side of hers. Their bodies swayed rhythmically to the music, and without even realizing it, his hands began to drift from her hips to her back, slowly working their way to the uppermost edge of her dress, then back down to where they were. She let her eyes droop closed; after all, she was undead, not dead dead. And although thinking about how she felt about all this was confusing, the signals her hormones were sending her brain were pretty crystal clear. She let her hands relax and he instinctively pulled her closer as her fingers ran through his hair.

Slowly, her hands slid down from the back of his neck, resting finally on his chest. She lifted her head, her eyes fluttering open and her face mere inches from his. His gaze was heated, and fixed firmly on her lips; no trace of a smile was there this time, and suddenly she felt a magnetic pull between the two of them as their mouths got closer and closer…

"Oh my god, Jim's having a heart attack! SOMEONE CALL 9-1-1!"

Immediately, George jumped backwards, startled and on edge. They both turned to watch as a large crowd gathered around a faintly struggling Mr. Davenport. Mason looked down at his watch: 8:19 PM.

J. Davenport
4378 Lakeshore Drive
8:22 PM

After a moment, two young men ran from the center of the commotion to get help, revealing a crouched Mrs. Davenport, by the side of her husband, martini in hand and eyes bulging.

M. Davenport
4378 Lakeshore Drive
8:23 PM

Mason reached out to George, then pointed in the direction of Mrs. Davenport. While everyone was bustling around trying to tend to her husband, they didn't realize that she was crouching on the ground, choking to death on the olive from her martini.

Mason looked away from the scene playing out in front of them, then back at George. He watched her as she stared out at the frantic tumult, her eyes slightly pained and the creases on her forehead growing deeper. Biting his lower lip, he reached his hand out, letting it brush down the side of her arm. Her attention immediately turned to his touch, then slowly made its way up to his face. He smiled softly, his eyes on her arm rather than her gaze. Finally, he let his hand trail down to hers and he picked it up softly, bringing it to his lips. He looked up at her with that glint in his eye before placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.

"Thanks for the dance, darling." Mason brought her hand back down to her side before letting go and turning around to walk towards the crowd. She suddenly felt lightheaded as she watched the souls of Mr. and Mrs. Davenport walk towards Mason, hand in hand. He greeted them with outstretched arms.

"What a grand finale! You certainly gave the crowd a show they'll never forget. Now, if you don't mind…Shall we?"

---

"Being the typical male I am, I must say that if I don't drive you home, I will suffer a severe trauma to my ever-fragile ego." Mason's hands were shoved deep in his pockets and his shoulders shrugged as he leaned forward towards George. She forced a smile and hugged the jacket slung loosely over her shoulders – his jacket – closer to her. She still didn't know what to think about what had passed between them, and even though Mason seemed to be in typical form at the moment, she couldn't help but think that maybe his strange behavior for the past week wasn't so strange after all. Before she could think any more about it, she felt a nudge from behind, and saw his bony fingers wiggling at her side, waiting for the keys to be dropped into them. "C'mon, you're absolutely exhausted. Not to mention slightly inebriated. I'll drive you back."

"Thanks, Mason," she replied distantly, handing him the keys before opening the door and settling down in the front seat.

Mason looked down at the keys in his hands, frowning exaggeratedly. Quite frankly, he didn't expect to win them without a bit of a fight. It definitely wasn't like George to just hand over the keys to her car, let alone to him. She was behaving strangely, indeed, and Mason let out a little chuckle to himself as he opened the door, thinking that maybe he had a sneaking suspicion about what seemed to be preoccupying her mind. Perhaps our roles have reversed, he thought wishfully as he plopped into the driver's seat.

As he put the keys in the ignition, he snuck a glance over at a forlorn George as she stared – almost sadly – out the window into the dark night. Letting his forehead rest on the steering wheel, he watched her for a moment before finally speaking up.

"Hey," he said softly before reaching over and nudging her arm gently, "penny for a thought?" She shook her head softly as if he had startled her, and then looked over at him with a tired smile.

Her eyes drooped closed then open again, and almost as fast as they connected with his, they were averted to the gear. She took a deep breath before answering, "nothing, I'm just tired, that's all."

He looked at her skeptically and she simply leaned back in the chair, letting her head lean on the head rest and her eyes droop closed once again. There was too much swimming through her mind to try to talk to Mason about anything, let alone how she was feeling. He continued staring at her for a prolonged moment before lifting his head, sighing heavily and turning the key.

"It's been a long day," he said tiredly, "and believe me, I know…Too much Mason is not a good thing." He laughed to himself.

"I don't need to believe you, I know firsthand." She shot back sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Definitely a good sign, Mason thought to himself, grinning as he signaled to turn.

After a few moments, they settled into a comfortable silence, and he reached over to the radio, trying to find something to fill the empty air between them. It took a couple minutes of channel surfing before he settled on an obvious winner: classic rock. As the faint sounds of Pink Floyd floated through the air, George let her mind wander, her eyes captivated by the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Why have you been avoiding me for the past week?" She asked finally, her voice quiet but firm.

Mason couldn't get himself to look at her, afraid that if he did, he may actually tell her the truth. Instead, he swallowed nervously, then shook his head and feigned surprise. "You've lost your bloody mind! Of course I haven't been avoiding you."

"Mason." She urged, tearing her eyes from out the window and over to him. It only took a moment under her searing gaze for him to finally give in. He let out a tired laugh poorly disguised as a sigh and continued staring decisively at the road in front of him.

"Alright, alright. Maybe I have been avoiding you. Only a little, though."

"Why?" She asked anxiously, even though she was fairly certain she already knew the answer.

"Georgie," he sighed heavily, finally turning and looking at her. Her name hung in the air between them as a battle waged within. A part of him knew that she felt the same way he did, but whether she was willing to admit it or not was another story altogether. She stared at him expectantly; unsure whether she really wanted to know the answer. After a beat, he turned his attention back towards the road, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Yes, I was avoiding you…But it wasn't just you..." The tension in her shoulders suddenly eased and a wave of relief washed over her as he spun lie after lie, each successive one more elaborate than the previous. "…So you see, it wasn't you at all." He finished finally.

After listening to him weave his tale of angst and self-discovery, George couldn't help but feel at least a little bit disappointed. Although the sheer thought of hearing what she was almost certain he was going to say terrified her, it would be a lie if she said she didn't want to hear it. She may not have known how she would have responded, but she had a sneaking feeling that she wouldn't have been altogether opposed to the idea.

She smiled wearily and studied his profile. "Hey, you up for some lame syndicated sitcoms tonight?" She asked finally, turning her head away from him and staring back out the window into the darkness.

"Need you even ask?"

TBC