Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

Blair and Richard had roped me into attending because apparently I “looked like a kicked puppy” and “needed to get my head out of my ass and do something fun.” I knew the choice to attend was for my benefit, as Blair had never been big on parties, and I doubted Richard was either.

I didn’t have the heart to tell Blair I hated parties. That I’d hated them ever since high school. But I’d gone to them anyway, because it was expected of me. No, no. That wasn’t really true. No…if I was being honest—and I was trying to do that more nowadays, fuck you therapy…

The real reason I hated them was because in a lot of ways, they were an easy way to hurt myself. Lots of booze, lots of hands—becoming the person I only was when I hit rock bottom. Self-harm in the form of harmful decisions.

Even though Mutt was gone, and I felt more unanchored than I ever had before—I had at least made enough progress to know I didn’t want to be that person anymore. Not the kinda man who punched brick walls, or cut his fingers on guitar picks. Or the kind of man who played his guitar till his fingers bled because sometimes the pain felt better than the ache in my heart.

I wasn’t stupid enough to think I’d never relapse, but I was proud that I’d come far enough to recognize I was moving forward. Away from the backpedaling. Away from the merry-go-round and its traps. I didn’t want to be life-of-the-party Jeffrey anymore. Golden-boy Jeffrey. Lydia’s Jeffrey.

He was sunny, happy, and funny.

But he was fake as hell.

And I was starting to learn that the people who cared about me didn’t want him around. Which was…weird but awesome too. That despite my surliness and general grumpy disposition, all my brothers seemed to prefer me this way.

“Drink?” Blair offered, holding out a beer bottle. I declined, because my stomach was already churning and I didn’t really need to add alcohol into the mix. “You wanna dance?” His voice was louder than usual so I could hear it over the blare of the speakers.

I didn’t get why we were here, at Vanity’s party of all places. As the oldest daughter of the Rain family, Vanity and her sister Chastity were well known around these parts. Their fortune rivaled my parents’, and Richard and I had grown up playing with the two sisters, often babysat by the same brother this party was being held in honor of.

Blair was way more forgiving than I was.

Even if this was a party for Vanity’s brother and his fiancé to celebrate their engagement, and not for her at all. If I had my way, she’d be halfway down a ditch by now, but since Blair was better than me, we were here anyway.

After we’d discovered Lydia had been blackmailing Vanity, things had been strained. Her attempts on my brother’s life, while fruitless and obviously coerced, would not be easily forgotten by me. Blair seemed to be at peace with how his life was though. And Elmwood was a small town, with an even smaller population of humans, so I guess I understood why he’d opted to exist peacefully rather than go down the murder route like I wanted to.

That didn’t mean we were all buddy-buddy though.

It was a mutual avoidance.

Though Blair and I did say hi to Chastity—who just so happened to be both Blair’s best friend, aside from Collin, and the blue-haired girl who had helped Mutt buy me dinner at the diner.

Pink and indigo lights flickered, blaring across Blair’s pale cheeks and making him look kinda fucking ridiculous. Like Frodo Baggins or some shit, except wearing platforms and a t-shirt that said Bite Me on it. Blair had hickeys on his neck—courtesy of Richard—and I grimaced, disgusted when I thought about the two of them making out. It was hard not to stare at them, especially when his skin was pastier than an uncooked pancake.

Not that my skin was any better, but still.

Collin was right.

They were gross.

“Go have fun,” I waved him off. Blair huffed, annoyed.

And then he pulled me to the dance floor anyway.

He was a horrible dancer. All jerky awkward limbs, like a five-foot robot. And somehow…Richard was worse. He moved like he had no hips at all, and yet—they were the happiest fucking couple at the whole party. Hopping and jerking and wiggling like fucking weirdos. Despite looking like a fucking train wreck the whole time.

It was…contagious.

“How the hell are you doing that?” Blair yell-asked, staring at my hips like I was fucking writing morse code or some shit. I was bruised as hell still, though they were healing, and wasn’t even operating at my usual hip-gyrating level.

“Just copy me!” I yelled back, snorting out a laugh. He tried to mimic me but ended up looking like a horny penguin, and it was the funniest shit I’d seen in forever. When he nearly toppled over, I grabbed him, righting him before he started humping the air again.

“You trying to get the air pregnant?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“Fuck off, dick.”

Gleefully, I enjoyed how dumb he looked for as long as possible.

Except Richard ruined it pretty quickly, because his gaze was hungry—of all things—as he dragged it over Blair’s body, like he wasn’t acting like a total fucking loser and was actually gigantor-catnip.