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

Our relationship over the last month had been, frankly…awkward. He felt it. I felt it. We all fucking felt it. But I couldn’t seem to make it stop, no matter how many well-meaning, “Can I help you with anything?” texts I sent. Or how many, “I’m good! Can I help you with anything?” messages I got back.

An endless fucking loop of us being weirdly nice to each other.

It was uncanny as hell.

But neither of us seemed to be able to figure out how to make it fucking stop.

The last thing I need right now is to accidentally activate Blair’s sad Pikachu face.

Especially when I keep doing that exact fucking thing.

Haven’t I put him through enough?

Which is why I—wisely—kept the true extent of my fucked-up-ness to myself, like a good big brother. Also, why I was here—brotherless—sitting on a sticky barstool while flashing neon lights at a club an hour away from my new apartment blinded me.

Because I was maybe a bit delusional, I’d convinced myself that sitting alone in a room full of people would be less pitiful than sitting alone at home. That it was better than lying in bed and making shapes out of the popcorn ceiling while I over-thought what I’d say at my next therapy appointment.

I’d gotten it into my head that an excellent way to not spend the night by myself would be to get laid.

Part of me wanted to prove to myself that I still could, even though it’d been ages.

My seat squeaked as I pushed a twenty across the bar and ordered my sixth mocktail for the night. I’d be driving home, so alcohol wasn’t in the picture for me, even though I kinda wanted it to be. Liquid courage and all that.

Don’t get me wrong, I was no stranger to sex. To seduction.

I’d fucked my way through the graduating class at my high school in Oregon because it was something I was expected to do. Virile young male, family with money, golden-boy, star-of-the-baseball-team.

Getting my dick wet was pretty much a requirement to maintain the persona I’d created.

In public, I was untouchable.

Behind closed doors? Not so much.

But this was also my first time chasing tail since arriving in Elmwood, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. I mean, sure, I was horny. I’d been horny for weeks. Been horny when I drove across the country, ditching my old life for a town I wished I didn’t remember.

But mostly, I was tired.

Hence the eyebags.

And if there was one thing that helped me sleep, it was having sex.

Which was why I’d come back in instead of heading home after all the performers had finished. And why I was doing my damndest to ignore the weird prickle at the back of my neck that meant someone was watching me.

People were always watching me.

Peeking through my lashes, I scanned the crowd, but no chick jumped out at me. There was a shadowy man in the back corner of the room, though. His eyes flashed as the strobes hit him. His dark hair pushed back.

I could feel the weight of the stranger’s gaze like a brand on my skin—but just as quickly as I’d spotted him, he disappeared.

When I’d first sat down at the bar I’d been hit on a few times, but I’d been too tired to mask my apathy as efficiently as I usually did, and the women hadn’t stuck around. I didn’t blame them. I was poor company when I wasn’t trying to be someone else.

I should go home.

But wouldn’t that be a waste?

I’m already here.

I should at least get my dick sucked, right?