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

It will help me sleep.

As I twisted the maraschino cherry stem from my drink into a knot in my mouth, I scanned the room for potential fuck-buddies. Unfortunately for me, all of the women who’d talked to me before (there were three of them, not millions) had managed to disappear, and the weird, massive stranger I’d seen was gone too.

Not that that would’ve gone anywhere, seeing as he was a dude and I’d never been interested in one before, but still.

It was weird.

The guy looked…familiar.

Not in the way most people in Elmwood did—because they were from my past life. But because I swear to God I’d seen him pretty much everywhere lately. Always at the back of a room, always watching.

The throbbing bass shook my stool as the sweaty bodies on the dance floor moved to the beat. Back and forth, twisting and writhing. Couples that wore matching, flickering grins. Some handsier than others. The two exits were both partially blocked. One near the front, and one back by the coatroom. And there was a rowdy bachelorette party that had set up shop in the back corner of the room beside one of them.

I should go home.

I pulled the twisted cherry stem out of my mouth and dropped it into my cup.

“Neat trick,” a cheerful voice beside me spoke. I perked up, though my stomach simultaneously filled with dread as I twisted in my seat to take in the flushed face of a petite woman wearing a shiny white silk sash that declared her as “bride to be.”

Oh thank God.

Is it bad I’m relieved she isn’t hitting on me?

“Thanks, dude,” I ducked my head to indicate the sash, tacking on a dude so she’d know I knew she wasn’t flirting. “Congrats.”

“Thank you!” She beamed at me, practically vibrating with energy. Before I could blink, Bride-to-be climbed onto the empty seat beside mine and waited for the bartender to acknowledge her.

My shoulders relaxed.

Tracing a cool drop of perspiration on the outside of my glass, I tried to muster up the energy to socialize.

I didn’t really want to, but I didn’t want my new “friend” to think I was an asshole, either.

It wasn’t her fault that sometimes I felt like I was on one of those merry-go-round things they have at the fair. Just spinning, and spinning, and spinning. The world this big confusing blur around me. Watching. On the outside, looking in—because I’m not real.

Not really.

At least, not in the ways that count.

I’m not sure when exactly I stopped being a real person. Maybe it was when I was a snot-nosed kid and I stepped foot in that car with Lydia. Or when I found out the secret.

Or maybe it was after my first kill.

Or my second.

Or my third.

They started to blend together after a while.

Scars on scars on scars.

Kill after kill after kill.

The world spun, and spun, and spun.

Maybe this is karma for what I’ve done.

“Hey,” the girl waved her hand at the bartender with a big grin when he glanced our way. She wore the kind of smile that looks like it hurts, all wide and innocent and vulnerable. The kind of smile that belongs in a sitcom because it’s pure.