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

Her nails were done. Her makeup too. Probably professionally, because judging by the brand of her bag, she had money. Sheltered. It was obvious in the way she carried her body—and also because geographically speaking, that made sense. This was a bigger city than Elmwood but still small. Tight-knit.

Young girl meets the love of her life at college in Ridgewood, experiences a whirlwind romance—the kind of thing you hear stories about but never seen in real life.

The perfect couple.

Until you look behind the masks ten years later and realize he’s fucking his secretary—like a fucking cliche—and she copes by spending his money on more designer bags and vacations with the friends that feed her constant platitudes that “at least it could be worse.”

I’d seen worse.

And I could attest that even a life like that was better than half the shit out there.

Less blood too.

Her smile didn’t falter, and because of that, I knew it was genuine.

Put that thing away before you blind somebody.

“What you lookin’ to drink?” the bartender asked, finally approaching.

Jolted out of my thoughts, I found myself suddenly back in the club, surrounded by people and not memories. There was no blood on my hands—at least not visibly. I was okay—or as close to it as I ever got nowadays.

“Another sex on the beach for me, and a refill for my friend,” Bride-to-be beamed. Her tiny hand lay on my shoulder, and I ached.

Because it was warm.

And it felt so good to be touched without a price tag attached.

It was something I’d never known how to ask for. I hadn’t thought I’d receive that simple kindness tonight. Historically, Blair had been the only person that touched me like that. Richard too, more recently, but he was awkward and weird about it.

I could understand why.

We were supposed to be brothers, after all, and neither of us knew how to fix what had happened between us.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said to the bride, though I accepted the new drink with grace when the bartender sat it down in front of me with a clink.

“You looked sad,” she shrugged, and I laughed, even though it hurt.

“It’s the lights,” I waved to the flickering blue lights above, then pulled an exaggerated dopey sad face. “See?” She giggled and shook her head. They turned pink right after, and I grinned just to watch her roll her eyes. “They’re unflattering.”

She blinked at me like I was stupid, but her smile grew softer. Then she withdrew her hand from my shoulder.

Stop shaking.

Stop it.

She’ll notice.

“I don’t think anything could be unflattering on you, but okay.” She wasn’t hitting on me, so I didn’t get why she was being nice. It wasn’t my first time being complimented because of my looks, but usually the compliments weren’t free. “No one’s allowed to be sad during my bachelorette party,” Bride-to-be took a massive swig of her drink, burped, and thumped her hand against her chest. “Sorry.”

“I’m not here for your party,” I replied, though she already knew that.

“Still.”

I didn’t know what to do with her kindness.

Or the fact that I was apparently so shit at masking nowadays that even a stranger could see I was cracked down the middle.

I felt bad immediately for over-analyzing her the way I had.