AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You fell asleep watching the show.”
“Shit. Sorry.” She winces. “I’m not very much fun.”
I want to tell her that sitting in the dark, being her pillow, and watching a couple try to figure out if their house is haunted or just a disaster was enjoyable in a way I don’t quite understand. Or that she’s plenty of fun, that I’ve had more fun in the week she’s been here than I’ve had in the last year. But I don’t.
“You’re fine. Get some rest.”
She mumbles goodnight and shuffles out, not looking back. I head back to my room, but once I’m in bed, I can’t sleep. The end of our arrangement hangs over my head, and I hate it. The whole point of the contract was no strings, but now it feels like I’ve made a horrible mistake.
I like Claire, and not just as prey. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m a bit surprised it has, not because of her but because of me. I’m not good at dating. I’d rather be working or in the woods. I don’t like getting to know people. Or spending time with them. By the time I get home from work, I’ve used up all my social energy, all my nice. But I like coming home to Claire, and I don’t know what to think about that.
Chapter Twelve
Claire
The night on the couch after Shane de-ticked me is the start of a pattern. Whether he hunts me that day or not , he invites me to watch an episode of Real Estate Wreck every evening, and I accept. He wasn’t kidding about liking the show; it’s the only thing on his DVR. Sometimes, the episodes are great, and we’re immersed in whatever fresh hell the homeowners are dealing with, but when they’re bland, we talk.
Relationships. Exes. Politics. Religion. About how when he was ten, his father found out he slept with a nightlight and locked him outside in the dark all night. How my mother is convinced Keith cheated because I don’t want to have children. Nothing is off-limits.
Except what happens when the thirty days are up. I can’t shake the sensation that this is more. That this is dating. But if it was dating, wouldn’t he say something? He would; we’re adults, not high schoolers. So this must be who Shane is. Surprisingly funny, a complete nerd for anything involving robots, and the kind of thoughtful that makes you think he’s into you when he’s actually just a nice guy.
This isn’t how I saw this contract playing out. With each day that passes, I dread the end of the arrangement. I like it here. I like Shane, which is a problem because he sees me as a friend. A friend he pays to fuck.
I need to keep my emotional distance and not get attached. But it’s hard when being with Shane feels this right. I have to remind myself that of course it feels good. I’m off work for the summer, fucking around with a hot guy in the woods and watching trash television. I’m basically at adult summer camp. It’s great, but it isn’t real. Even if there are moments where it feels like it might be.
Like when he brings home the obscure brand of frozen yogurt I mentioned loving. Or gives me a back rub while we watch TV. It’s especially hard to remember when he tells me I feel like fucking heaven as he thrusts into me on the lakeshore. Then, I remember how Keith did and said sweet things too, and that meant shit all in the end.
The ultimate proof that this is nothing but business sits in a folder on my dresser. What’s that saying? If he wanted to, he would. Well, if Shane wanted anything more than this, he’d shred the contract. Or create an addendum or do something else lawyerly to it. But he hasn’t, so he doesn’t want more. Doesn’t want me. I try not to let it sting, but it does. Just a little.
***
On day twenty-six, Shane summons me before he gets home from work. He gives me a five-minute head start, which has me tearing from the kitchen, calling an apology over my shoulder to Gretchen. I’d been helping her start dinner, but that will have to wait. His SUV is coming down the driveway as I sprint across the yard. The clouds are low; a storm is set to roll in. That explains the urgency, the cloud of dust behind his SUV.
“Two minutes, little deer,” Shane calls, his voice booming across the yard as I slip into the safety of the trees.
My sole focus is getting as far away as possible, as fast as possible. The woods feel as familiar as the house. I dart past landmarks I’ve grown well-acquainted with over the past few weeks. I’ve learned which deer trails lead to walls of briars too thick to squirm through without losing a layer of skin and which are clear. I know where the ground gets too marshy to move fast, and four different trails to the lake.
I take a hard left at a fallen tree dotted with moss and mushrooms. The path I follow now is less of a deer trail and more of an absence of trees. I found it after the first hunt. Following the natural path will take me in a horseshoe to the far side of the lawn behind the house. I’ve never led Shane down it, and I think it will confuse him. He won’t expect me to head back toward the house, not when I’ve always gone for distance.
I like the challenge of keeping him on his toes, making him work for it. It’s satisfying in a way that makes my soul happy. Nothing gets me wetter than making him physically run me down if he wants me. It’s the ultimate ego trip. Even though I know he’s here for the hunt, not me in particular, being chased makes me feel good. It’s a balm to my pride, soothes the sting of my husband fucking a fresh-out-of-college paralegal.
As the path grows more narrow, I slow my pace to a walk. Ears pricked, I listen for the sound of Shane. I know he’ll be on my trail, tracking me by my footsteps and the branches I break. After the first few times he found me so quickly, I accused him of tracking me through the smartwatch. He showed me the details he looked for and explained how he spent nearly every weekend hunting with his dad in high school and still hunts every year during deer season.
Even though I’m facing forward as I navigate the trail, my focus is behind me, listening for any hint he’s closing in and it’s time to run again. I’ve learned he loves the chase best when I let him get close and give him hell. Glancing over my shoulder, I scan the trees to make sure he hasn’t managed to sneak up on me silently.
No Shane.
I look up the trail in time to see Shane come flying around the bend ahead. He’s at a dead sprint. It doesn’t matter that he’s too far away for me to see the glint in his eye or the hard set to his jaw; I know they’re there.
“Bastard,” I breathe, pivoting to bolt back the way I came. He’s fast, and this trail’s wide enough to let him build up speed. This isn’t going to last half as long as I’d hoped, which means I’ll need to make it tough for him in other ways.
The odds of him coming up the trail from the other way are too slim. He had to have cheated, likely saw where I entered the woods, and guessed I’d end up here. He needs to pay for that. Darting from the trail, I head for the thickest patch of brush I can find. It’ll suck, I’ll be scratched, but it’s worth it because I’m faster through the brush than him.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he growls from way too close.
Shit.
I’m almost to the brush. So close. Three more steps. Just as I reach it, my arm is grabbed, ripping me back to him. I throw an elbow, enjoying his grunt when it connects with his abdomen. Shane doesn’t let go. Every time I pry a hand off me, another takes its place. He doesn’t say yield, so I don’t, thrashing and fighting like he’s a stranger. Like I’m not already dripping for what’s to come.
