Page 207 of Primal

“Premium dick?” She counts on manicured fingers. “Professional Doms. Private forest. Top-shelf liquor.”

“So, you do this every Halloween?”

“Nah, just once.”

“And?”

“Best night of my life. Couldn’t sit right for a week.”

Kristy chokes on her wine. “How many times? I mean, how many guys?”

“Not the point.” Lana adjusts her top, mid-tutorial energy. “Point is, they vet everyone. Hunters and prey. No weirdos. Just …” She makes the universal finger-licking gesture.

The logical part of my brain is waving red flags. The Talenti-fueled part? Already lacing up her sneakers.

“Alright, ladies,” I say, hoisting my breakup buffet. “Wine and Scream tonight. Actual screaming tomorrow.”

“I packed bandaids, FYI,” Kristy says. “And pepper spray. Just in case.”

“For what?” Lana laughs. “Too much groping?”

End call.

Six hours to Halloween and the neighborhood’s bleeding orange. That PTA mom across the street has a motion-activated zombie. Moans every time you pass. The only two houses not decorated are mine and Kade’s.

Speak of the devil, I’m losing a battle with my grocery bags when the garage door across the street creaks open.

Out comes Kade, hauling a fake tombstone. He’s not wearing his usual rumpled flannel or whatever dad sweater. It’s a thin white tee. And it’s riding up when he shifts his grip. Damn. Since when did IT Guy have abs? No idea what he does at his job. Debug routers with his teeth? Wrestle servers?

And there, just above his hipbone … a jagged scar.

He looks up. Catches me staring.

A flash of the world’s most reluctant smile. And that faint dimple in his left cheek. Because God forbid he just be cute without it.

“Need help?” he calls out.

“Nah, all good.” I manage a half-assed wave before tackling the porch.

I’m one uneven step away from becoming a meme when I slam into some brick wall.

Kade.

My six-foot-three neighbor. Kneeling in my driveway, collecting my scattered snacks.

“You okay?”

The light flares against his glasses. Perfect timing. Now I can pretend I wasn’t staring. “Peachy. Just gearing up for tomorrow.”

He rises with an armful of my dignity. “Halloween plans?”

“Yup.” I grab my haul from him, flashing a smirk, because Kade’s the kind who probably hands out organic fruit goodies to trick-or-treaters. “What about you? Reciting sonnets to your cat?”

“Garage of the Damned.” He nods toward the tombstone slumped by his porch. “All Max.”

“Aww. Community service for the neighborhood kids. How … wholesome.”

His lips twitch. “We’re using strobe lights. And fake blood.”