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“You ready for Halloween?” I ask, changing the subject.
He nods with a wide grin, turning toward me. “I’m going after Charlie. If I don’t get to fuck her, I at least want a blowie.”
I stay quiet. His words make me uneasy for some reason.
“You can join in if you want, buddy,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “You were watching us at the party, and she and I both knew it. I think she might be down with a bit of sharing.”
“No,” I say quickly. “Do whatever you want.”
“C’mon man. It’ll be like that time with?—”
“I said I’m not interested,” I say firmly, giving him a glare.
The truth is, the idea does appeal to me, but as much as I want to claim her body, I want to keep my distance. She hates me, and I hate her, and that’s the way it should be. That being said…
“But just you—no one else touches her.”
Trey rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You’re such a possessive weirdo. I hope you change your mind.”
“Not happening, Walker,” I snark.
But I can feel myself getting weaker every time I see her—every time she speaks—and I’m not sure what’ll happen when my hate for her isn’t enough.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHARLIE
Iwalk out into the chilly night air. It’s almost eleven on Halloween night, so the streets are pretty empty, and almost everything is closed except the coffee shop and the pub. Somehow, it’s not raining, so that’s lucky, considering the night’s festivities.
I hold up my phone, swipe up, and text Fiona.
I’m just leaving the theater. Meet me there?
Fiona
Already here! Two drinks deep. Hurry up! This party is the GOAT.
I smile and roll my eyes. Fiona is so much cooler than me. I had to Google what GOAT meant after she used it for the third time.
We’ll see.
I pause when I’m done texting, wondering where to put my phone before I unzip the top of my skeleton onesie and shove it between my breasts.
The cemetery is far from the brightly lit part of Main Street, and as I get closer, the street gets darker. I shiver. I probably should have worn something warmer, but I didn’t have money for anything new, so I settled for my Dia de los Muertos costume and some colorful face paint.
I get the odd feeling that someone’s watching me, and I stop and look around.
The wrought-iron graveyard gates rise before me like skeletal fingers reaching for the inky sky. The ground is littered with damp leaves, and the trees sway with each windy sigh.
I wrap my arms around myself and pick up my pace, pushing through the open graveyard gate toward the sound of laughter mingling with Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”
Cresting a hill, I’m impressed by the scene below. Purple and orange lights have been draped between the trees, creating a twinkling canopy above the party. There’s a large table with mixed drinks and a keg, and another where a DJ bobs her head, her blue hair swaying. Students clutching orange or black Solo cups mingle between the gravestones, and everyone is wearing with some sort of glow stick or bracelet.
I spot Fiona in her bright red devil costume and head toward her, but stop short when a tall, dark figure steps out from behind a tree right into my path.
My skin prickles and my hand flies to my chest. “God! You scared me!”
I glare at the imposing figure. He’s wearing all black and one of those masks like the killer fromScream, and he doesn’t say anything—just stares at me.
