Page 9 of Bound to a Killer

My jaw tightens, heat crawling up my neck. “Who’d you think I was dressed like this for?”

“Well, that’s what I was trying to get out of you earlier.”

A quiet huff slips out as I turn my attention to the phone in my hand, using it as an excuse not to answer. I type in my manager’s number instead.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay at my place until you get your car back,” Clara says. “I still can’t believe you walked here like this, Aria. You could’ve called me.”

I hit send on my message and glance back up at her, heaving a sigh. “It wasn’t much of a walk. I’d feel bad making you drive out of your way just to get me.”

“Don’t be silly,” she responds. “You know I wouldn’t have minded.”

Her smile softens, edged with reassurance, though I catchsomething else beneath it, maybe even a trace of hurt that I didn’t call her.

Then she turns toward Kelsey, eyeing her tray for a second. “Aren’t you hungry, Kels?”

Kelsey uses a plastic fork to pick at her carrots, her ears slightly pink. “I had a big breakfast. Don’t stop eating on my account, though.” Her gaze dips as she adds, “Oh—let me send over my address.”

Neither of us has ever been to her house before. We usually gather at Clara’s, and I figure their neighborhoods are close together because Kelsey always gets there faster than I do.

She texts her address to Clara’s phone, and I save it under her contact before handing it back.

Monroe Street. Kelsey Shaw.

“Done,” I announce.

They go back to chatting about the sleepover, grinning like nothing in the world can go wrong, and I try to let myself believe it. I lean into the warmth gathering around the three of us, hoping their happiness might rub off on me, too. Just once.

3

ARIA

“Ican’t believe you talked me into wearing this,” I groan from the passenger seat of Clara’s silver Audi, scrunching my nose as I glance at the fuzzy slippers on my feet.

We made a pit stop at her house to swap our school clothes for something more suitable for the sleepover, though nothing about the flimsy, pink cami and shorts set she insisted on feels remotely winter appropriate.

She kills the engine and throws me a playful eye roll, her lashes nearly invisible without the thick coat of mascara she usually wears. “They’ll keep you warm, and they match the pink sherpa robes.”

“They look ridiculous.”

Her cheeks bunch with a smile as she twists around to snag our bags from the backseat. The cherry blossom air freshener clings to the air as I follow her lead, thumbing open my seatbelt with a dull click.

“Well, at least they’ll keep us warm,” she counters as we climb out, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.

I trail after her to Kelsey’s porch, an even grander housethan Clara's—which I didn’t think was possible—but it also feels more lifeless. The front porch isn’t decorated. No flowered pots or quaint tables and chairs. Nothing. Just a vast stretch of white concrete that’s held up by towering, white columns. Even the dormer windows look ominous, jutting from the dark-pitched roof above as if they want to escape the house.

I cross my arms over the plush robe, chewing on my lip to suppress a shiver as we take cover from the brisk evening breeze.

She rings the bell once, and seconds later, we hear the slap of socked feet racing across hardwood floors before the door unlocks.

Kelsey greets us with a grin, dressed in black flannel pajamas that look far more comfortable than the skimpy, silk sleepwear I’ve been coerced into. “You guys made it!” she says, swinging the door open wider and motioning for us to come inside.

“Hey, yeah, sorry it took us a bit to get here,” Clara says, shuffling inside. “We got distracted packing our bags.”

I raise a brow as I follow her. “You meanyougot distracted packing the bags.”

Clara throws her head back in a laugh, then glances around at the long spiral staircase tucked off to the side of the foyer. “Do we just head up?”

Kelsey locks the door behind us and hurries ahead, motioning for us to follow. “Yeah, right this way.”