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CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

ERIN

“Oliver says Nate’s recovering well,” Mia informs me as we stroll through the school halls. “It’s a good thing the surgeon was there right away. If they didn’t act so fast, he’d have lost two fingers.”

Two weeks have passed since Nate’s ‘accident’, and it’s still all everyone’s talking about.

Nate returned to school yesterday and doesn’t go anywhere without an entourage fawning over him like lovesick puppies.

I’ve tried to keep my distance, which hasn’t been difficult when he’s constantly encircled by adoring fans.

The police investigation has brought up no leads, and unsurprisingly, the anonymous donor is proving impossible to track down.

The entire Rydell football team was interrogated, but they all had an alibi.

Sheriff Brady will be tearing what little hair he has out.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Mia asks. “You’ve been acting kinda weird and distant since the Harvest Ball. I know you said that you and Nate are just friends, but I get it if you’re upset about what happened.”

She’s right. I have been pulling away from her. Throwing myself into schoolwork is the best way for me to protect her. I don’t want her getting hurt.

Although my stalkers haven’t contacted me again, I sense their presence everywhere.

I seem to have developed a sixth sense for knowing when they’re close.

They taint the air and leave small traces behind.

For example, little things around my bedroom look different.

A picture frame moved a finger’s width to the left, my toothbrush turned the other way, my pillow angled differently.

Even my locker smells of them: smoke mingled with danger, secrets, and desire. Or maybe I’m losing my mind…

I’ve started looking for them everywhere I go, gazing through store windows, checking behind me in mirrors, and expecting them to be around every corner. Yet they haven’t shown themselves again. Somehow, I can’t help being disappointed.

There was a shift after my encounter with Eli.

Instead of wanting to avoid them, I find myself seeking them out.

Where do you start looking for men when there’s no record of their existence?

After running through different scenarios, I’ve decided it’s up to me to make the next move.

I have to do something that’ll draw them to me, like moths to a flame.

They’re watching, and it’s time to put them to the test, starting with the family golf competition tomorrow.

“I’m fine, Mia,” I lie. “Really.”

“Did something happen at the Harvest Ball?” she pushes. “Oliver mentioned Nate said he felt bad about what happened. He said he acted like a dick.”

“He did?” I keep my expression neutral, knowing Nate won’t have divulged the full story.

“Yeah, he said he got cold feet and left you alone,” she relays.

Naturally, that’s what Nate regaled to maintain his masculine bravado. God forbid anyone is immune to his impenetrable charm.

“It was nothing,” I say.

“Hm,” Mia huffs, unconvinced. “If you say so.”

“Things seem to be great with you and Oliver this time, though,” I say, changing the subject. “Have you talked about what will happen next year when you’re in college?”

Her face lights up. “Well, we have?—”

“Come along, girls,” Ms. Chi chides. “Didn’t you hear the bell?”

“We’ll catch up later,” Mia promises, hurrying away. “You’ll be at the golf club tomorrow, right?”

“Dad won’t let me miss it,” I say. “It’s an Acacia tradition.”

Even though we only moved to Pasturesville last year, Dad insisted on us attending the golf tournament to charm the residents long before then.

Ms. Chi stands by the classroom door, blocking the entrance.

“Before you go inside, I wanted to have a quick word,” she says.

I rack my brains. I’m pretty sure I haven’t missed an assignment.

“Your father has been in touch,” she says. “He’s concerned you’re falling behind with your work. Is everything okay?”

After allowing me to attend the Harvest Ball without him chaperoning, he’s trying to reassert control.

“He’s worrying over nothing,” I say. “My dad’s just protective. I’ve been hitting all my deadlines.”

“If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me. Many students find it hard to live up to their parents’ expectations,” she says. “I know this time of year must be challenging for your family.”

I feign a smile. “Thanks for checking in, but I’m fine, honestly.”

Well, if you don’t count being stalked by psychopaths…

“I’m glad to hear it, but remember, my door is always open.” Her sentence trails off with a sad smile, then she steps aside. “Let’s start the lesson.”

I can’t concentrate for the rest of class, too distracted by the prospect of luring three men from their hiding place. They believe they have the upper hand, but they’re not the only ones who can play games.