Page 27 of Willing Prey

TWENTY-TWO

Claire

We decide to go out for dinner after Caine is unimpressed with the contents of Shane’s fridge.

Margot tries to head home, but I convince her to come.

She already told me her fiancé is out of town for the week, so she’s stuck.

Company will be good for her. I also want someone else to witness the absurdity that is Shane and Caine together.

Maybe it’s because I’m an only child, but their dynamic fascinates me.

Opposite but somehow so similar, like a photo and its negative.

Caine brings out an adorable side of Shane.

A sarcastic, grumbling humor that I almost mistake for true irritation until I see the amusement in his eyes.

We decide to ride together to the Alley.

It’s a huge lot downtown where a ring of food trucks and vendors have set up shop.

Trucks and booths are arranged in two rows, creating a large alley—hence the name.

There are tables scattered throughout, with a large grouping of them at one end and a stage at the other.

It’s dusk when we arrive, bistro lights casting a cheerful glow as they stretch from truck to truck.

People are everywhere. I’ve never seen it this crowded.

Shane lives fairly far out from Newbound, and the drive took a hot minute.

It’s after eight, so most of the crowd is adults, though I spot a few teenagers.

A cover band plays a vaguely familiar rock and roll song, but I have no desire to go down there and see who it is.

Shane says what I’m thinking: “Let’s stay away from that end.”

Caine makes a displeased sound. “Killjoy. I’m going to check it out.” Turning to Margot and me, he arches an eyebrow in invitation.

I shake my head. “I’m good. Not much for rock.”

“Same,” Margot says.

With a shrug, Caine’s off. I turn to Margot. “Wait, I thought you liked rock. You mean I let that playlist run all day yesterday, and neither of us liked it?”

Smoothing her unwrinkled blouse, she gives me a grimace-grin. “No, I did like it. I do like it. I love rock.” Her head is on a swivel as she scans the area. “Crowds stress me out. I didn’t want to say that to Caine. He’d probably fling me into one. Try to make me crowd-surf.”

I laugh. She has a point. “Gotcha. We’ll stay out of the chaos, then.”

A glance at Shane shows he’s typing something on his phone. I wonder who he’s texting and immediately feel silly. The emoji-filled message and cat video he sent me last night made me smile like a fool, but maybe I wasn’t the only one he was tipsy texting.

Not my business.

As I’m analyzing food trucks, trying to decide where to start, Margot points. “There’s Caine.”

Sure enough, he’s heading back to us, arms out in a what are you waiting for? gesture. “Are y’all going to stand around all night, or eat? What sounds good? There’s everything.” Syrupy smooth, his words have a drawl I didn’t notice earlier.

“Wait, has he had a Southern accent this whole time?” I whisper to Margot.

She rolls her eyes. “No. He lived in Tennessee for a few years. He turns the accent on and off depending on his mood.”

“I think it suits him.” The slight twang is softening his near-manic energy.

“I know, it’s irritatingly appealing,” she mutters.

That’s not at all what I meant, but I don’t clarify because we’re wandering into the fray between the rows. Caine’s right: the options are nearly endless. I’m contemplating picking two trucks at random and flipping a coin.

“I’m experiencing serious decision paralysis.” Shane looks like he’s considering the benefits of making a spreadsheet. “Don’t they have a list somewhere? A directory?”

“Tell the robot in your brain to take a night off,” Caine says.

Shane takes the bait. “At least I have a brain. There’s just a tiny haunted house in your head.”

“And that’s supposed to be a bad thi—”

“Enough.” I’m ready to go full teacher mode if it means we get to eat. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll split up, everybody orders a thing or two that looks good, then we’ll pass them around potluck style.”

Surprisingly, they all agree. Caine and Shane head off on separate culinary adventures, but Margot sticks with me.

Every other step, she’s smoothing her clothing, looking around like she’s waiting for one of the many people near us to unzip their skin and reveal they’re secretly three aliens in a meat suit.

Distraction time.

I keep teacher mode going, being extra chipper and cheerful, chattering on about mundanities.

This truck or that truck, how pretty the lights are, and on and on until I’m tired of my own voice.

It works. Margot’s shoulders fall away from her ears, and she starts surveying the trucks with interest that’s more hungry than suspicious.

Soon my hands are full, and I’m trying not to drop a huge everything-on-it grilled cheese sandwich and an order of fries that should be served in a five-gallon bucket.

Margot selects some sort of nacho situation, and then we’re working our way out of the alley and back toward the cluster of picnic tables where we started.

The men arrive not long after us. First Shane, setting what looks like a stir-fry on the table. Caine brings donuts and an armful of creatively flavored sodas in glass bottles. I’m not sure how he’s managing to carry it all. Setting his bounty down, he offers drinks to Margot and me. We nod.

He passes a soda across the table to Shane. “Prune-flavored, your favorite.”

Shane’s sigh is long-suffering as he arranges the food with focus that suggests he has a particular location in mind for each item. “I need to grab nap—”

Napkins flutter between my fingertips as I plunk them onto the table, pinning them with a drink so they don’t fly away in the light breeze. “Got them.”

Caine elbows Margot, pushing a donut at her. “Mom and Dad take such good care of us.” She tries and fails not to laugh.

“How long are you in town for again?” Shane sits beside me, apparently satisfied with the arrangement of foodstuffs on the table. He’s close enough that his thigh brushes mine, and I try not to notice how aware I am of his touch.

Caine ignores him, too busy pestering Margot with the donut. I watch, trying to gauge if he’s stressing her out, but she’s smiling and relaxed now that we’ve left the crowd. From the corner of my eye, I catch Shane watching them.

My phone vibrates. I pull it from my pocket with one hand while I pop a piece of grilled cheese into my mouth with the other. I’m bracing for it to be Keith, so when it’s Shane, I’m pleasantly surprised.

Shane Underwood: I’ve told him a hundred times she has a fiancé.

Shane Underwood: He’s had it bad for her since he visited last fall.

I try not to be obvious as I text back: I don’t think she’s picking up on it. At all.

Shane Underwood: Not a clue.

Shane Underwood: Probably for the best.

It is. Margot would be uncomfortable and, based on what I’ve learned about her so far, blame herself for Caine’s crush.

Beneath her perfectly made-up exterior lies a walking, talking bundle of self-recrimination.

Why remains a mystery, but I think we’ve become genuine friends in the last few weeks, and I’m working on putting the puzzle pieces together.

I text back: Definitely. She’s happy with Jeremy.

A donut hovers above my phone screen as I swipe out of my messages. “Try this. It’s like sex in your mouth.” Caine’s praise for the pastry makes Margot cough and sputter, nearly choking on her drink.

Placing it on a napkin, I take a bite of grilled cheese instead. Shane breaks off a piece of the donut. After he chews and swallows, he shakes his head. “Not as good as pussy.”

Caine laughs, Margot looks entertained, and I feel like I’m sitting on a stove.

Holy shit.

His joke shouldn’t start my butterflies’ engines, but it does.

They’re off-roading, venturing out of my stomach and heading south.

Shane nudges my thigh with his—the equivalent of giving the horny fluttering bugs a nitro boost. I’m grateful Margot and Caine have moved on to debating soda flavors, because how aroused I am must be all over my face.

Shane’s dimple flashes. Then he’s leaning in close, lowering his voice to a near whisper.

“There isn’t a taste on Earth better than your cunt.”

I die. No, I’m already dead, and this is some weird sort of sexy limbo. A squeak escapes me. Shane chuckles, the sound rough. Everything but him is underwater, my senses so centered that the rest of the world goes blurry.

I could’ve sworn he was going to kiss me in the kitchen before we were interrupted. Now I’m certain that’s what he had in mind. This isn’t hunting. This is flirting.

And I love it.

I’m sure I look stupefied, but his eyes soften as I turn to meet his gaze. Finally, I get out, “I honestly don’t know how to respond to that.”

The tiniest crinkle of his nose; his eyes drop to my lips. “Well, I haven’t tasted your tongue yet. It might be just as enjoyable.”

“It might be.” The butterflies are shrieking for him to finish his research right here. Shane seems to be considering it. If he kisses me here, in public, in front of Caine and Margot, without a chase, he likes me for more than hunting, there’s no question.

Please.

“Should I find out?” It’s his ask that does me in, has me ready to tangle my fingers in his hair and pull his face to mine.

“I think you better.”

He smiles, dimple on full display, and the rest of the world is gone.

It’s like I can feel his mouth against mine even though he isn’t touching me yet.

Shane shifts the smallest bit closer. I wait, trying not to look as eager as I feel.

We’re nearly nose to nose, so when his eyes change, I can’t miss it.

In the time it takes me to blink, they go from a hungry, predatory heat to cold and so hard I ease back from him on instinct.

He starts to speak, looking over my shoulder.

Before he gets a word out, he’s interrupted.

A familiar voice, one I heard daily for over a decade. The same one that’s currently filling my voice mailbox.

“Claire? What are you doing here?”

Keith.

I’m frozen, unable to turn and look behind me. Exhaling hard through his nose, Shane leans all the way back, lifting his chin in that nod men do to greet each other. “Hi, Keith. Naomi.”

Kill me now.