Page 53 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

I got home at five, took a quick shower, and sat at my dresser wrapped in a towel, wet hair twisted into a messy knot. I worked through the usual steps—moisturizer, primer, a light layer of foundation—then moved to my eyes. Smoky brown shadow, a sharp black wing, mascara, liner. A touch of blush across the cheekbones. Last came the darkest red lipstick. I traced the edges carefully, pressed my lips together, and studied myself in the mirror. I’d spent entirely too long getting ready.

You like him, my cat purred.

I ignored her and got dressed.

I chose a simple black dress, fitted but not tight, leaving my arms bare and my collarbone exposed. Black ankle boots with a low heel I could still run in if I had to. A thin gold chain at my throat.

No holster tonight. The knife went into my bag instead. I pulled my hair down, blow-dried it straight, and brushed it through until it fell where it wanted.

My phone buzzed.

Jackson: Outside.

I grabbed my jacket and headed out.

Jackson was leaning against the hood of the SUV, hands in his pockets. He straightened the moment the door shut behind me and went completely still as I crossed the driveway. His gaze moved over me slowly, dark and intent.

For a long second he didn’t speak. Then he said, low, “You’re really testing me tonight.”

I stopped a couple feet away. “Am I?”

“You have no idea.”

He opened the passenger door for me. I got in. When he slid behind the wheel, he still didn’t start the engine. One hand gripped the steering wheel while he looked at me.

“I’m trying to take this slow,” he said, voice rough. “But every time I see you, it gets harder to remember why.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

He gave a short, strained exhale. “Because I want you. All the time. And right now you’re making it very difficult to behave.”

My cat preened, satisfied.

He pulled away from the curb and turned left, the opposite direction of every restaurant I knew in town. I tracked the turns for another block before I spoke.

“This isn’t the way to any place in Ridgeview.”

"No."

"Any particular reason."

He glanced over. “I made a reservation at a restaurant in Hawthorne.”

I studied him. Hawthorne was far enough that no one from pack territory would casually see us. Maybe he wanted privacy. Maybe he simply liked the restaurant. Or maybe he didn't want his father hearing about us from someone else.

I looked out the window. "Why Hawthorne?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"I don't want my father hearing about you from someone else."

I kept my face toward the window a moment longer, then turned back to him. He watched the road, jaw tight but calm. No defensiveness. Just stating a fact.

Something twisted in my chest anyway. Stupid. I had two bodies behind me and two names left on my list. The last thing I needed was pack gossip. Being invisible was the job.

So why the hell did it sting.

“Okay,” I said.