Page 36 of Primal

“Pretty much.”

“Girl. That’s not a meet-cute. That’s a true crime podcast.”

Kristy’s still yammering, but my brain’s already sliding sideways.

Did IT Guy know I was coming here before yesterday?

Or was it just some unholy twist of fate—my quiet, flannels-and-sweaters-wearing neighbor deciding to moonlight as a knife-wielding fantasy at the exact same Halloween fest I happened to attend?

And if he did stalk me here … why the hell does that make my stomach flip in a way it really, really shouldn’t?

“Payton?” Kristy snaps her finger. “Details. Now.”

“He stabbed a guy,” I blurt out. “The other Ghostface.”

Kristy reels back as if I’d just told her I fucked Bigfoot.

“In the thigh.”

Her jaw drops. “Did he say anything? Like ‘touch her again and die’ or ‘mine’?”

I shake my head. “Didn’t need to. The knife said it for him.”

Kristy fans herself with both hands now. “Jesus. And you let him dick you down after that? With his mask on?”

“It … kind of happened.”

She slaps my arm. “Kind of happened? Girl, you got raw-dogged in the woods by your hot, possessive neighbor. Meanwhile, I got a near-quickie with Ghostface Wannabe and a bark rash on my ass.”

I sigh. “Kristy—”

“Nuh-uh. I refuse to be the B-plot in your slutty horror arc. I demand a rewrite.” She cackles. “But first, I gotta pee.”

“Right now?”

“Yup.” She does a frantic little dance. “Adrenaline dump. I’m about to water these ferns.”

I grab her arm before she can push down her shredded shorts. “There are cameras everywhere.”

“Says the woman who just got railed against a tree. Like prom night at Camp Crystal Fucking Lake.” Kristy wriggles free, utterly unbothered. “Come on, Payton. Bar’s already set. What’s a little moonlight stream compared to public deforestation sex?”

I groan, adjusting my skirt like that’ll somehow erase the crime scene still throbbing between my thighs. “Can’t you pee in secrecy? Like a normal person?”

She winks. “Normal is for people who didn’t get knifed into an orgasm.”

My brain short-circuits somewhere between knifed and orgasm, and all that comes out is a strangled, “It wasn’t like that.”

Kristy shoots me a look that’s ninety percent disbelief and ten percent awe. “You got claimed. Staked. Impaled. Own it.”

She disappears into the bushes. Still giggling.

And I’m left standing here. A violated fern at my feet. Trying to figure out if I need therapy—or round two.

“Kristy, wait.” I stumble after her. “Let’s find an actual restroom. I need to wash this mud off anyway.”

She glances back, grinning. “Just mud?”

I roll my eyes, hunting for a comeback.