Page 72 of Lured By Shadows

Iopened the door to find Carter leaning casually against the porch pillar, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans like he already knew he looked good standing there.“Wassup?” he grinned, white teeth flashing beneath the porch light, his accent laced with the sort of slow confidence some girls probably swooned over instantly. Years ago, I probably would’ve too. Now I noticed different things first: the subtle lift of his brow, the glint in his eyes, and the way his gaze drifted over my body without even pretending to hide it.

I didn’t shy away from it. If anything, I let him look.

“Hey,” I replied simply, shutting the door behind me and locking it with a satisfying click. His eyes skimmed over me again, slower this time, taking his time deciding exactly what he wanted. He could look, for now. What happened afterward depended entirely on how the night went and whether he turned out to be the sort of guy I actually wanted around. Attraction wasn’t trust, and desire didn’t mean I owed anyone more than the moment itself.

My attention shifted toward the dull gray Ford hatchback waiting by the curb.

Not exactly what I expected from him.

He carried himself like the type of guy who’d show up in something flashy and obnoxious, but instead, the plain little car sat there looking like it belonged to somebody’s mom. I kept that thought to myself while taking a lazy pull from my vape, the nicotine settling through my system and smoothing out some of the nervous static in my veins before I slid into the passenger seat.

As the engine hummed to life, Carter tossed his first question out casually.

“What’s it like in America, then?”

I tilted my head, watching streetlights cut warm slices across his jaw while we pulled away from the curb.

“That’s a loaded question,” I murmured. “It’s big. It’s beautiful if you know where to look. Depends what someone’s looking for.”

He shot me a sideways glance, quick and assessing. “What is it ya’d look for, eh?”

“I liked the scenic stuff,” I admitted, letting old memories loosen slightly in my chest. “Hiking, biking, random road trips. My pa used to take me on detours that weren’t even on maps. We’d end up in weird little places that felt like the edge of the world.” My voice softened. “I guess I liked the quiet of it.”

“That sounds proper good,” he said politely enough, though I noticed his interest fading almost instantly. “Not really my scene, though. I’m more a party-an’-drinks kinda bloke.”

I smirked, brushing imaginary lint from my skirt.

“So I’ll see you chugging beer and dancing like an idiot tonight?”

“Absolutely,” he laughed. “Only if ya make it worth my while first, innit?”

His tone dipped lower, challenge obvious beneath it. At least he wasn’t pretending to be subtle. Also, he respected traffic laws; his seatbelt clicked neatly into place while his hands stayed steady at ten and two on the wheel. Nothing like the reckless adrenaline rush of someone permanently fused to a motorcycle.

I leaned back in the seat, crossing my legs slowly.

“Oh? And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“I can think of a few ways,” he hummed, lips curling with implication. I didn’t need to see inside his head to know exactly where those thoughts were going. I’d seen that script before. Honestly, I used to write it better than most boys.

“Then I guess we’re both here to entertain,” I murmured, fingers trailing across the denim of his thigh just long enough to make my point.

He stiffened briefly before relaxing into it.

A small flicker of satisfaction warmed my chest. Not romance but familiarity. The kind built from locker room whispers, dance studio hookups, hallway rumors, and stolen moments in hidden corners where things heated up fast and burned out even faster. I didn’t need promises hanging over my head right now.

I needed distraction.

By the time we reached the party, the bass rattled the windows hard enough to shake the car. The music hit us before the front door even opened. The entire house pulsed with noise, vibrating through the floorboards and into my ribs. Stale beer and cheap cologne clung to the humid air while sweat and heat tangled through bodies packed too tightly together beneath flickering lights.

Carter carved through the crowd instead of simply walking through it. Without breaking stride, he snatched a red cup from some random guy mid-sentence and handed it to me with exaggerated formality.

“For ya, madam,” he announced, dripping sarcasm and absolutely no sincerity.

“Wow,” I deadpanned, taking it. “Such a gentleman.”

I raised the cup slightly. “Cheers.”

Then I threw the drink back in one swallow. It burned like cheap sanitizer and tasted vaguely like frat-house floor cleaner: bitter, warm, and strong enough to dull the awkward static still buzzing beneath my skin.