Run Little Fawn (Hunter’s Mark #1)

Chapter 1

THE FAWN

"For people who are spending their eight o'clock on a Friday night in a library, you'd think they would be able to read a fucking sign," I mutter under my breath, glancing at the stragglers who refuse to leave despite the library's imminent closing.

Reshelving a stack of books with more force than necessary, I shoot a pointed look at Natalie, my best friend and coworker. She rolls her eyes in solidarity, sauntering over to me with a conspiratorial grin.

"At least you weren't here when that guy pissed in the armchair last week," she remarks, tucking a choppy strand of black hair behind her ear. It's a cute fresh bob that has me itching to get to the salon and at least get some layers put in. My chestnut tresses are getting long enough to remind me of the scrunchie-wearing little church girl I used to be another lifetime ago.

"Yeah, well, I got stuck cleaning some kid's puke off the new special editions of that mermaid series they're all obsessed with right now, so fair's fair," I remind her as we continue to work our way through shelving the cart of books.

Nat just laughs. "Hey," she whispers, leaning against the shelf. "You'll never guess who I matched with on Tinder. Remember that frat bro from the party I told you about last weekend? The one with the abs you could grate cheese on?"

I snort, shoving a book back into place. "Let me guess, he's about as deep as a puddle and has the emotional maturity of a toddler?"

Natalie shrugs, a wicked gleam in her eye. "That's generous, but who cares? He's hot as sin, and it's not like I'm looking for a boyfriend to take home to Mom. Just a little fun."

"I wish I had your tolerance for himbos," I sigh, wiping a hand across my brow. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting harsh shadows across the empty rows of tables. The library can actually be kind of eerie when it's empty like this.

"The secret," Natalie says with a sage nod, "is to keep their mouths occupied. Either with food or... something else." She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, echoing in the quiet library. Natalie grins, pleased with herself.

"Speaking of keeping something occupied," she says, poking my arm. "You're coming out with me tomorrow night. My sister's bachelorette party, remember?"

I'm already dreading the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of drunk, giggling women I barely know. I almost groan audibly. Fortunately, I keep it stuffed down. "I don't know, Nat. I'll only know you there, and—"

"Exactly," she interrupts, fixing me with a stern look. "You need to get out more, Aria. Live a little. When was the last time you even went on a date?"

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my tongue. She's right, as much as I hate to admit it. Between work and taking care of Mom and Ava, my personal life has been practically nonexistent.

"Fine," I relent, holding up a hand to halt Natalie's victorious squeal. "But I'm not promising anything. I'll go, I'll have a few drinks, but that's it."

Natalie smirks, a knowing glint in her eye. "Sure, whatever you say. But I'm telling you, Aria, you need to get laid. Badly."

I flip her off subtly, but I can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. Maybe she's right. Maybe a night out is exactly what I need to shake off this restless, pent-up energy thrumming beneath my skin.

The last patron finally shuffles out the door and I let out a relieved breath. Natalie locks up behind them, the heavy click of the deadbolt echoing in the empty space.

"Finally," I mutter, stretching my arms overhead until my spine pops. "I thought they'd never leave."

Natalie hums in agreement, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of here. I need a drink and some eye candy stat."

I snort, following her out into the cool night air. The breeze ruffles my hair, carrying with it the faint scent of jasmine and car exhaust.

Tomorrow night.

Bachelorette party.

Potential hookups.

What could possibly go wrong?

The overwhelming pounding beat of the music thrums through my body as I sit at the bar, nursing a vodka cranberry and trying not to look as out of place as I feel. Natalie talked me into borrowing a little black dress that was too big for her in the hips, and as anticipated, my junk in the trunk fills it out perfectly.

If anything, it's a bit too snug, but judging from the glances I got when I walked into this place, that's not a problem.

It's definitely the most dressed up I've been in ages. I left my hair down and wore the emerald necklace my parents bought me on the last birthday we were all a family, since it brings out the green in my eyes. I catch myself toying with the pendant like a worry stone, a nervous habit I fall back on once in a while.

Especially when I'm in way over my head.

Around me, Natalie's sister and her gaggle of friends are already three shots deep, their high-pitched laughter and flirtatious giggles giving me the beginning prickles of a migraine.

I watch them as they lean over the bar, batting their eyelashes at the admittedly gorgeous bartender. The bulging muscles in his biceps, on full display and slightly pinched by his tight black T-shirt, ripple as he mixes their drinks with a practiced ease. He even flashes them a panty-dropping—not to mention tip-dropping—smile.

I sigh, taking a sip of my drink. This is so not my scene. Give me a cozy armchair, a good book, and a glass of red wine any day over this sweaty, neon-lit nightmare.

It's not that I don't want to have fun, to let loose and maybe even find someone to take home for the night. God knows it's been long enough since I've felt the heat of a man's touch or the blissful ache of being thoroughly fucked.

But the thought of actually putting myself out there, of flirting and small talk and the inevitable awkwardness of the morning after... it makes my stomach churn with anxiety.

I've always been an introvert, more comfortable with my own company than the chaos of a crowd. And after everything that's happened—losing Dad, taking care of Mom and Ava—I've retreated even further into myself, building walls around my heart that feel impossible to break down.

I'm not even sure I want to at this point.

Natalie materializes at my side, her cheeks flushed and brown eyes bright with excitement. "Come on, Aria!" she shouts over the music, tugging at my arm. "You can't just sit here all night. Dance with us!"

I hesitate, glancing longingly at the exit. But the pleading look on Natalie's face—the genuine desire for me to have fun and let go for once—has me downing the rest of my drink in one burning gulp.

"Fine," I relent, allowing her to pull me off the bar stool. "But if anyone but you tries to grind on me, I'm out."

Natalie just laughs, dragging me onto the dance floor where the rest of the group is already lost in the pulsing rhythm of trance music. The bass vibrates through the soles of my feet even through my shoes. With the alcohol buzzing away pleasantly, I guess it's not that bad.

I close my eyes, letting the music wash over me. My hips sway of their own accord, my body loosening with each passing beat. Natalie whoops beside me, her joy infectious as we move together, lost in the moment.

And for a little while, I forget.

I forget about the stress of work, the weight of responsibility that constantly threatens to crush me. I even forget about how lonely I am lately. Natalie spins me around, her laughter bright and carefree, and I can't help but join in.

I even manage to laugh.

Maybe this isn't so bad after all. Maybe I needed this—a night to let go, to remember what it feels like to be young and wild and free.

Even if it's just for a moment.

The song changes, something slower and sexier, and I feel a tingle run down my spine. The alcohol is really working its magic now. Natalie raises her eyebrows at me, nodding toward the bar where a hot-as-fuck man who looks like a movie star is watching us with an appreciative gaze.

Watching me, more specifically.

Stylish hair, crisp designer suit, blue eyes glinting with undisguised interest. He's not my usual type, but maybe that's a good thing. I've always been drawn to big, burly blue-collar boys who break the bookish little nerd's heart, and that never got me anywhere but a week-long bender on Cherry Garcia and reruns of Gilmore Girls.

I bite my lip, considering. He is undeniably sexy, all chiseled jaw and smoldering eyes. And the way he's looking at me, like he wants to devour me whole...

Fuck it. I'm doing this.

I'm going to march over there, lay on the charm, and see where this night takes me.

What's the worst that could happen?