6. Chapter Six - Willing Prey
My thoughts shattered the instant a hand touched my shoulder; the simple contact yanking me back to reality so abruptly it forced the chaos in my mind still.
“Ira Grace,” my ma said firmly, her voice cutting through the fog, “I’ve been calling your name.”
“Oh—sorry,” I mumbled, dragging a hand through my tangled hair as I tried to look normal. “Ma, I dunno about college. I just… I don’t think it’s for me.”
She tilted her head slightly, the corners of her expression softening as concern settled across her brow. “Why’s that, honey?”
I gnawed at my bottom lip, the faint sting enough to keep me steady while I searched for words that wouldn’t come out wrong. “The guy you met outside… Culver. We ran into each other under weird circumstances. And it feels like… I dunno. Something feels off.”
Her expression shifted, one brow lifting as she considered that carefully. “Are you trying to say you like him?”
Absolutely not. My taste in men had issues, but hopefully not that many issues.
“What? No,” I shot back far too fast, heat rushing up my neck and straight into my cheeks as though I’d been caught mid-confession.
I took a step back without thinking, as if distance alone could undo the way my voice had betrayed me.
My arms crossed tightly over my chest, thin and defensive, as though they could hide everything I didn’t want her seeing.
“It’s the complete opposite. Everyone at college, like literally everyone, acts like he’s some kinda movie villain. ”
Which honestly wasn’t helping considering the man dressed like he collected cursed artifacts for fun.
That much was real enough, even if it left out the bigger piece I couldn’t bring myself to say. The truth was that he pulled at me in a way that felt intense and unsettling, the sort that clouded your thinking and pushed your usual caution aside.
Because I could already tell spending more time around Culver Scarbrough would turn my world upside down. I’d felt it from the first moment I looked at him, and the fact that it had only been this morning somehow made it worse.
“And the weird part,” I continued, my voice tightening because if I stopped talking, I knew I’d spiral again, “his family’s loaded.
They own some bougie clothing brand, but there are rumors about them.
Deep, weird rumors. Maybe even criminal stuff, and now just being seen near him is making me a target.
People already hate me just ‘cause I know him.”
I paused, fidgeting with the frayed edge of my sleeve as though my fingers could physically pull the tension out of my spine.
The uncomfortable truth lingered anyway.
I was already falling for someone I didn’t know and definitely shouldn’t want.
I was scared of how badly I wanted him, of the way the feeling settled deep in my chest and refused to loosen its grip.
Wanting someone this much after barely knowing them felt insane.
Clinically unwell, even.
My mother’s expression didn’t shift the way I expected.
Her hand slid to her hip as she met my eyes, her gaze cool and difficult to read.
“Sweetheart,” she said slowly, “I think you’re overthinking it.
You’re new. You’ve got that Southern charm, you’re beautiful, and let’s be real, half the room probably noticed you the moment you walked in. ”
Unfortunately, one of them happened to be the world’s most emotionally confusing man.
I rolled my eyes, but she was already stepping closer, her fingers smoothing down my hair in the easy way she’d always had. The touch was grounding, the kind that didn’t just fix flyaways but reminded me I wasn’t as alone as I felt.
“Okay,” I said quietly, the word leaving me on a breath. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve never been the new girl before. It feels like everyone already decided who I am.”
“They haven’t, baby. They’re just seeing a piece of you. Day one always feels like a fight.” She leaned in and kissed my forehead, and just like that, I felt small again, as though the world had gotten too big too fast. “I ordered food. It’ll be here soon.”
I nodded as she stepped back, her presence lingering even as she moved away. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve got things to do. Love you.”
She smiled and brushed my arm on her way out, signing "I love you" like it was muscle memory. Then she was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of coffee and reassurance.
I sank onto one of the kitchen barstools, my body swaying slightly as the quiet settled back in. The vape spun between my fingers, a small, stupid ritual that gave me just enough reason to keep my breathing steady.
Barely.
It was the mystery and the tension. The way Culver’s presence clung to my day like a second skin. Maybe I’d blown the whole thing up in my head, turning a random encounter into something much bigger than it actually was.
But no matter how I tried to frame it, he wasn’t just a guy. He hadn’t walked into my life so much as carved a place into it. And now that he was there, I couldn’t picture a single way to undo the mark he’d already left behind.
I liked being treated well, and I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. But it didn’t feel like normal kindness. Tomorrow, I would stand my ground. I wouldn’t let him spiral me out of control like this.
Well… that was if he was even around tomorrow.
The doorbell rang suddenly, slicing through the quiet and making me jolt upright as though I’d been yanked by a wire.
My pulse spiked, irrational panic spreading across my chest like spilled ink.
For one stupid second, my mind conjured the image of Culver standing on the porch beneath the light, holding some new reason to push himself deeper into my life.
But it wasn’t him.
When I opened the door, I found a guy instead. Maybe my age, maybe younger. He stood hunched beneath a hoodie pulled low over shaggy brown hair, his expression already set in place, eyes glassy and distant as though he’d been doing this long enough to stop caring. He thrust an empty hand toward me.
“Money,” he said flatly.
Southern hospitality had officially left the building.
“Excuse me?”
He didn’t respond. He just stared at me with the same vacant expectation, as though I were one more stop on a long, dull route.
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the cash my ma had left on the counter. He snatched it without a word, shoved a cardboard box into my arms as though it inconvenienced him, and turned away without so much as a glance back.
“Okay,” I muttered as I shut the door harder than necessary. “Thanks for the food, asshole.”
Still, food was food.
I balanced the box against my arm and headed upstairs, clutching my schoolbag with my free hand as though it might somehow keep me from unraveling.
I kept telling myself I had a plan, something simple to hold onto in the middle of all this mess.
Eat whatever was in the box. Maybe start on the paper.
Maybe pull up one of my old dance videos from back home, the ones that still felt solid and recognizable.
Something ordinary that could distract me from those piercing green eyes and the growing suspicion that the guy stuck in my head all day might actually be dangerous.
And even with all that hanging over me, the truth lingered anyway.
I didn’t mind it nearly as much as I was supposed to.
I set the food on my desk and picked at it without paying attention, barely registering the taste.
The video timeline scrolled across my laptop screen, recognizable colors and choreography flickering by, but none of it landed.
My thoughts kept circling back to Culver, to the feel of his cold fingers brushing my cheek and the way my ma had looked at him as though she were staring at a ghost from her past. The whole evening felt unfinished.
Pressure slowly gathered behind my eyes, tension throbbing at the base of my skull until even the screen started blurring around the edges. I pushed the laptop away and slid the barely touched food aside before leaning forward and resting my cheek against the cool surface of the desk.
Just for a minute, I told myself.
Just long enough to blink the heaviness away.
But the minute stretched, pulling me under.
When I woke, it was with a sharp jerk, my breath catching painfully in my throat. The room felt wrong instantly, heavy with a stillness that made my skin prickle. My face lifted off the paper I’d fallen asleep on, my rough draft crumpled beneath my cheek and faintly damp with a smear of drool.
Sexy.
Truly the image of academic excellence.
I dragged a hand down my face, blinking hard as I tried to shake off the disorientation. Sleep still clung stubbornly to the edges of my mind, thick and difficult to pull free from.
Everything was too quiet.
The laptop screen had dimmed into its idle glow, casting just enough light to reflect faintly off the window. Outside, there was nothing except a stretch of black so thick it looked painted on. The sort of night that felt as though it were waiting for something, holding its breath.
I stood slowly, my limbs heavy with sleep.
My eyeliner had smudged down my face, giving me the unearned look of someone who’d lost a bar fight.
With a sigh, I shuffled into the bathroom and scrubbed my skin clean, trying to wash away the lingering exhaustion settled deep into my body.
I didn’t bother fixing my hair or looking at myself for very long.
I just wanted to feel clean again, to shake off the sticky haze clinging to me.
But when I stepped back into my room, my body froze.
Cold air rushed past me, sharp enough to raise goosebumps along my arms instantly.
My eyes snapped toward the balcony. The door was wide open.
Every survival instinct I had instantly filed a complaint. It had officially turned into horror movie behavior.
My pulse lurched as I stood there, blinking, as though maybe I were seeing it wrong. Maybe I’d left it cracked. Maybe the wind had pushed it open.
But no. I knew I’d locked it.