CHAPTER 8
By the time I get back to my site after my long run and swim in the murky lake, people are lining up chairs by their cars waiting for the parade of campers to go by.
Little kids run around, spraying silly string at each other and throwing those little popper things on the ground and stomping on them.
My gut reaction is to avoid all these stupid festive activities that are planned for today, but I still haven’t confirmed or denied if my little prey is on the other side of the tree line.
Of course, the site is void of vehicles and girls, from what I can tell.
Part of me wants to go snoop. It’s not like it’s hard to sneak into a tent that doesn’t lock.
I could slip in and out of each tent without anyone even realizing, finding out all the information I want to know.
“Hey cutie pie!”
Fuck me. I should never have stopped to help her earlier.
“Hi Trish.”
She beams at me now in a bikini top and shorts with makeup painted all over her eyes and cheeks, making her look like a slutty festive Barbie with double-D tits.
“I wanted to invite you to ride in the back of my truck for the parade, we could really use a man with a good throwing arm.” She winks at me, making me want to puke by the amount of neediness she’s giving off. “Please, pretty please, the girls and I would be so grateful.”
“Girls?” I question because I thought this weekend was meant for mostly couples and people who wanted to fix their relationships according to the itinerary.
“My gal pals and I are here on a friend’s retreat, all ten of us.
We could really use a manly man to help us.
” She moves closer, eating the space between us and invading my personal bubble.
I’d bet she’s never had anyone find her behavior appalling like I do in this very instant.
“Please,” she bats her eyelashes at me, running her hand down my exposed bicep.
I have to swallow down the wave of nausea that hits the second her fingers graze my skin.
My mind wanders back to my earlier thoughts. Maybe my little prey is one of the girls on the other side of the tree line. If she’s up high in the back of a truck looking out over the crowd of people along the route. That might be the best way to spot her.
“Fine, but no touching, and absolutely no costumes.”
“Deal, meet us at our site in half an hour.”
She skips off back down the road with more pep in her step then she had coming over here in the first place. I really hope she doesn’t think I want anything to do with her. I simply want to use her truck as a perch, so I can hunt for my little prey.
I sprint into my camper and make quick work of taking a shower to wash off the sweat from my lengthy run, along with any grim the lake left behind after my swim.
The sound of giggles draws my head out of my duffel bag, causing me to stop my search for my white tank top. I know that giggle, at least I’m pretty damn sure I do. It’s not my little prey, but it’s her best friend.
My cowboy boots click on the metal stairs of my camper as I descend them two at a time, praying I’m right. My wife beater tank top slips over my head before I get my belt buckled. If her best friend is here, there is no way she isn’t. The two are inseparable most of the time.
They have no idea the shadow that’s been following the two of them around for months now has followed them twelve hours away. It’s like some sick comic twist of fate, putting them both in my twisted little orbit.