Savored Sins (Hawthorne Bay #2)

Chapter 1

one

ZEKE

“Yo! Zeke! Over here, man.”

I can hardly hear my name over the clatter of the bar and the thump of the bass in the speakers.

I flash a grin at the bartender as I edge my way around the bar toward the dude with the hands cupped around his mouth, barely missing someone’s prissy little cocktail with my elbow.

The bartender smirks, and I raise my eyebrows.

Her top’s cut in a low V and her tits are off the damn charts.

I can tell by the look on her face that she’s wondering what my hands would feel like snaking beneath that flimsy shirt of hers, but I don’t even have my drink yet—and Jaxon Slade’s still hollering at me from across the pub.

I punch him in the arm when I finally get to him, and he shoulder checks me back.

I’ve only met Jax a couple of times at previous meet-ups, but the guy’s a fixture in the New England ghost hunting scene.

He’s a fraud, of course—wouldn’t know a ghost if it fucked him in the ass—but he makes up for it with fancy-schmance gear and a production budget I’d absolutely kill for.

Anyway, no need to go into all that. I’ll play nice with this crowd if they play nice with me. After all, we can’t all be paranormally gifted. Hair toss.

“Hey, hey. What’s up?”

One of the other guys nods to the bar, swirling his beer bottle. He grins. “We’re on round two. Better get yourself a drink and catch up.”

“Or… do you mind?” I lock eyes with the guy and pluck the bottle out of his hand, bringing it to my lips as I take a swig.

I hand it back with an exaggerated swallow.

His stare is a mix of awe and revulsion, and it makes me bust out laughing.

Next to him, Jax is trying not to laugh.

“Thanks, man. I’m gonna have what you’re having. ”

I slink back off to the bar, leaving the group of pretend ghost hunters to titter and shake their heads.

I don’t really know them very well, and that’s the way I like it.

It’s how I roll. You let people in, they get too good a glimpse at you, and then bam—they’re gone.

My dad pulled that shit practically the minute I popped out of the womb.

He took one look at me, thought, “Damn, I don’t want this kid,” and peaced the heck out.

Nah, you gotta keep things surface level, keep things moving. Otherwise, stuff gets sticky—and not in the good way.

I slide an elbow onto the bar as the bartender comes over to me. “Give me a Sam Adams, babe.”

The bartender nods. She’s biting her bottom lip in a way that makes me want to hop over the bar and bite it for her, but that’s all she’s giving me. She’s even pulled her top up so there’s only a glimpse of creamy cleavage. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and I’m here for it. I love this game.

Suddenly, there’s a voice in my ear and Jax comes sidling up behind me, flinging his own elbow onto the bar.

“Goose Island,” Jax says. “Shane’s drinking a Goose Island.”

Really, dude? Read the fucking room.

I flash him a tight smile. “Yeah. I got that. But it actually tasted like shit.”

Taking my attention off the bartender, I scan the pub.

The Driftwood is the only bar in Hawthorne Bay, and it’s absolutely packed tonight, which is a good sign.

There’s a lot of interest in the paranormal these days—in ghosts, in particular—and even though a lot of these people are hella annoying, the in-person meet-ups are good for my brand.

Pose for a picture, and they’ll tag you on Instagram.

Lick your lips in a video, and the girls’ll post it on TikTok.

It’s like the followers recruit themselves.

I know. I’m pretty. Sorry, not sorry.

“Get me one of those, too,” Jax says. I whip my head around to see him leaning across the bar to the bartender, jerking a primate thumb in my direction.

He winks at the chick, and she presses her lips together, her eyes flicking to mine.

I quirk one eyebrow in return and cross my arms over my chest, curious to see how this is going to play out.

Ha. I’m kidding.

I already know how this goes down. Honestly, I almost feel sorry for Jaxon Slade. He never stood a chance. I’m the master at this game, and I never lose.

The girl sets two glasses of beer on the bar and asks if we want to open a tab.

We both say yes. Jax wraps his monkey fingers around the frosty glass and tips the rim toward the girl with another wink that makes me cringe in pity.

I slide my glass toward me and take a sip, licking the foam from my upper lip.

I’m careful to avoid the bartender’s gaze. You can’t make it too easy, after all.

“That chick’s hot as fuck,” Jax mutters once the bartender turns her back. He flashes me a sly grin, like we’re somehow in cahoots.

“She is, no cap.”

“That ass is going to be in my bed tonight.”

I feign surprise. “Oh, wow. You go, man.”

He gives me another wicked grin. “Watch this.”

Jax turns. He whistles to the bartender as I watch, amused.

The girl turns, a little irritated at the sound of the whistle, and looks at Jax expectantly.

He slides both elbows across the bar and gives her the cringiest smile I’ve ever seen, waggling his eyebrows in a way that almost has me cracking up.

I’ve been with a guy or two. I know a man with game when I see one—and Jaxon Slade, as cute as he is, just doesn’t have it. Poor Jax.

“What time’s your shift end, hon? If you give me your number, we can meet up after.”

The bartender shoots Jax a smile that shows too much of her teeth to be flirty. “Oh, I’m not off ’til late. And sorry, I’ve got… class in the morning.”

Interesting. I’m pretty sure this girl’s in her late 20s—definitely past college—but when you need an excuse, you need an excuse. Whatever gets the job done, am I right?

Jax scowls, then remembers himself. He nods. “Oh. Sure, sure. No problem. Another time.”

“Mmhm.”

The girl’s eyes flick to mine again, and I hold her gaze for a split second—just long enough for her to know her holding out is going to pay off—before scanning the crowd.

I can already see a group of girls on the other side of the pub, looking me up and down as they sip their cocktails.

The night is still young. I slap my hand on the counter.

“Changed my mind about the tab,” I announce. I hand the girl my card and she swipes it.

“You want a receipt?”

This time, I train my eyes on her and hold her gaze. “Yeah. And I want you to write your number on it.”

Next to me, Jax sucks in his breath, but he doesn’t say anything.

The bartender gives me a small, tight-lipped smile and reaches for the pen.

I watch as she scribbles a string of numbers on the receipt and slides it back to me.

I give it a nice, crisp fold down the middle and, without even glancing at it, tuck it into the pocket of my jeans. “Thanks, babe.”

Pushing away from the bar, I weave my way toward the group of girls who’ve been eyeing me, an indignant Jax on my heels.

“What the hell, man?” Jax hisses.

I laugh. “Sorry, dude. I couldn’t resist.”

Jax scowls at me. “You’re a real dick, you know that? I was going to suggest we team up for that SyFy Channel contest. I mean, I already filmed—even hired a full-ass crew for drone shots—but I figured we could edit you in somehow. Well, you can forget that shit—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” I hold up a hand. “Contest? SyFy?”

Jax stops. He looks at me for a minute, then a slow grin spreads across his face. “You don’t even know?” He scoffs. “And here I thought you’d be competition.”

I feel a wave of heat rush through my chest, but I fight it off. Play it cool, Zeke. No way am I giving Jaxon Slade the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. Instead, I shrug. “Nope. I dunno what to tell you.”

“Come on, man. Where the fuck have you even been? I thought you were, like, up on this stuff. SyFy’s got this competition going—submit a pilot for the new ghost hunting show they want to do, and the winner gets their series produced.”

“Huh.”

I keep my reaction cool, but I swear to god my heart just did a freaking flip.

I’ve got a couple of sponsors for my paranormal investigation podcast now, but it’s nowhere near enough to support myself.

The brands on TikTok that pay me to promote their shitty, low-budget ghost hunting equipment help a little, but this… a TV series? That’d change things.

Hell, I’m still living in my future sister-in-law’s best friend’s cabin here in the middle of bum fuck nowhere—although I have to admit, the friend is hot and you better believe I’m going to bang her before I move out—and showing up at my brother Will’s house for dinner most nights.

TV money would get me back to Boston and into a place of my own—or at least one with my friends, if they’ll trust me to pay rent this time.

“Well, too bad for you,” Jax says, “But I already staked my claim on the Salem Witch House. Like I said, I was going to offer to submit something together, but I think I’d rather do the show alone. Sucks to suck.”

Poor, sweet Jax. He only wishes he’d be getting something sucked tonight.

And anyway, the Salem Witch House? I hold back a burst of laughter. There’s not a single ghost in the Salem Witch House—I know, I’ve been there—and if there ever were any, they’ve all cleared out thanks to the dipshits who go there to bug them. This guy is great.

“Aw, yeah. Too bad for me,” I say. I clap Jax on the back and sidle into the group of girls, leaving him behind. He narrows his eyes at me, then tips his glass back and walks off.

The girls flash their selfie cams at me, holding up peace signs, blurring our faces with whatever phony filters are trending today.

Most of them are in black combat boots and band shirts, their eyelids swept with dark, dusty shadow.

One of them has hot pink stripes in her sleek, blond hair, and she traces a finger daringly down my jaw, which makes me laugh.

I’ve always gotten women’s attention, but ever since I went viral for making out with a ghost on TikTok last year, the girls have been coming out of the fucking woodwork. I’m not mad about it.

I take a break from the fangirls and lean lazily against the wall, scrolling through Instagram.

It’s lame, but I’m still turning the pilot contest Jax mentioned over in my mind.

If I could win that thing, that shit would be dope.

I’m also trying to decide which one of these chicks I want to go home with, and it always pays to look disinterested. Women like that.

I snort when I see a story from Carter Langley, a friend of mine from college, that’s literally just an ad he worked on for some top shelf liquor company.

Straight out of graduation, Carter got himself a job at some high-end marketing agency in Boston, schmoozing rich people and, more generally, just selling out.

He keeps sending me all these LinkedIn messages—honestly, I don’t even know why I have LinkedIn—trying to get me to join his team as a content strategist or influencer liaison or some bullshit.

Bo-ring. I still remember the time I covered for him so he didn’t get caught with weed on campus, and look at him now. That asshole owes me.

I flick back to Carter’s story and study the ad.

I’m sure he makes the big bucks doing this stuff, but like…

do people really enjoy seeing this shit?

Fucking capitalism. I swipe out of the app and shove my phone in my pocket.

The girl with the stripes in her hair is watching me from beneath a fringe of mascaraed lashes.

I’ve narrowed it down to her and the bartender, but…

Eh. The bartender’s still working, and I’m ready to go now. Pink stripes it is. She’s got a great rack on her, too.

I down my drink and saunter up to the girl with the pink and blonde hair. I slide my hand to the small of her back, and she melts into me, the corners of her lips quirking up. I give her a half-smile, nudging her in front of me and toward the door.

“You wanna get out of here?” I breathe into her ear.

She giggles, then nods. Because duh.

On our way out the door, I see the bartender roll her eyes at me, and I mouth, “Next time,” at her across the crowd. The girl with the pink stripes in her hair remains oblivious.

What can I say? I’m just that good.