Page 16 of Willing Prey

Try to remove it myself, even though I can’t get a good grip on it or see it.

Find Gretchen or Margot and ask them for help.

It’s an easy decision. The idea of breaking off the body and leaving the head embedded in my skin is horrifying. I need help. Throwing on a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie, I grab tweezers from my makeup bag and head out of the bedroom.

Chapter Eleven

Shane

I’m reviewing a case in the library when I hear footsteps. Margot didn’t work today, and Gretchen’s visiting her family for the weekend, so I know it’s Claire. They pass the library, going down the stairs. Then I can’t hear them anymore. A few minutes later, the footsteps are back. This time, they move to the library door and pause. There’s a soft knock.

“Come in,” I call, fidgeting with the papers before I catch myself and stop.

Claire peeks in, only her head visible. “Hey, sorry to bother you. Is Gretchen around?”

I shake my head. “No, what do you need?”

“Margot?” she asks.

Another head shake and the same question. “What do you need?”

The look she gives me is suspicious, cagey, and more than a little embarrassed. My curiosity blooms.

“How are you with tweezers?”

What the fuck?

I don’t answer quickly enough and must look confused because Claire holds up a pair. “You know, these–”

“I know what tweezers are.”

“Well, it didn’t look like you did.” She sighs. “I’m sorry to ask this because I know it’s gross, but will you get a tick off me?”

I’m already moving, finally understanding the tweezer question. “Of course, let’s go in the bathroom. There’s better light.”

I lead her down the hall to my room. Claire lets out an approving whistle when she walks in. One wall has floor-to-ceiling windows. During the day it provides an unobstructed view of the woods.

“Bet that’s gorgeous at sunset.”

“Stunning.” I feel tongue-tied, like I want to say more. Maybe something witty, but nothing’s coming.

In the bathroom, I feel even more awkward. Claire passes me the tweezers, a concerned look on her face. Her shorts are loose and soft, blue cotton fluttering around her mouthwatering thighs. Thighs that are distracting me, making me forget how to act like a human. How long has it been since there was a woman in my bedroom? In my bathroom? I imagine Claire in my shower, soaked and soapy. I swallow hard, trying to distract myself. My cock likes where my imagination is headed.

Careful.

She’ll think you have a tick fetish or something.

“You okay? You look a little pale.” Worrying her lip between her teeth, she studies me. “This is weird, right? Super gross? I’ll wait till Gretchen gets back tomorrow.” She turns to leave, cheeks red. Great. I’ve made her feel self-conscious.

Shit.

“No, it’s fine.” My fingers close around her arm, and I tug her back. “It’s not gross. Swear.”

She sighs like she doesn’t believe me, but she turns. Dropping her head, she parts her hair, and sure enough, there’s a tick.

“I’m sorry,” Claire says, “I know this is a huge turn-off.” She sounds genuinely upset, and that surprises me.

“Why would it be a turn-off?” I study the tick, noting that it isn’t too round, which means it hasn’t been latched very long.

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