Page 11 of Right Number, Wrong Man
I run my gloved hand across my face. “You’re taking it too far.”
“Maybe you’re never taking it far enough.” He laughs, but there’s nothing happy in the sound. “You’re always so stiff. Always boring. Always doing theright thing.”
He snatches my Stetson and puts it on. “Look! I’m Colton, Dad’s favorite fucking son!” He forces the Wraithface mask over my head and the scent of mothballs and alcohol hits my nose. “Try to walk a mile inmyshoes. Do you know what it’s like to be the black sheep?” he asks theatrically.
I glare at him, though he can’t see it through the mesh-covered eye holes. “Do you want pity? Cause you ain’t getting none from me. Nobody forced you to steal Momma’s painkillers after her knee surgery and pop them like candy with your friends. Nobody forced you to get into fights in school. Nobody forced you to play pranks. Those wereyourchoices.”
“Get off your high horse!” Mike reaches into the pocket of his jacket and takes out a baggie with white pills in it, dangling it in front of my face. “Are you a snitch now, too? Wanna take me to the cops?”
The silence thickens, the muffled, quick bass from inside pumping like my heart. He wants to provoke me and escalate this argument into a fight, but I have no interest in that. I beat him before—every time. Physically we’re evenly matched, but he lets his rage blind him.
“I ain’t no snitch,” I say.
Mike huffs, shoving the pills into his pocket. “Fuck you, Colt,” he grunts, trudging into the kitchen.
He grabs another random bottle from the counter and slumps onto a bar stool by the island, chugging the neon-blue alcohol. His eyes roll. He sways, almost tipping off the chair, but he falls forward and faceplants onto the island.The bottle drops from his limp hand, breaking with a crash.
I heave a sigh. Great. The asshole has passed out. Should’ve gone for beating him sober instead.
As I turn to leave, my eye catches on something white on the ground. My brow furrows. A note? It must have fallen out of Mike’s pocket when he taunted me with the oxy.
I pick up the paper, but when I unfold it, the world stops and the music fades away. There’s a cute cartoon cat in the bottom right corner and only one girl I know uses stationery like this.
My chest cracks as I read the message.
Mike, if you want to see where the night takes us, I’ll be waiting for you in the guesthouse from midnight until 1 a.m.
The day I fear the most has come: Hailey is making a move on Mike.
She’s had a crush on him since her family moved in next-door four years ago. The whole school knew that she liked him, but until graduation this year, Mike dated another girl. He’s single now. So is Hailey. Actually, she’s never had a boyfriend before.
I’d know if she did because I’m her stalker. Not in a creepy way.
I simply spend every free minute following her around town or looking into her bedroom with binoculars I stole from Dad.
Okay, maybe it’s a little creepy, but I just want to protect her.
My stomach cramps as I glance across the lawn, theoutline of the guesthouse barely visible in the dark. Dull lights flicker in an upstairs window.
No, I can’t let her get stood up after she found the courage to confess to Mike. It would break her heart.
I’ll go and tell her that my brother is unwell, then I’m getting the fuck out of Dodge. I won’t say another word. I won’t look at her. I won’t evenbreathein her direction.
My heart flips as I approach the guesthouse and step inside. The furniture is covered in dusty sheets and if it wasn’t for creaks upstairs, I’d think the place was deserted.
Instinct takes over and I skulk up the steps. I should announce myself, but suddenly my throat is too tight to get out a sound, least of all a proper sentence.
When I reach the landing and see Hailey standing in the bedroom door, my good intentions evaporate.
I can’t fucking breathe.I can’t fucking move. Blood rushes to my crotch and my cock stands at attention.
Hailey wears a sparkly pink Wraithface mask—and nothing else.
Almostnothing, because that lacy lingerie ain’t covering much. Her nipples shimmer through the sheer bra and I can see the smooth, shaved skin of her sex under her thong. A hot pink dress—which must’ve been the rest of her costume—lies on the floor, but she kept on a pair of killer heels that make her legs seem endless.
She looks like a sinful angel, the glow of the fireplace in the bedroom lighting her up from behind.
Have I died and gone to heaven? Is this even really Hailey?
