Page 14 of Silent Night Sins
Smiling like he was still the golden boy quarterback from Thilton Preparatory, Donny the Third gazed up at me from his mother’s side. I suddenly wished I was sober.
Or that I’d drunk twice as much.
“Hi!” I waved weakly. “Good to see you. How have you been, Mrs. Jefferson?”
The socialite began to jabber at me. I snuck a peek to the side, looking up at the top rows that were filing out. Through the passing people, I could have sworn the baseball cap was pointed in my direction. Thathewas looking directly at me.
A shiver rattled down my spine.
You don’t know that person. It’s just the spooky feeling from the movie.
But I wanted to be sure that whatever I was feeling wasn’t real. That the sizzle of energy was my own creation, and that there was no vibe messing with my fuzzy head.
“And youmustcome to our Christmas party!” Bobbie nearly shrieked.
I blinked at the socialite. “Can’t make it. I’m busy that day.”
Shedidn’t realize what I’d said, but Donny did.
“Mom didn’t say when, Nicole,” he said smoothly.
Same old golden boy, with a voice that would make a pop icon jealous.
I might have had a crush on him, which led to the poor choice of dating him senior year, but now, looking back at a decade ago, I felt absolutely nothing. Donny was polished and expensive in his fitted sweater, designer jeans, and loafers. Everything about him was wrong.
“It’s next Saturday night,” Donny coaxed. “If you’re free, you should come.”
“I have plans with my family,” I said, careful not to lie. If Amanda got her butt into town, it was the truth.
“Your dad would be there if he could,” Donny insisted. “So, you should make an appearance.”
Fucking no. If Donny wanted me to come, that was not the way to do it.
“Lovely to see you, Mrs. Jefferson,” I said quickly, cutting off whatever she was about to add to the conversation. “But my Lyft is here.”
The socialite gasped. “Where’s your driver, darling?”
“Don’t have one,” I quipped, rushing past. “I like to live on the edge.”
Which was exactly why I hightailed it to the end of the row, scampering down after the Patriot’s fan. He turned the corner and disappeared into the men’s room before I could race to catch his face.
Now I was well and truly stuck. If I stayed to satisfy my stupid curiosity, it was likely that I would be caught by the posh mama and her little prince charming, who would gallantly offer me a ride in their town car.
Screw that. No strange gut feeling that was probably paranoia mixed with booze and shitty popcorn was worth that torment.
I headed through the exit, summoning a rideshare for the fast food place across the street just to be clear of the theater doors while I waited for it to arrive.
***
Thehuman body should be considered the highest form of art. It could heal itself with little aid, make miraculous recoveries, and even have heightened senses. Humans didn’t listen to their instincts the same way other animals did, but then again, few of us lived in survival situations.
The fact that mine triggered from a dead sleep, shooting me straight up in bed, proved that the ancient fight or flight instinct was buried deep inside after all.
Breathing hard, I scanned my room.
Something was off. My lizard brain screamed that the seemingly serene space was terribly wrong.
I slipped my hand under my pillow, feeling for the knife. It wasn’t there.
