Her eyes flew open, staring at Jason in astonishment. What thefuck? He’d actually pushed her away like she was a dog about to hump his leg?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The stony mask of the stranger he’d become slid over his face, but not before she caught a glimpse of a tempest brewing in his eyes.
It should have frightened her, but the warmth in her belly had ignited into furious heat. No sane man had ever turned down Tiffany Podemski. Didn’t he know how many guys would kill to be with her? That Clive had said all his friends were jealous of him? What the fuck was wrong with Jason? He couldn’t do better than her and he knew it.
“Goodidea? You’d call a kiss frommeanidea?”
“Tiff—” He heaved a weary sigh, and she couldn’t believe that he was making that noise. Like she was a nuisance!
“Is it Carrie?” she demanded.
Jason blinked. Then the mask dropped. His face blazed with something incandescent. Tiffany stepped back, the backs of her calves scraping against the tree stump, her heart suddenly beating heavily and not from desire.
“Do you evenknowme? Like,reallyknow me?” Jason snarled, his fists clenching.
She felt her eyes widen, but she’d be damned if she let Jason see how scared she suddenly was of him.
“I thought I did,” she said, letting anger wash away her fear, and stalked off.
“Tiff—” Jason said.
“Stay away from me!” she yelled, picking up the pace.
Something niggled at the back of her mind, but she ignored it. The only thing that mattered was putting as much distance as possible between her and Jason. This stranger who looked like her ex-boyfriend, but with the cold eyes and hot temper.
“I’m sorry,” he called after her, although he didn’t sound very sorry. “Come on, we have to stick together!”
“I don’t need you. I can take care of myself.” Shecouldtake careof herself, she realized. She was in good shape. Cheerleading was more than looking pretty in a short skirt. It took strength, agility and balance to do those complex routines. And she had a flashlight and her new BFF, Paring Knife. She didn’t need this Neanderthal hulking over her. An ungrateful Neanderthal who’d rejected her advances. He was never going to get that chance again, unless he crawled to her on his hands and knees. Over broken glass. And nails. She’d see to that.
As Tiffany stomped into the woods, she took one last defiant glance over her shoulder to check if Jason was following. He stood by the tree stump, flashlight lowered, his stance neutral. She couldn’t believe he was just going to let her go. Well, she would make him sorry he did.
She stumbled farther into the trees, and that nagging feeling at the back of her mind finally hooked her attention. It dawned on her what had been off with the scene she’d just left, besides Jason’s stony face.
The tree stump had been clear.
The axe Jason had been splitting wood with was gone.
11
Jen
Jen was starting to reconsider volunteering as Patrick’s search party partner. She’d picked him because he was the most level-headed. She was fond of Tiffany and Freddy, but their hysterics would drive her batty. Ten minutes with them and she’d probably beg Ranger Russ to put her out of her misery.
Carrie, on the other hand, would be too serious. She might have been their Final Girl, but if they were attacked by a killer she’d do something insufferably noble, like sacrifice herself so Jen could get away. Jen would appreciate that, but the thought made her cringe. She’d be expected to live her life indebted to Carrie’s selflessness and become a better person, yada yada yada. No fucking thanks. She enjoyed being a dirtbag.
Jason, too, would sacrifice himself for Jen, but he’d probably try to talk to her about Tiffany and she didn’t want to playgo-between. She’d had enough of that when her parents had divorced. Let Ken and Barbie figure out their own shit.
So Patrick was the best choice of the bunch. He was the perfect search party buddy because he didn’t believe they were in serious danger. He’d be sensible.
Plus, while he was dumbfounded at being proven wrong, Jen could easily push him in their stalker’s path and make her escape.
She hadn’t counted on his incessant complaining, however.
“Why doIhave to be Velma?” Patrick said as their flashlights carved a path through the woods. Jen’s boots crushed twigs and cedar needles into the rain-damp soil, releasing a rich, earthy fragrance. “Is it because I’m nerdy? In that case, if anyone’s Velma, it’s Mikey.”
“Because you, my friend, are a little bitch. I say that with love. Take it as a compliment from a big bitch.”
“If I’m Velma, does that make you Scooby?”
