Drop Dead Gorgeous (Return to Fear Street Book 3)

“Are you sure I’m doing the right thing? I can’t decide. I keep going back and forth.”

Zane paced my living room, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, shaking his head. His dark eyes appeared to be pleading with me.

As if I had any answers.

“I can’t tell you whether to go ahead with your stand-up act tonight,” I said. I motioned for him to join me on the couch. But he ignored my signals and kept pacing back and forth. “You’re wearing a hole in the carpet, Zane.”

“I can’t sit still. I feel as if my head is exploding.” He swept a hand tensely back through his short, dark hair. “How can I be funny if I’m so wound up?”

“Then don’t do it,” I said.

He blinked at me in surprise.

He looked so cute when he was so tightly wired. I couldn’t help it. I knew he was upset. But I just wanted to grab him and hug him and kiss him until we both felt better.

We all missed Winks, but I think Zane was having the hardest time accepting his death. Zane has always been so sensitive and thoughtful. He thinks a lot about things, sometimes too much. I mean, it’s hard for him to let things go.

I think we were ten or eleven when his dog was hit by a car. Zane took it so hard. I remember him crying and carrying on. It was like he didn’t know who to blame. He didn’t come out of his room for days.

Of course, having Winks as a friend was even more important to him than the dog. He was too old to shut himself up in his room now. But I could see he had the same sadness and the same disbelief, and the same anxiety as when we were ten.

“I just don’t know if I can be funny,” Zane said, lowering his head. “I feel like my timing will be totally off. Last time we were all there, Winks was right across from the stage, grinning up at me. I can still see his goofy grin. It meant a lot to me, especially since no one was laughing very much.”

“Well, okay. Your cousin will understand if you cancel,” I said.

“Yeah. Martin’s a good guy. But it’s like a really big favor. You know. To let me go up there on open mic night. He might decide . . .” His voice trailed off.

I patted the couch cushion beside me. “Come sit down. You’re making me crazy with your pacing.”

“I don’t have any new jokes,” Zane said. “How could I have new jokes?” He slumped beside me and crossed his arms in front of his T-shirt.

“Do you want to write some tonight?” I said. “We could try together.”

He thought about it for a long moment. “Yeah. Maybe.”

I couldn’t hold back any longer. How long had I been trying to get Zane’s attention? Years? Why had I been so shy with him? Just because we’d known each other forever?

My heart started to flutter in my chest. “I want to tell you something,” I said softly.

He turned toward me. “What?”

I lurched forward, threw my arms around his shoulders, and kissed him. I moved my lips against his. I was desperate to show him I was serious about this.

He uttered a little cry of surprise. I could feel him start to pull back. But then he got into it. I guess he surrendered to it.

Did he want this, too? Did he have the same feelings I had?

I hoped so.

We were both breathless when the kiss ended. I pressed my forehead against his.

He snickered. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, can I tell you something?”

I nodded.

And he kissed me again.

I raised my hands to the back of his neck and held him there.

Zane and I have wasted a lot of time, I thought.

But that’s old news now.

Then the front doorbell rang.

I slid my hands off his neck and ended the kiss. Zane jumped to his feet.

A few seconds later, I opened the door, and gasped. The vampire hunter was standing there. He had a bandage covering his white-blond hair. He wore a long, tan trench coat despite the warm spring air.

He raised his wallet with the fake ID. I read his name: Calvin Imhoff. He shook his head, his expression grim.

I uttered a cry. “Oh no. Has there been another murder?”