Deadly Little Voices Read Free

hopes of a call, message, or text from him.

    The truth is that Ben wasn’t the only one who wanted to push the pause button on our relationship.

    “I wanted to take a break as well,” I remind them.

    “At least that’s what you keep telling us,” Wes says, giving me a suspicious look.

    “Of course, how am I ever supposed to get that break, when Ben’s so obviously present, and at the same time absent, in my life?” I continue.

    “Elementary, my dear Chameleon,” Kimmie says. Both she and Wes insist on calling me reptilian names whenever they feel like it, which is reason number 782 for why I hate my name.

    Camelia.

    “You need to rebound with a bloodhound,” she says. “Preferably an immortal one with the power to shape-shift into a really hot guy.”

    “You want me to date a dog ?” I ask, half tempted to flick one of my fries at her face.

    “Not a dog .” She rolls her eyes. “Hook up with your preferred type of predator.”

    “Shall it be werewolves, vampires, angels, demons, or zombies?” Wes says, painting his lips with a ketchup-loaded french fry to make his mouth look bloody.

    “Haven’t you heard?” Kimmie asks, lowering her cat’s-eye glasses to glare at me over the rims. “Immortals are the hot new accessory of the season. Everyone’s trying to score one before they go out of style.”

    “So true,” Wes says, pushing his ice cream to the side. “As if us guys don’t have enough pressure trying to look good, be charming, wear nice clothes…Now we have to run around on all fours and gnaw at people’s necks to be considered sexy.”

    “Stop it, you’re turning me on,” Kimmie says, using a napkin to fan herself.

    “Thanks,” I say, “but I prefer my men human.”

    “Yeah, I suppose I do, too. I’m old-fashioned that way.” She lets out a sigh.

    “Adam is human,” Wes says, perking up, curiously excited to point out the obvious.

    “So nice of you to notice.” I pick a strand of curly blond hair (fingers crossed that it’s mine and not the cook’s) out of my pool of ketchup.

    “Yes, but being a mere mortal does not automatically make him rebound material,”
    Kimmie says.

    “Excuse me?” I ask, utterly confused.

    “Adam’s the kind of guy you fall in love and live happily ever after with,” she explains.

    “In other words, not the kind of guy you get caught macking with behind your boyfriend’s back…But obviously, that happened anyway.” Wes covers his mouth at the horror of it all, clearly trying to be funny.

    But I’m far from amused.

    “Honestly, Wesley Whiner, are you trying to get this ice cream dumped over that crusty coif of yours?” Kimmie positions her Blizzard over his new haircut, which is basically a modified version of a Mohawk (buzzed on the sides with an inch-wide landing strip down the center of his scalp).

    “I’m sorry,” he says, meeting my eyes, his face even graver than when Mr. Muse threatened to confiscate his bottle of hair gel in gym class.

    “That’s better,” Kimmie says, putting her ice-cream weapon down.

    “I promise not to joke about Adam,” he continues, “or any of your other hedonistic love trysts again.” He takes an overenthusiastic bite of ice cream, and even I can’t help letting out a laugh.

    In a nutshell, Adam is Ben’s ex–best friend. About three years ago, a lot of drama went down between the two of them—drama that involved Ben’s then-girlfriend Julie. Apparently, Adam had been dating Julie behind Ben’s back, and after she died, Adam blamed Ben. A lot of people did. The rumor going around was that Ben had gotten so angry when Julie had tried to end their relationship that he pushed her over a cliff. In the end, it turned out that Ben wasn’t to blame for her death. And thankfully, a jury of his peers agreed.

    Like me, Ben has the power of psychometry—the ability to sense things through touch.
    When he touched Julie on their hike that day, he sensed the truth right out