Mr. Murphy (note writer? protecting us from something?)
Mr. Dave (dating Charlotte’s mom, missing yearbook, rude AF)
Eddie the Janitor (grew up in Nutmeg, attended public school, no record)
Nathan the Night Watchman (no clue, had trouble finding much more info other than the fact that he used to teach karate)
Mark Grandam (he’s fucking guilty, I don’t care how, I just know)
Mark's crappy football friends (basically all pieces of shit, hard to say)
Rick, Jenica's ex (much as I’d like to see him die, not a suspect)
Jeff Rabot (hate this asshole, pretty sure he’s up to something, hates the Montagues)
Mr. Johansen (asthma, arthritis, was ancient even when Jenica attended Adamson)
Mr. Cruschek (he can barely move, so probably not, but whatever)
Mr. Tribble aka that PE teacher who shoved Charlotte in the locker room and made her see all that dick (didn’t start at Adamson until this year, has plenty of social media posts during the times of the attacks)
Yale Hartlett aka the guy that texted us pics of the yearbook (lives in France now with his partner)
Jack Hargrove (hope he isn’t guilty for Spence’s sake)
Kesha (don’t worry about her, I didn’t like her anyway)
Selena (who the fuck knows? probably? why not? her sister used to bully mine at Everly)
Aster (I have no idea who this is, sorry Charlotte)
Ross (definitely guilty, let’s hang the bastard)A smile curves over my lips as I read down the list, pausing with a fingertip hovering over Kesha’s name. I’m not saying I was charmed by the way he wrote his list, only … I was totally charmed.
“What happened between you and Kesha, exactly?” I ask, and Ranger pauses, lifting his head up from a cupcake to stare at me.
“We hooked up at an Everly party last year. The sex was … whatever. I didn’t care for another round.” He turns back to his cupcake, transforming it into a lily pad complete with fondant frog.
“Was she your first?” I ask, because apparently I have a hard time controlling myself around Ranger Woodruff. He doesn’t look up this time, just keeps at what he’s doing, metal music playing softly in the background. It’s turned down so low, I hadn’t noticed it until just now, but it’s pretty funny, seeing this guy with blue-streaked hair in combat boots, listening to metal, wearing gingham, baking frog cupcakes naked. I don’t even know what to say.
“Nope, second.” He switches to a new cupcake. “I had another girl during sophomore year that I used to hook up with from time to time.”
“A girlfriend?” I query, taking a bite of the cookie and trying not to groan orgasmically over it.
“I don’t date,” Ranger repeats, and I make a huffing sound, hopping down from the counter.
“Why not?” I move over to stand beside him, and notice the firm muscles in his arms and shoulders tightening up. “Because of Jenica?”
“Basically. I lost the girl I loved most. Sure, I was a kid, but I’m not putting myself through that crap again.” I stand there, breathing in the smell of sugar and butter, mixed with a light dusting of flour that tickles my nostrils. What he’s saying makes sense, but it’s also a little sad. “She loved to bake, too, just as much as our grandparents. Jenica was the only person who put as much care into her food as they did. I have to carry on the tradition.”
I nod, and then sniffle a little, biting my lower lip.
Ranger pauses to stare at me, sapphire eyes dark.
“What?”
“Do you think …” I start, and then I exhale. “Maybe I could naked bake, too?”
He just glares at me.
“Are you fucking serious? No. You shouldn’t even be in here, go swim in the pool or something. You can borrow my trunks, and a t-shirt.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with us baking naked together?”
“Because you’re my friends’ girlfriend, that’s what,” he growls at me, moving past to grab yet another cake from the second oven. This kitchen is commercial grade. As ugly as I find this sterile house, Ranger’s transformed this room into something magical.
“So?” I repeat, pausing in between the island and the counter, and reaching down to take off my shirt. I chuck it on the floor, and stare at him defiantly, wearing nothing but a pink frilly bra. “Get me an apron, or you’re going to see a lot more of Chuck Carson than you bargained for.
“Jesus H.,” Ranger snarls, grabbing a white apron with pink hearts, and chucking it at me. “You are so fucking stubborn, it drives me nuts. No wonder we all hated you from day one.”
“And you say the word Jesus so much, you must like to pray, huh? I was starting to think he was a character in your novel.” I stick my tongue out, and Ranger rolls his eyes. He turns his back as I shed my clothes and slip into the apron, heart racing. “This is so unsanitary,” I murmur as I try to get the back tied. Doesn’t work. My fingers end up slipping, and I almost jump out of my skin when I hear a gruff sigh behind me.
