Chapter 3: Savannah in the Sunlight
Nick wasn't sleeping much anymore.
Every time he closed his eyes, flashes of Amber's moaning body or Claire's breathless kisses filled his head. The memories felt real because they were real--but nothing about them made sense.
The girls didn't know him. Didn't recognize him. But they seduced him like it was instinct. And then they vanished without a trace.
Except for what they left behind: a hair tie. A book.
Clues.
Or ghosts.
This morning, the sunlight was so bright it forced him awake. He pulled on gym shorts and stepped out onto the back deck, rubbing the sleep from his eyes--and froze.
There she was.
Lying in the grass of the empty house next door like it had always been hers.
Savannah.
Wearing nothing but a pink thong bikini bottom and mirrored sunglasses, her perfect tanned body glistening with oil. Her blonde hair was up in a ponytail, her tits bare to the sun. She was stretched out on a towel like a magazine ad.
Jesus fucking Christ, Nick thought. Savannah Hall.
Senior year. She was his dream girl. Golden skin. Blue eyes. Body made for sin. She dated jocks, flirted with everyone, and broke hearts for fun. Nick had loved her from a distance. They had one moment--just one--at a bonfire party after prom.
She was drunk. Or pretending to be.
She'd kissed him, slow and hungry. Let him finger her in the backseat of his car. Told him he was better than her boyfriend. Promised to call.
She never did.
He spent the whole summer jerking off to the memory of her moaning his name, pussy dripping over his hand.
And now--there she was again. Eighteen. Real. Radiant. On the lawn next door like she belonged to the sun.
βΈ»
"Morning, neighbor," she called without opening her eyes.