Page 38 of Blood and Buttercups

I exhale, nearly sinking to the floor, I’m so relieved.

“Everything okay?” Noah asks, peering at me with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Yep, great.” I give him a lopsided grin that probably makes me look a little crazy. “What’s up?”

His expression goes blank, like he’s trying to remember why he knocked on my door on this random Friday morning.

“You said you came for a reason…?” I prompt.

“I did.” He frowns. “I…wanted to see if you were free tonight?”

It sounds like a question. I mean, itisa question. But it sounds like he’s asking if that’s a plausible reason to be here.

But I can’t focus on the bizarreness of that because my face goes slack. I’m pretty sure I look like a dumbfounded cartoon animal.

He shifts and clears his throat, uncomfortable. “Is that a no?”

“I…” Impossible. Did Noah just ask me out? “Why?”

“Just to hang out.” He gives me an incredulous look. “Because I’m a loser who doesn’t know anyone, remember?”

“I think I said you were aloner.”

“Is there a difference?”

Yeah, one is hot.

As soon as I think it, my face flushes. I can’t have these kinds of thoughts about Noah. I’m pre-vampiric. Infected.Gross.

Even though Dr. Granger said I could live a normal life, I can’t ask a guy to deal with my new quirks. Blood smoothies are many things, but attractive is not one of them.

“I have a stand at the farmer’s market,” I say, more disappointed than a vampire girl has a right to be. “I haven’t been able to go for the last month, but I promised the coordinator I’d make it tonight.”

He nods slowly. “Do you sell your flowers there?”

“Yeah.” I fidget with the hem of my shirt, suddenly nervous. I pushed the market out of my brain with all the other stuff going on, but now it’s front and center.

I might see Ethan tonight. What will I do if he comes to my stand? Worse, what if he talks to me?

Noah frowns. “Why do you look panicked?”

I hesitate. “You know that guy I went out with the night you picked me up at the gas station?”

He nods, his expression sharpening.

“He visits my stand regularly. I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

“Would you be less nervous if I went with you?”

My heart goes squishy. Like damsel-in-distress, hello-handsome-white-knight, let-me-nibble-on-your-yummy-neck squishy.

“I can’t ask you to do that…”

“I don’t remember you asking—I volunteered.”

Uncomfortable, I rub the twin scars. “I can’t pay you.” Especially not when my new steak diet is already putting me in debt.

“I wasn’t asking for a job.”

---