Page 11 of Demon Stalked
“Yup.”
He points at Janie, the annoying crier from my office, who’s walking across the quad wearing her backpack, her arms crossed so that her generous rack is very apparent. Classy. “Hers,” he says.
Typical teenage boy. Breasts aren’t about size, and bigger isn’t always better.
But I whistle and signal for Janie to come over. She does, though she has a bit of a glare marring her face as she makes her way over. “Did you need something?” she asks. “Another poem, maybe?”
There’s a snottiness to her tone that displeases me, so when I hit her with a wave of lust, I go a bit hard.
“Unbutton your shirt and pull down your bra so he can see your boobs.” I jerk my head towards Johnny.
Janie’s eyes grow hooded, and her breathing gets heavy, making her breasts heave.
I look away, because, frankly, I’m not interested. But then I see Principal McNamera striding towards us.
Shit.
I stand up and yank all my lust power away from Janie. But her shirt’s already unbuttoned, so I simply frown at her. “Another uniform violation, Janie?” I feign disapproval. “That’s detention again.”
Stupid principal coming over and ruining my guitar lesson. How am I supposed to learn how to romance Katrina now? Ugh. I curse him and all those centuries spent in orgies instead of preparing the skills I’d need to properly woo my beautiful mate.
I turn to McNamera with a fake smile, watching as the skinny bald man mops the top of his bald head with a handkerchief.
“Van, so glad I caught up with you,” he huffs. “We need another chaperone for theNightmare Before Christmasdance. I wondered if you might—”
“Sure.” The words are out before he finishes. “Happy to help.”
McNamera smiles at me, a weird creepy smile. I can smell his boner from here as he looks at me. “So nice to have a member of the faculty ready to lend a helping hand.”
No, you’re gonna have tohandleyourself, buddy,I think.Not giving you my hand. That’s reserved for Katrina.
Once McNamera leaves, I wander off campus before the bell rings for the day, thinking. Dances are the be-all, end-all of high school romance.
And I’ll be there.
I just need to convince Katrina to go with me.
A ditching teenager peels out of the parking lot of Lakeside Prep, music blasting from the speakers of his souped up Mazda.
And suddenly, I have an idea.
* * *
When Katrina walksup to her hotel door an hour later, wearing that too-short school skirt that showcases those gorgeous legs of hers, I turn on the boombox and hold it over my head.
It blasts Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You.” A couple people down the hall open their doors and peer out to look at me, but I don’t care. Let them look.
It’s called romance, people. Watch and learn.
She stops short and looks at me.
I give her my prepared speech. “Katrina Colt, in the tradition of guys who have zero artistic talent, I’m stealing someone else’s words and music to say it for me. I will always love you.”
She turns the cutest shade of red before shaking her head and pulling out her room key. “Turn that off,” she whispers when a man down the hall complains about the noise.
I shut him up with a bolt of lust that makes his dick pitch a tent higher than the one at the circus.
Katrina pushes the off switch to the music and stands next to me. “Van…”
