Page 12 of Demon Stalked
“Go to the dance with me, Kat,” I beg.
Her eyes look at me with such tenderness that my heart swells, and I can feel it. This is the big moment. The beginning of our forever.
“You guys are so persistent. And in a way, I love that. But…” She shakes her head and pushes past me, scanning her key card as she opens the door.
I run down the hall before I can hear her say no. I don’t want to hear it. That “but” said everything. My gesture wasn’t enough.
I need something more.
* * *
The next dayI skip work, ignoring my phone as it buzzes in my pocket. I have far too many things to do.
Most specifically, crafts.
I first zip to the hobby store and load up on glue and glittery looking things that it seems girls would like. And paper. Lots of thick paper with paint. But for some reason, the craft place doesn’t have noodles. And I know from Katrina’s fridge at home, that noodle art is a big deal for kids.
So I stop by a grocery store and grab a cart full of noodles because I never realized how many types of noodles there are, and I realized I know absolutely nothing about noodle crafts and the best noodles for art projects. I bought bow-ties and swirly noodles, tubular noodles of all sizes, the kind of noodles that look like sheets of paper with squiggly edges. Everything. I basically cleared out the pasta section.
Then I head to the one destination I know for sure will make Katrina’s heart explode with pure, unadulterated love. She won’t be able to say no.
An hour later, my nose is scrunched after inhaling far too much urine-scented air. Screams wrap around my ears. And I wonder why Hell hasn’t yet installed a preschool area. It seems like something that would torture a lot of souls. Adam, individually? Love him to death. A whole room of wild monkeys who tug on my hair and wipe their sticky hands on my face? Different story.
“Stop sticking noodles up your nose,” I tell Bennett—Adam’s classmate—a little four-year-old who has proven himself a rambunctious shit who sucks at art. I sigh as I adjust in the tiny plastic chair I’m perched on and fix his project. I’m seriously doing the world’s deepest squat on the world’s smallest chair; I don’t even understand how seats this small are possible. I turn to Adam in frustration. “I can’t believe you have to put up with this every day.” I gesture at Bennett, who’s skipping off with two spiral noodles hanging out of his nose.
Adam just puts down his paintbrush and wipes a snotty nose with a hand that’s painted blue. “Put up what?” he asks.
“Never mind,” I sigh. I’m glad I ditched the entire day, because that’s how long my super special craft project takes. I’m also lucky this daycare woman whose name I can’t remember loves Katrina, or she might have run me off.
(Okay, fine. I lusted her a little. But I didn’t do anything about it except smile a little extra so she’d let some strange man inside to play with the children.)
When four-thirty rolls around, the time I know that Katrina comes to pick up Adam, I’m ready, with a smug smile on my face.
Her pink curls tumble around her shoulders in the most gorgeous windswept way when she walks in, and for a second, I forget to breathe.
But then, I wave my arms frantically as the little kids surround me, Adam front and center next to me.
Every single adorably chubby-faced four-year-old holds up a painted macaroni heart and says, “Katrina, will you go to the dance with Van?” (It only took three hours of practice to get half of them to say it correctly; the other half were too busy eating the raw noodles.)
Katrina’s eyes well up, and she glares at me. But there’s a smile marring her attempt at an angry face. “You don’t play fair,” she accuses.
“Ah, but in the words of the great Pat Benetar, ‘Love is a Battlefield,’ and I fight to win.” I give her a wink, feigning a confidence that I don’t feel.
“Please say yes,” I whisper, trying to hide the crack in my voice.
Her head tilts, and her entire demeanor softens. “Okay. Yes.”
5
KASTROS
This can’t happen. The guys are so fucking blinded by Katrina’s beauty and by the depth of her heart that they aren’t thinking straight.
But this is wrong.
We are beings of chaos, and what does chaos do? It destroys.
We can’t destroy Katrina. She’s too precious.
