Page 18 of Road Trip with a Vampire
“What changed?” he asked. “Last night you all but hauled me out of there.”
I considered my answer carefully. Whathadchanged?
“Yoga helped me find myself when I was lost,” I said, an echo of what I’d told him that night by the dumpster. “I don’t want to be friends, but I won’t deny you something that might help you find yourself, too.”
There was something warm in his gaze I didn’t know what to do with. “Thank you,” he said again.
I nodded silently, not trusting my voice.
Without another word, I strode into my bedroom so I could dress for the day.
I’d been in the studioless than thirty minutes before Becky sidled up to me.
“Oh thank god,” she breathed. “You’re alive.”
Huh. That was a weird way to say good morning. “I’m alive,” I confirmed.
“Who was that guy last night?” Becky asked.
Crap.
Lindsay must have told her about Peter showing up.
I started organizing an already-organized pile of papers at the check-in counter and decided to play dumb. “What guy?”
My friend and business partner raised an eyebrow. “Lindsay told me that a gorgeous stranger demanded to see you. She said he was really weird and called you Grizelda Watson, andthenyou tried to send her home.” She leaned in closer, arms folded across her chest. “Tell meeverything.”
My stomach plunged. How did I spin this? I didn’t blame Becky for being curious. If the situation had been reversed and Becky had had a run-in at the studio with a mysterious hot man, I’d have been insufferable with my need for details.
But there was nothing juicy to tell. And besides—the hot guy in question was a vampire. Vampires owed their continued survival to humans not knowing they were real. Even if that weren’t the case, Lindsay and Becky weren’t equipped to handle the truth.
“He’s…” I began, racking my brain for something to say.“He’s a friend of a friend. That’s all.” By this point, several students had clustered a few feet away, pretending not to eavesdrop.
“If I were single, I wouldn’t mind if he was my friend of a friend.” Becky smirked at me. “Ishesingle? Lindsay sent a picture to the group chat. He may be strange, but that guy can get it.”
I made a mental note to remind Lindsay that taking pictures of people in our studio without their permission was against our privacy policy. “I have no idea if he’s single,” I said, ignoring the stupid flutter in the pit of my stomach that arose at the thought of his dating status. “But it doesn’t matter. He’s only passing through town.”
As if on cue, the back door connecting the studio to the stairway to my apartment opened. In walked Peter, his dark hair still a little damp from his shower.
“I found a sublet,” he said. For the first time since I’d met him, he sounded happy. It was such a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor that it was striking.
Every person in the studio was now staring at me. At us.
Becky’s eyes were saucer wide as they bounced between us, full of questions.
“It’s only a mile from here,” Peter continued, oblivious to the chaos bomb he’d just dropped in the middle of my studio. “So I’ll be on my way. Thanks for last night.”
He shouldered his duffel bag, inclined his head towards me, and strode out of my studio without a backwards glance.
The studio grew so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. I could feel the weight of everybody’s full attention on me as I turned my back on them and went to unlock the Walnut Room.
Pretend like everything’s normal, I told myself.
“He spent thenightwith you?” Becky asked in a stage whisper, looking like her birthday had come early.
“Just a friend of a friend, huh?” One of the students, a middle-aged woman named Jessica, snorted, then pulled out her phone. “This is too good. I gotta text the Early Crew.”
This situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. “No one needs to text anyone,” I insisted. “Peter spent the night in my apartment, yes. But only because he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He slept on my couch, nothing happened, and now he’s gone. Can we please talk about anything else?”
