Page 60 of Conner's Luna

I search the house, top to bottom. I'm living without Wi-Fi and it's not as romantic as I imagined it would be. The entire time I'm searching for bugs in all the usual places... light fixtures, stuffed animals, the shower... I hear the howling of wolves outside.

I'm peering under the small table in the entryway when someone knocks on the door. I'm filled with trepidation, but also very proud that I didn't bang my head when I was startled.

"Bailey," a deep voice calls out my name from the other side of the paneled wood.

I crawl out from under the table on my hands and knees, glaring at the thin, flimsy wood. I'm contemplating making a dash for the backdoor and the wolves in the woods. Getting eaten by a rabid, feral wolf would be preferable to opening the front door.

"Bailey, please open the door," the voice says again.

I huff out a sigh and stand up. My fingers twitch with the urge to rip the curlers from my hair and smooth out the creases in my dress, but I refuse to primp. All I do is fix my glasses and throw the security chain on the door.

When it opens a crack the man looks straight into my eyes. I stare back, waiting for him to speak first. He came here, right?

He blinks and swallows, his adam's apple bobbing. He looks, for the first time I've ever seen, completely uncomfortable. "Bailey, ah, I heard about your car."

I quirk up an eyebrow, "did you want to see your minions’ handiwork?"

Trey clenches his jaw. "I had nothing to do with it."

I scoff and start to close the door.

"Wait!" he slaps the door, easily preventing me from shutting it in his stupidly-handsome face.

"I'm very tired, Trey. I just finished three final projects and two exams this week on top of all the hours at the lab. Can you cut to the chase and tell me why you're darkening my doorstep with your presence?" I can't help my voice dripping with sarcasm. I really am too tired and heartsore to deal with this tonight.

The muscle in his jaw ticks again. "I don't destroy property."

"Thanks for letting me know. Bye." I wait. He waits. I think he may be an idiot. It's very frustrating to look at him, to breathe in that very sexy masculine scent and be so close to his gorgeous body and not beat the crap out of him for ruining all the dirty fantasies that I could have had about him.

"You need to remove your foot from the door," I say slowly, in case he was wondering why we're still standing here staring at each other.

He swallows again and something resembling discomfort crosses his face. "I wanted to make sure that, ah, you're... not hurt."

"It's just paint," I say flatly. It's not just paint. It's the message it sent, too, but if he's looking for a reaction he picked the wrong girl at the wrong time.

"No. Bailey," he shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. "There's... I've noticed you don't have too many friends."

If I leave the door cracked to grab a kitchen knife will he stay just like he is? "Also due to your minions, but hey, who's counting? Oh, well except for the cretin who tagged my car. Lydia two, Bailey zero, right?" I can't help but let a tiny bit of hurt seep into my voice.

He looks startled, then pissed, "what?" He shakes his head again, looking down at his big, fat boot stuck in my doorway. "Bailey," his voice has lowered, "campus isn't the safest place right now and-"

"How do you know about that?" I interrupt sharply. Is he talking about Jolena? He must be talking about her, but the police haven't released the information to the press, yet.

A sharp howl splits the air, but neither of us looks away from the other.

He goes still. "About what?" he asks suspiciously.

"About... campus not being safe," I hedge.

His eyes narrow on mine. He leans closer, practically mugging my door, "how do you know about the abductions?"

"Abductions as in plural?" I snap out, my mind racing.

Trey sucks in a deep breath. "Don't go to campus anymore. Go back to Durham, Bailey. You don't belong here," he says harshly. He pulls his foot out of the door and walks away without another word.

I close the door slowly, deliberately, and lock it. "You are a complete, hopeless, jerk, Trey Wilkinson. May you and Lydia catch every venereal disease possible from each other and spend countless moments in agony as your privates burn off."

"See, Bailey," I say to myself, "that's what you should have said. Too late now."

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