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Mindy was on what I call an out-on-the-town high. It starts at the break of dawn with her run to Starbucks for caramel macchiatos with extra shots of espresso for both of us.
The grooming stage occurs before lunchtime, though she refuses to actually eat lunch on these days because it’ll give her a “pooch” and ruin her attire for the event. In reality, she never has a pooch, but I get sick of arguing this point. Grooming consists of showering, shampooing, and conditioning her hair using all kinds of high-end products, shaving pretty much everything, and finally painting nails and toes if she hadn’t already gotten a professional mani/pedi for the occasion.
From this moment on, she flounces around the rest of the day in her robe, stressing about the details of her wardrobe. We were currently at the obsessing-over-accessories and yelling-at-Gen-to-pay-attention phase of the day.
“Oh, definitely not the Jimmy Choos,” I said with serious finesse. “What if you meet this super-hot guy and the shoes make you taller than him? Some men find that emasculating. Plus you won’t even be able to dance with him if he can get over the fact that you’re taller than him.”
Of course, Mindy was very petite, and even in those five-inch heels, she’d still be shorter than the average guy. But if I didn’t have some kind of input with a crafty explanation, she’d start fussing that I didn’t care and we’d go rounds about that.
“You’re so totally right. Why didn’t I think of that? Okay, awesome. I’m going to start my hair. Gen! Go get in the shower! I’ve gotta do your hair too, for goodness sake!”
Then she vanished in a whirl of blonde hair and terry cloth. The clock on the microwave read 4:00. She was right. I should start getting dressed if we were to be on time for the limousine picking us up at six. A freaking limousine. Leave it to Mindy’s mom to take us in style.
I wandered back to my room to take a shower, catching a glimpse of my midterm on my nightstand. Malcolm had brought it over earlier, and I’d had to give him the very unwelcome and difficult news that I wanted to just be friends.
After an awkward hug, he handed me my midterm he’d picked up for me since I hadn’t been to class in two weeks.
Picking up the paper again, I frowned at Professor Bennett’s scrawled handwriting beneath the C-:Ms. Drake, while your intellect is evidently superior, your reasoning as to why demons actually do exist and plague humans in the literal sense is preposterous. Were it not for your definitive remarks on the matter, your grade would have been much higher. As it is, I cannot reward faulty logic and reasoning, no matter how well-crafted it may be. In addition, attendance to class would not go amiss.
“Pretentious ass,” I muttered, throwing the paper on the coffee table and stomping to my bedroom. “Well, I certainly do hope you’re never in need of a demon hunter, Mr. Bennett, because you can’t use mine. I’ll stand back and watch, debating with you whether the thing trying to crawl inside your body is actually real or not.”
I turned on the scalding water, letting my concerns about bad grades drift away, focusing on more pressing matters. Like fighting actual demons thatdidin fact exist.
After a long steamy shower, I stepped out in a much lighter mood, realizing Mr. Bennett couldn’t help the fact that he was a grade-A moron. I almost felt sorry for him with all ofhis“faulty logic and reasoning.”
Wrapping a towel around myself and tucking it under my arm, I stepped out of the bathroom and nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Ack! Jude!” Pressing a hand to my chest, I hissed, “Don’t ever scare me like that.”
In charcoal slacks and a snug, light gray sweater that hugged every delicious part of his upper body, he leaned casually against the doorjamb of my walk-in closet directly across from the bathroom. With arms folded and one leg crossed as well, propped up at the ankle, he looked like a model on display.
His eyes, molten gold ringed with obsidian, made a slow, slow progression down my body and back up. My hair snaked in wet trails across my bare shoulders and down my back. I shifted, self-conscious of my near-nudity. When his eyes made it back up to my lips and stopped for what seemed like a fucking eternity, I lost the ability to breathe.
I cleared my throat to get his attention. “What, what are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the ball.”
Finally, his eyes lifted to mine, smoldering and dark and knee-bucklingly sexy. Yet, he didn’t move toward me. Not an inch.
“I brought you a gift.”
His voice was rough as bark, rubbing a sensuous promise against my skin. When Jude was steely and hard like this with slow, deliberately calculating eyes, my body turned to jelly. I had no idea how I was still standing under his heated gaze.
“Oh?”
I gathered my dripping hair over one shoulder and used another towel on my counter to squeeze it dry, trying not to notice that he watched me with predatory eyes.
“I would love to do that for you,” he nearly whispered.
I paused with my head at an angle, gazing up at him.
“Then why don’t you?”
A slow shake of the head. I’d never seen him bite his lip like that, but when he did, my whole body shivered in response, wishing he’d come closer. I took a step toward him.
“Stay where you are, Genevieve.”
A rough, sultry command, but a command nonetheless. He kept his stance casual, but all his muscles locked tight.
“What’s wrong?”
