Page 11 of Doomsdate

Could she? The idea of anyone looking at me with my stubbly jaw and unkempt professor hair that falls over my forehead in one big, defiant swoop no matter what I do and thinking “adventure!” makes me want to laugh in disbelief. And yet, Maisie’s looking at me. Not with pity, like the women in my department, or concern, like my old friends. Her eyes flit over every feature of my face as though she’s memorizing me, taking every bit of me in. The idea of Maisie taking anything of mine in sends an arc of nervous, giddy lightning straight to my dick.

Whoa. I force myself not to glance down at the crotch of my pants. That was surprising.

“I was wondering,” she begins, that peach blush returning full force. “Would you want to—”

A loud gurgling sound from my left makes us both flinch as a woman leans over and vomits into her purse. Maisie shoots to her feet, and I do, too, both of us instinctively reaching for the new masks the server left with the bill. More than one face appears gray and mottled in this dining room as cries of distress fill the air. The woman’s now alternating between apologizing and barfing, and more employees dressed in black appear from the back, ready to escort her out. I throw down a handful of twenties and back away from the retching woman. Others are rising all around us, the beginnings of a panic setting in.

Maisie’s eyes are huge and full of alarm, but then cool steel enters her gaze, as if she’s decided something.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says, breathless.

I barely have time to nod before she grabs me by the arm and hauls me out the door.

Chapter Three

T Minus Thirty-Three Minutes

Until Shit Hits the Fan

Maisie

We burst out the front doors of Gatherers, gasping as though we’d both been holding our breath until we could get outside.

Personally, I’m just terrified of what I’m about to say.

I drag Everett down the sidewalk to avoid the exodus of disgusted patrons. “Listen, I was trying to ask whether you’d like to—”

Gagging erupts from behind me, followed by the upsetting splash of fluids on concrete. I grimace, my shoulders pinned around my ears as I turn. The lady from inside is back, still retching, still interrupting my sexual propositions.

I spin back to Everett. His face is bunched up in squeamish dismay, but I’ve come this far, haven’t I?

I raise my voice louder over the noise. “Would you like to come back to my place? I live nearby.”

Everett’s eyes rip from the retching lady back to mine. “Oh, I’m not—I don’t—”

“To be clear, this is for romantic, sex-positive purposes,” I blurt, adrenaline lighting up my insides. I’ve never been this blunt before, but I’ve never been this desperate before, either. Something flashes in Everett’s eyes, something soft and kind and, oh, god, is that pity?

Whatever, I don’t care. After tonight, we’ll all be on lockdown, and I’ll never see him again. If pity gets him to come home with me now, I can feel bad about that tomorrow.

His brows pinch together. “I better—”

Hoooaaaahh. Hooooooaaaaghh!

Splash.

His eyes flash back to the many others now puking in concert. “Okay, let’s go.”

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. The hot professor has agreed, he is coming home with me. With his sharp cheekbones visible over the rim of his mask and his messy chestnut hair streaming back in the brisk winter wind, well.

It feels like it’s my birthday tonight, and I just got my present.

Everett looks as alarmed as I am, but instead of pulling away from me, he slides his large hand down until it finds mine and squeezes. And then we’re speed-walking down the street, toward my apartment.

It’s the first time anyone has ever held my hand. Well, anyone other than my paranoid mom yanking me through some semipublic place before she removed us from society. But this isn’t my mother’s death grip. The feel of the professor’s fingers wrapped around mine sends pulses of heat through my stomach.

Please, god. Let him be a slut.

We’re almost to my apartment building when we see a figure leaning against a lamppost, doubled over. Wordlessly, we run into the empty street to give him a wide berth. The figure’s neck snaps up as we pass by, his eyes strangely bright. I choke back a gasp. Everett starts to look, too, but I pull him into an all-out run up the steps to my building. Can’t have him getting spooked now. Sirens ring through the air seemingly on loop, and the sound of people running haphazard and frantic down the block ahead sends an anonymous dread through my body. What is going on?