Page 13 of Lethal Kiss

I turn, looking up at him through my eyelashes. “I really have to get to work, and if I’m not going to be able to do so here…”

“No, god.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry.” He drops my hand. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Let me make it up to you.”

I toe the pretty Persian rug with my Valentino. “Why, Arjun. That’s not right. I’m sorry if— I didn’t want to—”

Inside, I am cackling.

“I’m embarrassed, really!” He looks me right in the eye. “Please, um. Look, there’s a dinner club here that Dean Shea puts on. Come with me. Let me take you.”

“Is that allowed?” I ask. “I don’t want Dean Shea to think badly of me so soon.”

“Of course,” Arjun says. “Marcella, I mean this: I feel terrible and I don’t want to make a mess … any more than I already have.”

“Well…” He’s holding his breath. I tap my fingers on my bag’s strap. Three, two … “Okay. Sure. When?”

His face brightens. “Yes! Okay. This Friday. Tomorrow, I mean. Here.” He hands me his phone. “Give me your number?”

I oblige and he nearly skips away. I roll my eyes, shaking my head even as I smile. It is amazing to me how easy it is to simply allow people to twist themselves all up over me, contort themselves into impossible decisions, let me win over and over. In short, they make themselves delectable little treats, even if I don’t devour until the table is fully set.

Soon, though, I tell myself. Soon.

Music thumps from below my feet and it’s deeply annoying. But that’s living on campus, I guess. I slip the velvet dress over my head, buttoning the high neck beneath my hair. It’s a deep evergreen, tight in all the right places, but still modestly knee-length. No faux pas. I’ve only ever made one of those, and if you’ve never seen an Army general’s face go purple from rage, I wouldn’t recommend it.

I will neither be lonely nor hungry much longer. I pat at my makeup, at my nearly black red lipstick. Bellatrix mews at me.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I say, rubbing her head. She perches on the edge of the cat tree and glowers at me. My only real friend, and she’s pissed at me. “Look, it’s just one dinner. After, I’ll come home and we’ll have a cup of tea and a cuddle, alright? Watch Arcane.”

She blinks at me, lashing her tail.

“Lovebug, I know it’s not enough, but you know every time we move, I’m busy at first. Let me get the lay of the land, hmm?” I scratch behind her ears and she purrs, a little disaffected, if I hear the tone right. “Okay.” I lean over and kiss the midnight swath of her belly. “See you soon. Dinner’s in your bowl.”

I walk through a spritzed cloud of Le Labo Poivre 23 perfume, the spicy bourbon pepper and labdanum scent settling in my dark waves, then leave.

Lacie’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in the hall. I check my watch: I have, oh, ten minutes to meet Arjun at the circle on the main quad. I can spare two.

“Lacie, hi. What’s … why are you sitting on the floor?”

She looks up at me, startled momentarily from her work. “Oh, hey. Sometimes I need a change of pace. Not the library, not my rooms.”

“Mm. Well, you could always come to my apartment.”

She shakes her head. “I— Those were Laurel’s rooms.”

“Still haven’t heard from her?”

She shakes her head again. “I don’t know why I’m being weird about this. I thought … we were friends. But I guess not.”

My shriveled, blackened heart aches distantly. I know how that feels, but I learned long ago that personal attachments were not worth my time or energy. Little relationships, one-night stands, sating my hunger, yes. Becoming involved? Number one, no, and number two, as I’ve said, I’m not an easy friend to have, for so many reasons.

“I’m sorry.” A silence falls between us.

“Who were you talking to before you left?” she asks.

Ah, so she is aware of me, after all. “My cat, Bellatrix.”

She covers her mouth, her eyes popping wide. “You have a cat?”

“What, is that not allowed?”