Big Vamp on Campus - Molly Harper Page 0,24

buttons in the elevator to make it harder for other residents to catch a ride. They also liked to leave salt-and-vinegar beef jerky behind because it stank up the cars so badly the vampires couldn’t use them. It was probably the same kids who had stolen my dryer time.

I stuck my head out into the hallway but saw nothing. Frowning, I went back to my stitch-picking, finishing a third pair of jeans. I heard one short, sliding scrape of shoe sole against the floor. And suddenly, it was too quiet. Even with the rumble of the dryer, I could make out a strange muffled quality to the refrigeration system’s noise, like there was something standing between the laundry-room door and the blood-storage room.

I set the jeans aside, silently moving across the tiled floor. I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt and dropped my earrings into my pocket. Sliding against the wall near the door, I listened, trying to determine how close that noise obstruction was to me. I heard a rustle of clothing that felt closer to my vampire senses.

Could it be Brianna, seeking revenge for me locking her in the supply closet? I sniffed the air but didn’t detect a trace of her nauseating Night Roses perfume. Who the hell did this person think they were, sneaking up on me? Did they think I was weak? Defenseless? That because I was exiled to coed hell, I was no longer a threat? I found that incredibly insulting.

With my superhearing, I’d heard enough of the noxious dude bros slinking around campus, their sly whispers about what happened in the basements of frat houses, about point systems and chemical “assistance” slipped into girls’ drinks. I’d seen girls get catcalled for having the nerve to walk across campus while female. I would not let some idiot think he could corner me. I was, as Morgan called me, an “undead boss-ass bitch.” In fact, I was the undead boss-ass bitch.

My fangs slid out, nicking my bottom lip and drawing a bead of blood that only served to provoke my senses further. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shape drift closer to the laundry-room door. Hissing, I shot my arm out, and my hand wrapped around a cool throat. Just as I caught the scent of fresh-mowed grass and leather, I dragged the figure into the laundry room and sent him flying.

Jamie skidded across the floor and smacked his head against the wall. “Ow!”

“Jamie!” I cried, shaking my head and letting my fangs retract. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hey, babe,” he said, squinting at me as he rubbed the back of his head.

“What the hell?” I shouted again.

“I was just gonna, uh, do some laundry,” he said, pushing up from the floor.

“In a building that you don’t live in? Without a laundry basket?”

His shoulders sagged. “Yeah, OK, that was a lame excuse.”

“What are you doing lurking outside my laundry room?” I demanded.

“I was . . . I just . . .” He paused, scratching his neck. “OK, I was trying to keep you from seeing that I was following you. I haven’t seen you in a while, and I kept expecting you to pop up or text or call or something, and when you didn’t, I got curious. One of the front-desk clerks said she saw you going downstairs with a laundry basket, so I gave you a few minutes and followed you, because I thought you might be—”

“Cheating on you?”

“No!” he swore, holding both hands up.

“Trying to kill Gigi again?” I asked. “Because, trust me, I learned my lesson there.”

“No!”

“General unspecified evil?”

Jamie waggled his head back and forth. “OK, that’s closer. It’s just, I’m not used to you being so ‘busy’ with anything except Council business. And you’ve been so unsure of your place here and us and whether we’re going to last. And I thought maybe I was a stressor and you could be planning something.”

“But me being unsure, that’s not because of you,” I protested. “I lied to you for most of the first few months we knew each other. Our whole relationship is based on a wrong first impression. I presented myself to you as this sweet little cardigan-wearing Sunday-school refugee. You became interested in me, thinking I was innocent and guileless and . . . Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Do you really think I didn’t see that you were scary and a little bit nuts? No rational person owns that