I left the bathroom with the damp paper towel clasped against the back of my neck and little droplets of cool water dripping down my blouse. I’m in the clear, I told myself as I zigzagged my way through the Underworld Detection Agency’s hallways. They were crowded with the mid-afternoon rush, buzzing with hushed conversations, and it may have been my imagination, but every conversation seem to get more hushed or stop completely when I walked by. People turned to stare at me, their eyes dark and accusing. I should have been used to being stared at this way, because as far as blending in with my coworkers and surroundings? Well, that always got a big, fat “needs improvement” on the monthly reviews.
Secrets or not, my breath made me suspect to some of the purist Underworld inhabitants. The fact that demons and people tended to drop like flies whenever I was around turned some off and wreaked havoc on my Match.com profile. And surely the fact that I was practically running down the hall, doing my best to look nonchalant, was killing what remained of my minuscule ability to fit in.
My body was humming with nerves, a beacon letting every Underworld demon know that that was something going on and that something was big. My blood pulsed and a few of Vlad’s VERM cronies turned to me. Slate-grey eyes looked through me. I heard nothing but the thunder of my heart, the rush of blood as it coursed through my veins. I walked in slow motion and the VERMers blinked at me. One slowly licked his lips. I knew it was involuntary, the way I salivate over a newly opened package of chocolate marshmallow pinwheels. The sound of blood, the pulse of my heart in its heightened state, was appealing to them. Though eating humans—even the slightest nibble—is strictly against UDA policy, it still skeeved me out to know that at any given time (especially times like this), any number of my coworkers was imagining me on a plate with a parsley garnish.
I needed to get out of the office.
By the time I made it to the elevator my nerves had begun to settle and I realized that I was overreacting, that no one was staring at me or licking their lips. The piped-in Kenny G ballad that struggled to cover the sounds of the aged, groaning elevator was even soothing and I breathed deeply. I was perfectly calm, my heartbeat at a normal pace as the elevator whisked me upward. I swayed a little bit. I whistled along with Kenny G. I was going to bail Sampson out. Everything would be okay. I was going to be the hero for once.
I smiled a little bit, imagining what my superhero costume would look like. Maybe something with flames and that super-shaping spandex. Nothing too showy. I wondered if Spanx made capes?
The elevator dinged and the big steel doors slid open, revealing the fluorescent glow of the San Francisco Police Department vestibule and perfectly framing Alex Grace.
And just like that, my calm, cool countenance turned to quivering jelly.
I really could have used that super-shaping spandex.
I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to pull up some of the cool nonchalance that had been sliding off me all afternoon. But regardless of my intellect or my personal soliloquies, my body tended to have the uncanny ability to spring to hormone-pulsing life whenever Alex Grace was around. Maybe it was his piercing, ice-blue eyes. Maybe it was the chocolate curls that lolled on his perfect head and licked the top of his completely kissable ears. Maybe it was the dual scars just under his shoulder blades—perfect, silver-fleshed reminders of the wings that had once been there.
I fisted my hands, tried to call up my own personal Rocky theme song as I faced down the most perfect specimen of man or angel ever expelled from the heavens.
His eyes flicked over me and he edged his chin in the universally sexy-man way of saying, Hey. Then his voice came out, sinfully smooth. “Hey, Lawson, haven’t seen you in a while.”
My mouth instantly went Mojave dry, my every muscle sucking in on itself. I felt my eyes dart, looking for some tiny wormhole through which I could escape.
It wasn’t that I wanted to avoid Alex per se; I had every intention of talking to him the second I was ready. I just was hoping to be able to select that second of readiness myself, ideally after some lengthy therapy, or at least when the memory of me stepping out of Will’s apartment in the early morning and running into Alex, his face creased with shock and dismay while we stood in an oppressive, awkward silence that seemed to last the span of several lifetimes, was less distinct and raw.
I sucked in a shaky breath and tried to will the hot coil in my stomach to disappear, tried to shake off the guilty prickle that climbed up the back of my neck. Alex and I are broken up, I tried to remind myself. I’m a grown woman, and I can spend the night with whomever I want. I might love Alex, but I’m certainly not in love with him.
Right?