Michael was good at soothing; he knew not to talk, and he knew just how to touch my hair and how to hold me. It wasn’t until the storm became more like occasional showers, and I was able to hiccup steady breaths, that I realized he had a clear view down my bra.
“Hey!” I said, and tried to artfully tuck the torn edges of my shirt under the strap. Michael had an odd look on his face. “Free show’s over, Glass.”
Trent would have snapped back some snazzy insult, but not Michael. Michael just looked uncomfortable, and edged away from me. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t—”
Well, if he wasn’t, I was offended. I gave good bra: 34B.
I raised my eyebrows.
Michael held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, yeah. I was. That makes me an asshole, right?”
“No, that makes you male and straight,” I said. Was it wrong I felt relieved? “I just need to change my— Oh, damn. My suitcase! It’s still out there—”
Michael got up and walked down the polished wooden hallway. The house felt warm, but strange—old and, despite the big open rooms, kind of claustrophobic. Like it was . . . watching.
I loved it.
The living room was normal stuff—couch, chairs, bookcases, throw rugs. A guitar case lying open on a small dining table, the guitar lying abandoned on the couch as if he’d put it down to see what the trouble was out in the yard. I’d heard Michael play before, though not recently. People had said he’d given it up . . . but I guessed he hadn’t.
Michael pulled the blinds and looked out. “It’s on the lawn,” he said. “They’re going through it.”
“What?” I pushed him out of the way and tried to see for myself, but it was all just a black blur. “They’re going through my stuff? Bastards!” Because I had some lingerie in there that I seriously wanted to keep private. Well, maybe share with one other person. But privately. I yanked the cord on the blinds and moved them up, then unlocked the window and threw up the sash. I leaned out and yelled, “Hey, assholes, you touch my underwear and—”
Michael yanked me back by my belt and slammed the window shut about one second before Brandon’s face appeared there. “Let’s not taunt the angry vampires,” he said. “I have to live here.”
Deep breaths, Eve. Right. Suitcase not as important as jugular. I sat down in one of the chairs, trying to get hold of myself and not even sure who that was anymore. Myself, I mean. So much had changed in five hours, right? I was an adult now. I was on my own in a town where being alone was a death sentence. I’d made a very bad enemy, and I’d done it deliberately. I’d been disowned by my own family, not that they’d been much of a family in the first place.
“Need a roommate?” I asked, and tried for a mocking smile. Michael hesitated in the act of reaching for his guitar, then settled in on the couch with the instrument cradled in his lap like a favorite pet. He picked out random notes, pure and cool, and bent his head. “Sorry. Bad joke.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “Actually—I might consider it. You and me, we always got along in school. I mean, we didn’t know each other that well, but—” Nobody had known Michael really well, except his buddy Shane Collins, but Shane had bugged out of Morganville with his parents after his sister’s death. Everybody had wanted to know Michael, but he was private. Shy, maybe. “It’s a big house. Four bedrooms, two baths. Hard to manage it by myself.”
Was he offering? Really? I swallowed and leaned forward. My shirt was coming loose again, but I left it that way. I needed every advantage I could get. “I swear, I’m good for rent. I’ll get a job somewhere, at one of the neutral places. And I clean stuff. I’m a demon with cleaning.”
“Cook?” He looked hopeful, but I had to shake my head. “Damn. I’m not so great at it.”
“You’d have to be better than me. I can screw up the recipe for water.”
He smiled. He had one of those smiles—you know the ones, the kind that unleash lethal force on girls in the vicinity. I couldn’t remember him smiling in high school. He was probably aware that it might cause girls to faint, or unbutton clothes, or something.
“We’ll think about it until tomorrow night,” he said. “Pick any room but the first one—that’s mine. Sheets are in the closet. Towels are in the bathroom.”
“My suitcase—”
“After dawn.” He was looking down again, picking out a sweet, quiet melody from the strings. “I’ve got someplace I have to go before then, but you’ll be safe enough just going out to get it and coming right back inside. I don’t think Brandon’s pissed enough to hang around in the sun.”
Hopefully. Some vampires could, and we all knew it, but Brandon seemed more of a night person. “But—you’ll come back, right?”
“I’ll be back by dark,” he promised. “We’ll talk about the rent then. But for now, you should—” He looked up. His gaze reached the level of my chest, fixed, and then lowered again. The smile this time was directed at the guitar. “Put on a new shirt or something.”