Page 80 of Dance With A Devil

Crew.

Security detail. Golden boy smile. Doesn’t belong in this world of monsters, which makes me instantly suspicious.

“Crew,” I murmur, voice flat and hollow. “Hi.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and casual, like we’re old friends and not two strangers with nothing but a hallway bump-in and forced charm between us. “How are you doing?”

He slides into the seat next to me and nudges my leg like we’re on some teen rom-com lunch break. I scoot over, more out of reflex than desire, and give him a weak attempt at a smile.

“You never showed for our lunch,” he adds with that same disarming charm. “I waited.”

I blink at him. “I forgot.”

It’s the truth. My mind has been a battlefield. And Crew? He’s a footnote in a horror novel.

He’s not a student. He’s head of campus security. We met when I crashed into him running to class. He laughed. I apologized. And now, apparently, we’re friendly.

“I get it,” he says with a sigh that sounds rehearsed. “How about that lunch today?”

I sigh, too. Just to match the performance. “Sure. I guess I could eat.”

He beams like I just agreed to marry him. “Great. Looks like you’re on break.”

“Just sat down. Was aiming for tea and silence.”

“Well,” he grins, “maybe a friend’s what you need instead.”

He watches me too closely. Like he’s studying the cracks in my mask.

I force a brighter smile. “Maybe.”

He leans back. I reallylookat him now, trying to remember why I ever trusted him.

His eyes, dark chocolate and something colder underneath.

Sandy blond hair. Clean cut. Those glasses add just enough nerdy innocence to make you forget that security guards carry guns.

He’s handsome. Probably dangerous. That’s the kind of world I live in now.

He catches me looking and arches an eyebrow.

“See something you like, Professor?”

I laugh, soft and jaded. It feels alien.

“My apologies. I was staring.”

He grabs my hand before I can pull back. Stands, pulling me with him. I slam into his chest, firm and warm.

“You’re only human,” he says, too gently. “Come on. Before your lunch break’s over. Or before you ghost again.”

I let him guide me out of the lounge, down the hallway, out into the open air. It’s too bright. Too loud.

“Where are we going?”

“Cafeteria,” he says casually. “I know someone in the kitchen. I’ll make us something.”

I stop walking. “We’re not supposed to be back there.”