Page 12 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

Chapter Eight

I ’m not expecting Caldwell to be punctual. Something about him screams that he loves to waste other people’s time. Maybe it’s a vampire thing; the potential of immortality, and all that. It would explain Margaux’s consistent tardiness.

Not to mention that I’m still in possession of his watch—which I leave in my dorm for safekeeping.

He surprises me. There’s a gentle knock on the door at exactly seven o’clock.

Margaux and I stare at each other with wide eyes.

“It’s time,” she whispers.

“Remember my funeral requests, okay?”

“Anyone who doesn’t wear black is gone, and your mother’s speech is limited to two minutes. I remember.”

“And my father doesn’t get a speech at all.”

“Got it.”

I’m going on a date with Caldwell, except—no, I’m not. I’m only going for information. Nothing else. I inhale deeply, inspecting my reflection in the mirror. I fluff my bob, make sure my bangs are in place, smooth down my skirt…

And I’m gone. I slip out before Margaux can come poking around, and as expected… there’s Caldwell.

My outfit is appropriate, I decide—not that it matters. He doesn’t care what I wear. That would be a green flag if he wasn’t so suspicious.

He’s dressed similarly to me in simple brown slacks, with a patchwork sweater and a brown coat to top it off. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without glasses, and his multicolored eyes are more striking than ever.

I’ve always wondered if the glasses are for decoration. Vampires have enhanced senses, and I think that includes vision. I’ll have to check with Margaux.

He looks at me, and it nearly tricks me into thinking he cares about my appearance, after all. His eyes drag over me, stopping at the thin strip of skin at my midriff… and again at the exposed skin of my thighs. If he’s been looking at me that way, this is the first time I notice.

I swallow as his eyes lift to meet mine, settling onto me with a dark intensity.

“Good evening,” he says. “You look wonderful. I knew you would pick something lovely.” His little smile is back, reflecting subtly in his eyes.

“Yes, well…” I straighten my posture, lifting my chin. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. Where are you taking me?” I’m nervous about the answer, subtly patting the bag at my side. The stake is there. I can’t feel it, but I know it is, and it’s the only comfort I have.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he says, leading the way. “I set something up for us. It’s not far from here.”

We’re not leaving Strode, and that should be a good thing, but it does nothing to put me at ease. Most of the murders happened on campus. At least it isn’t too late into the evening. It’s a small sliver of hope that he may not intend to eat me this time.

I swallow my fears. “We’ll be expected to go inside in two hours,” I point out.

“I know.” He looks at me from the corner of his eye, his lips twitching into a slight smile. “Were you hoping to steal more time with me? I thought two hours would suffice.”

My lips pop open in surprise—prepared to deny his question—but that doesn’t help my mission.

“Maybe so,” I say, attempting to match his mysterious smile.

“We’ll see how the night ends, shall we?” He chuckles—the second time I’ve heard something close to a laugh. “There are other places we could go for alone time…”

“There… are…”

To be perfectly honest, I’m not the best at flirting.

Margaux is right—she should have been the one to date Caldwell, goddammit!

Apparently, it has to be me, and I have no clue how to deal with it.

Damn Margaux for being a vampire. If she had blood of her own, he would probably go after her instead.

The weirdest part is that he doesn’t seem to mind my awkward tendencies. There’s heat behind his gaze as he glances at me—again—and I have to remind myself he’s probably planning his next meal.

I’m nothing special, just your average B+ blood bag, but the date he planned is almost enough to make me feel special.

He set up a picnic—a fucking picnic! The blanket is the typical checkered red picnic blanket. It’s littered with candles, a basket, and a small pile of books. It’s exactly the date I’ve always wanted, though I never told anyone, and …

Caldwell shouldn’t know how to woo me, and he should not be putting this much effort in! His game is diabolical, and if I don’t watch out, he can become a distraction… or a danger.

“You like reading, don’t you?” he asks. “You’re an English major.”

“Journalism,” I say, taking a seat on the blanket. “But I do like reading.”

“I brought some of my favorite books. I thought you might like to borrow one.”

Those aren’t the words of someone who wants to kill me… right? At least, not tonight. I would never lend a book out to a soon-to-be-dead person.

I won’t let my guard down, but the truth of the matter is, he’s speaking my language. I hate it. This would be so much easier if he could keep being a prick.

Looking back, was he ever actually a prick, or was I prickly enough for both of us?

“Let’s see how terrible your taste is,” I say, picking up one of the books. I read the title, fingers skimming across the spine. “Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein?”

“I like the classics.”

“I can see that. The monstrous classics. Should I expect…” I pick up the next book, laughing out loud. “Ah. Dracula. I knew it.”

“You’re making fun of me,” he says, a smile twisting on his lips.

“No, no! I think it’s very on the nose at a school like this, but it’s cute.”

“There are no books about werecats, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I like being a part of a covert species.” I slip Frankenstein into my bag. “I’ ll borrow this one.”

“And next time,” he says. “You’ll bring one for me. One of your favorites.”

“Does it have to be a classic?”

He shakes his head. “It can be anything that helps me get to know you.”

Caldwell’s gaze is penetrative. I have to figure him out, but for a moment, it seems like he is desperately trying to crawl into my head as well. It takes my breath away. My stomach is aflutter… probably with fear.

“Well… I’m right here.” I smooth down my skirt, glancing away as if I’m shy. “This is the perfect opportunity to get to know me.”

“Ah, but I find you so… mysterious.”

Said no one— ever. Caldwell is the most mysterious person I’ve met, and I can’t believe he’s turning it around on me, but… I am withholding. It’s purposeful, an attempt at staying alive in this school of horrors.

“I am a tough jar to open,” I say. “Can you be patient with me?”

“I can be very patient. That’s why I want to read your favorite book. Reading a book takes time, and I think it’s the best way to know someone without climbing over the barriers of the human mind.”

“That’s a good point. We may not have much time for barrier climbing, considering how things are going on campus.” I attempt to broach more important topics.

How long do I have to flirt with danger before I get down to business?

The smile in his eyes leaves, replaced with a dangerous flash. His head ducks down, lips turning into a frown. “Are you afraid?”

“You aren’t?” I laugh, not sounding nearly as scared as I am. It’s the sound of disbelief bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. “People are dying. ”

“They are.” He looks down at the picnic blanket, his fingers distracting themselves with the fringe at the corner. “I’m not afraid of death. I haven’t been for a while.”

Spoken like a true vampire. But it’s something I can relate to, and that scares me. I shouldn’t relate to anything Caldwell says. Maybe Margaux is right. I have become too reckless.

“You’re arrogant,” I say.

I’m supposed to be flirting, I know, but this is easier.

He lifts a brow. “Am I? Or are you arrogant for making assumptions without giving yourself a chance to get to know me?”

“I already know you. I’ve seen more than enough.” Yet I’m on a date with him. There is no excuse, so I look for a distraction instead, lifting the lid of the picnic basket. “What’s in here?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters. It’s dim, but I think he blushes, his cheeks growing a few shades darker.

It’s nothing to him, but I immediately see the effort he’s put in.

I’m expecting sandwiches, likely peanut butter, and jelly, and maybe even a blood bag.

Instead, there’s a bottle of wine and charcuterie.

Pink wine, thank God. I don’t need to worry about it being blood, and I desperately need a drink.

This school is turning me into a different person, ready to party during the school year. I can hardly recognize myself.

I take the items from the basket, inspecting each of them as I set them down. Expensive brie, fig jam, prosciutto… he pulled out all the stops.

“If you don’t like it, we can—” he says.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s brie. Everyone likes brie.”

I love it… but I can’t let myself enjoy it . It’s all so suspicious. How did this stranger put together a date that is perfect for me in every way?

“Really?”

“Mhm.” I laugh nervously. “I was expecting you to take me to a restaurant. I was, kind of, weighing the options; not sure if you would pick overpriced and stuffy, or underpriced and lackluster…”

“I would pick neither.” He scoffs.

“I hate restaurant dates,” I say. “At least as a first date. It feels so…”

“Lazy?”

“And unoriginal.”

“I am relieved to avoid either of those accusations.” He picks up the bottle of wine, drilling the corkscrew into the top.

“So far. There’s still plenty of time for you to mess up.” I try for a smile, my heart still hammering. He can hear it. He knows I’m afraid. How does he continue as if he doesn’t realize? “Is that rosé?”

“Yes…” he says, slowly, searching my face to see if it’s the right answer. “Unless you would prefer something else? I brought little water bottles, but I can fetch juice or soda…”

“No!” Rosé isn’t my first choice, but I desperately need the drink—and I don’t trust any red wine on campus. “Just curious. I enjoy wine.”