Page 17 of The Devil and the Dancer
If Gavin hadn’t been distant for days, Chloe wouldn’t have assumed the worst. She would have assumed there was some explanation. If Gavin hadn’t been cold, she would have assumed it was just another aspect of vampire life she was blissfully ignorant about.
Isn’t that part of the problem?
She walked downstairs with her phone still buzzing on the floor. She walked straight to the newly renovated bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower as she stripped off the rest of her damp clothes.
It was never going to work. Better that you face the truth now.
Who was the vampire?
It didn’t matter. Not really. The fact that Gavin couldn’t or wouldn’t tell her what was bothering him—which likely had something to do with the vampire at the bar—was the point.
Chloe wasn’t a part of his world. She’d been dipping her toes in the water, but she was never going to be brave enough to dive in.
She stepped under the hot spray and let the water beat against her skin, driving the numbness away as tears fell down her cheeks. They washed down her body with the grit and grime of the city, slipping between her toes before they vanished in the darkness.
Why was it so dark?
She’d forgotten to turn on the lights in the bathroom. Only the dim glow from the hallway illuminated the shower.
That was fine. She didn’t need the fluorescent white glare. She washed her hair, conditioned it, and rinsed it. She’d wrap it before she went to bed. She wasn’t going anywhere tomorrow. She didn’t plan on seeing anyone. Not Gavin. Not anyone.
The towels tucked into the cubbies were Tenzin’s favorites. Turkish peshtemal, thin cotton wraps that were surprisingly comfortable. She dried off her body and wrapped the towel around herself before she walked to her room.
She slipped on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater that fell nearly to her knees. It was one of Ben’s that she’d stolen.
She wished Ben was here. She wished Arthur was awake. Maybe she’d take Arthur up on his offer of a couch, at least for a few days.
Chloe wrapped a scarf around her hair and knotted the ends on top of her head. She sat on the edge of her bed and wondered again what she was supposed to do.
Call someone? Who would she call? What would even be the point?
Sleep?
Impossible.
There was a noise in the distance. A neighbor? That was strange. They never heard neighbors on the top floor.
No, not a neighbor.
Chloe walked out of her room and toward the stairs.
Someone was banging on the door. Not the front door—no one could get up the elevator without a special code—but the glass door to the roof garden.
“Chloe!”
Her eyes went wide.
“Chloe Reardon, I can see your phone on the ground. I know you’re here.”
Chloe moved from sad to angry in a blink. She marched up the stairs and across the living room. Gavin was standing at the french doors, as soaked as she’d been. His perfectly pressed shirt was sticking to his skin, and wet hair hung in his eyes.
“Go away.”
He pointed at her phone. “No. Fuck that. We need to talk and you’re not answering your phone.”
“I know! Get a clue.”
“Will you please let me in?”
