Page 50 of Welcome to Blackbird Hollow
She doesn’t remark on that comment, but nods, lifting the tea tray. Her eyes move quickly over the pages of notes underneath, then she sets the tray back down in exactly the same spot it was in when she lifted it.
“She’s doing some kind of ritual to honor the dead on Halloween,” Alice says, pulling a little notebook out of her pocket and jotting something down.
“You gonna join her?” I ask with a smile.
Alice smiles back at me. “Nope. That’s not what I was interested in. She made a note in one of the margins—everything else is well organized. It’s basically a recipe and a grocery list, all written in the same pen.”
She lowers her voice to a volume barely above a whisper as she comes over to me, placing her hands on my chest and leaning in real close. “But on the bottom of that second page, she scribbled something down fast, in pencil.”
She beams up at me, like I’m gonna give her a gold star. I tip her chin up with my fingers, snaking an arm around her waist to pull her against me. We’ve barely been alone since Sunday dinner, and while I could sneak into my old room at night, it doesn’t feel like we’re there quite yet. But here, alone in the professor’s office? I’m not above a little hanky-panky.
But before I give her a gold star, I need to ask what she saw. “You gonna tell me what she wrote down or not?”
Alice’s eyebrows go up in surprise, like she’s already forgotten. “Oh, it says ‘Silverwood Springs.’ Ring any bells?”
“Not a one,” I breathe, my voice going rough as she leans harder into me. I press my hand into the small of her back, feeling the soft curves of her long body melt into me.
She leaps up on her tiptoes to kiss me, her arms twining around my neck. Heat spreads through me, and I want her out of here, into the truck, where we can make out like feral teenagers. She moans in my mouth as my hand slides up under her sweater, meeting bare skin.
A little higher, and I get the treat of knowing that she’s only wearing one of those silky little bralette things. I pull on the back of it, and she gasps, wrapping one leg around my thigh, tugging me between her legs as I pull her harder against me, deepening the kiss that’s turned feverish and desperate in a matter of moments.
Footsteps in the hall have us jumping apart, both of us red in the face. But they pass and we both laugh, though I don’t think either of us is quite ready to abandon the moment.
Alice checks her watch. “We told Fallon we’d be home in an hour. Do you think the professor is coming back?”
The way she says “home” is like a punch in the gut. I want her to stay so godsdamn bad, I fear I’ll be ill if she goes. “No, probably not.”
A little smile—one of those that I recognize means she wants to get into some kind of trouble—spreads over Alice’s face. “Then by my count, we have at least a half-hour to fool around in the truck.” In an instant, she’s got her fingers wound through mine. “What do you say? Up for a little action in the truck?”
“Yes,” I agree. “Fuck yes.”
I open the door, and as we step into the hallway, the same student from before pops out of a room down the hall, covered in some kind of disgusting-smelling goo. “Mr. Hayes?” they shout. “They weren’t bluecaps, and they’reangry. Can you help?”
I glance down at Alice, shaking my head. “I’m gonna deal with this fast.” My hand slides down to her ass as I bend toward her ear. “I promise not to come back covered in whatever that is.”
“Stay horny,” she whispers, grabbing my ass right back.
As if I had any other choice.
Chapter 23
Alice
With my temple resting against the truck’s sun-warmed window, an alien feeling of contentment blooms in my chest. Though the day is chilly, the truck’s been baking in the sun for almost an hour now, and the temperature inside is perfect. It’s the kind of coziness that might’ve lulled me into drowsiness were I not so amped up about ten different things.
First, Dr. Waterhouse’s theories. It felt good to toss around my thoughts with another academic, and it felt even better to have our theoretical knowledge backed up by Wyatt’s real-life experience.
Second, her offer of a spot in the folklore doctorate program. I’d actually wanted to apply to Three Ravens right out of my undergraduate degree, but then Sector had shown up. My options were OrthCon or a black site. Or worse, maybe. I guess there are too many like-minded weirdos up here in Stonehaven County, and Sector wanted to keep me away from it all.
Third, and perhaps most pressing—at least judging by the way I’ve got my legs crossed tight, my hands tucked under my thighs—is how feverishly Wyatt kissed me back in Dr. Waterhouse’s office. He makes me feel like a teenager sneakingaway from the bonfire to kiss my crush in the twilight gloom of the tree line. He makes me feel like I have some kind of purpose, some kind of a future, some kind of a life that consists of more than being underestimated and having to constantly beg people to consider that I might actually be onto something, not just batshit insane.
I press my forehead against the warm window and pull in a deep breath. I understand the things I’m thinking and feeling fall under the umbrella of what’s commonly identified as love. This isn’t infatuation—at least, I don’t think. I wouldn’t have been able to wait this long to sleep with him if that were the case. But I’ve been holding off, I guess, even though I really,reallywant to have sex with Wyatt Hayes. Of course I do.
But with him, it’ll mean something. Like a declaration or an intention. A promise that I’m going to stay. Or that I want him to ask me to stay. I swallow hard, pulling my knees up to my chest, shins pressed against the dashboard. I’d make that promise right here, right now. But I don’t know if he’s there, and goddammit, I’m too much of a coward to ask. I don’t know what I’ll do if he says no, or if he just isn’t sure yet. So, like an adult, I’m just avoiding it entirely. Besides, he seems pretty damn content with making out like high schoolers, at least based on how tight his jeans get below the belt every time.
I groan, cranking the window down for some cold air. I can’t be thinking aboutthat, not when I don’t know how long I’ll be waiting or if he’ll be covered in the same goo as the student-researcher.
“Honestly, I’d probably be all over him even with the goo,” I admit to myself with only a twinge of shame, grinning like a madwoman. I catch a glance of someone walking toward the truck, and my heart slams against my ribs.
