Page 8 of Midnight Kiss
“You were attacked? Did you call the cops?” Morgan asked. “Because that is—that’s terrifying. What about the guy in there? The, uh, the janitor or whatever.”
“That’s the thing,” I said. “Michael kind of convinced me not to call them.”
Morgan gave me a look laden with suspicion. “Michael was there?”
“Yeah. He found me on the steps of the library. He came to check on me because I wasn’t home yet.”
“And you don’t find that creepy, like, at all? That he’s basically stalking you?”
“He’s not stalking me, Morgan, for God’s sake. He’s just being a friend. We hang out plenty. We watch movies together, go to lunch, sometimes I pop by when he’s working to check on him too. He’s a bro. It’s not anything weird.”
“Sureeee, buddy,” Morgan said, pulling her legs toward herself as she sat cross-legged on the sofa. “I can get past the whole ‘showing up at work’ to save you thing. But what about the fact that he said not to call 911. Is he out of his mind? You were attacked.”
“By a guy who dropped out of the sky. Like from the roof.”
“You neglected to mention that part.”
“Either it was like a mental break because I’m stressed or there was someone there.” I picked up the book and carried it with me to the armchair across from the coffee table we’d gotten at an auction.
Morgan clicked her tongue. “I dunno. Sounds weird to me. The whole thing is weird.”
I nodded.
“Here I was thinking I’d have the exciting life as the actress, and you’re out there being chased by ceiling men.”
“Ceiling men?”
“Well, I don’t know, what would you call it?”
I shrugged and hugged the book to my chest. It was the weirdest thing, but I didn’t want to let go of it, even though it shouldn’t have been with me in the first place.
“What’s that?” Morgan tilted her head, locks of blonde hair swishing past her shoulder.
“It’s a book from the rare books division. I shouldn’t have brought it home, but I was studying it when everything went down. I’ll take it back tomorrow,” I said, but it tasted like a lie on my lips.
“What’s it about?”
“It’s a blood-stained journal written by a crazy person from France,” I said. “About vampires.”
“No. Friggin. Way. That is awesome,” Morgan said. “That’s like … this must be like a wet dream to you, right now. A book about vampires? When you’re writing a paranormal romance story?”
“I know, but it doesn’t matter, I’m taking it back tomorrow, cataloging it, and putting it on the shelf.”
Morgan arched an eyebrow.
“What?”
“You’re not taking that book back, and we both know it.”
“I have to,” I said. “Those are the rules. I’ve already bent them by stealing the book in the first place.”
“You didn’t steal it. You panic-borrowed it. Totally different concepts,” Morgan said, her eyes alight like this was the coolest thing to ever happen.
“Still have to take it back.”
“Don’t be such a goodie-goodie.” Morgan got up and stretched. “This is the first time you’ve ever got your hands on something this cool, right?”
“Right.”