Crimson Death (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #25)(45)

Will was grinning, but it wasn’t gentle like his usual one. It was the harder, smug smile that kept crossing his face whenever he was around these guys. I’d seen him look like this across the cafeteria a few times. So self-satisfied. It didn’t suit him.

“That’s the kind of play I’m used to seeing from you, man,” Matt said. He had what must’ve been his “captain” voice going on. Like a teacher congratulating an apprentice. It had such a warm tone to it, I could imagine guys busting their asses to have Matt talk to him with that kind of appreciation in his voice.

Darnell nodded. “Yeah, we worried you might’ve gone soft on us, with all those music lessons,” he said, nudging Will. Will’s eyes flickered toward me. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

Matt nodded. “Yeah, man. No offense, Ollie, but we thought you were turning him into a freaking goth or something.”

Right. Because I was totally a goth.

“Try emo pussy,” Darnell added, then wilted at Niamh’s fierce glare.

“Do you need to be a sexist pig?” she asked, before sucking on her straw like it’d done her some great wrong. “That’s foul.”

Will snickered—snickered—and hit Darnell with a rolled-up menu. “Yeah, don’t be a sexist pig, Darnell. The proper terminology is emo genitalia.”

Darnell swatted at him. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“And do I look fuckin’ emo to you, smartass? Give me some credit.”

Well, this was uncomfortable. And not that I exactly identified with being emo—come on, it wasn’t 2007—but obviously Will didn’t see any difference. And the way he’d scrunched up his nose at the idea told me a lot about what he thought of seeming anything like me. I glared at the table.

“To be honest, Will, it’s a good thing you’re not,” said Lara in a hard voice. “You don’t have the ass to pull off jeans that tight.”

The guys broke out into laughter, high-fiving each other. “Damn, Lara,” Matt said, looking half-impressed, half-delighted.

Wait, had Lara just stood up for me? That seemed very unlike her. But then she caught my eye, raised her eyebrows, and ran her tongue over her teeth. She had the air of someone who’d won a battle with the patriarchy. Holy shit, she had said that to stand up for me.

I almost would’ve grinned, if I didn’t feel so empty all of a sudden.

A waiter came over. The rest of the guys all competed with each other over ordering the best freak-shake—the shake with the most brownies, Nutella, strawberries, Oreos, peanut butter, whipped cream, shaving cream, laundry detergent, and whatever-the-hell-else they added on top.

When he came to take my order, though, I just shook my head and asked for a water. Will seemed to notice, but he didn’t say anything.

Juliette had leaned over to whisper with Niamh, then as soon as the waiter left, she turned back to the guys. “So, Darnell,” she said, while an alarmed Niamh shook her head at her. “Has anyone asked you to the Snowflake dance yet?”

His eyes went straight to Niamh, who was turning an interesting shade of burgundy. “Not … yet. It’s a little early for that, right?”

“It’s never too early,” Juliette said.

“What’s the Snowflake dance?” I asked, trying to keep quiet enough that the conversation didn’t become about me. But, of course, the whole table turned to look at me. Maybe if I talked more, I’d get less attention when I did speak up.

“It’s a dance we have right after Christmas break,” Juliette said.

“The catch is, girls have to ask guys,” Matt added.

Huh. Seemed pretty heteronormative. And what if a girl wanted to ask a girl? Or otherwise.

What if no one asked me?

Oh, God, what if someone did?

“Yeah, right, and how about you, Juliette?” Darnell asked. “You gone and asked someone already?”

“Oh, I can’t go,” she said airily. “I have an audition with the Conservatory that weekend.”

“What?” I screeched. For once it didn’t even occur to me to feel shy in front of the group. “Holy shit, you do not!”

“I do!” She beamed and grabbed my hands. “I just found out.”

“Oh my God! I’m so proud of you.”

We bounced up and down in our seats while the girls squealed their congratulations and the guys tried to figure out what the big deal was.

I noticed Will was watching me with a funny smile. My excitement evaporated, and fire started shooting up from the ground, and my fingernails turned into talons so I could rip that smile off his face. How dare he look at me like that after talking shit about me, right in front of me?

When they brought out the rest of the shakes, I admittedly felt a little twinge of regret that I’d passed them up. They were works of art made out of chocolate, some of them towering several inches above the Mason jars they were served in, covered in whipped cream, candy, edible glitter, gold flakes, mint chips, and most of them drizzled with three months’ worth of melted Nutella.

And here I was with my water.

Eurgh. This was all Will’s fault.

My phone buzzed. I tuned out of the conversation and checked my phone.

Will.

I’m heading to the parking lot. Meet me there in 1.75 minutes?