Page 7 of Coveted

He blinks, his black lashes unfairly long and thick. “Who said anything about a prank?”

I gesture at my suitcases with the flyer. “You just enjoy playing valet?”

He grunts. “Valets park cars. The word you’re looking for is bellhop.”

“Whatever.”

His voice quietens. “Were you nervous?”

“About what?” I ask uncertainly.

“Starting college today. Were you nervous when you woke up this morning?”

I hesitate. “Yes.”

No point in lying about that. I’d be an unfeeling robot if I weren’t nervous this morning. In fact, I’ve been nervous for months, ever since I got the Darkbloom acceptance letter.

His breath catches slightly, like my truthfulness surprises him somehow.

“And how do you feel now?” he asks.

“Lost. Pissed off. Not necessarily in that order.”

“But no longer nervous.”

“Oh, right,” I say with a snort. “So you’re doing the new girl a favor? How kind.”

“Thank you,” he says, adjusting his collar. “I am kind.”

“And modest. Are you done?”

He breaks off his gaze from mine, which I can almost physically feel.

As he walks away calmly, he speaks over his shoulder. “For now.”

“Great,” I call after him. “Something to look forward to. Bellhop.”

His broad form disappears, leaving me relieved and something else I can’t name. Wary, I guess. The emotion simmers at the base of my spine like the promise of trouble.

And I’m definitely still nervous.

Exhaling, I look around to figure out where I am. Darkbloom is massive and confusing.

“Name?” asks a young woman with auburn hair, a glum expression, and a clipboard.

A badge on her shirt reads Volunteer.

I furrow my brows. “Er, why?”

She points her fountain pen at the painted sign over her head.

Wayfarer Hall.

The words jog my memory.

“This is my dorm,” I say in mild surprise.

He brought my suitcases to my dorm.