In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2) by Tori Centanni

saw it in her house.”
    “So?” he asks, wiping mustard off the corner of his mouth. “A lot of people have guns.”
    “She brought it to school.” I’m sure of it. That’s why her purse clanked against the desk so heavily. It’s what she was reaching for. I shiver at the implications. Was she planning to shoot herself in some dramatic way? Was she planning to shoot us? None of that seems in line with the fear on her face the last time I saw her.
    Cam takes another bite and considers while he chews. “If she made some kind of bargain with a demon, whether he was like Az or not, she might have had it for protection.”
    “She was acting really strange.”
    “I know you like to pretend running around with demons is normal, but to most people, it’s kind of terrifying.”
    I look up from my fry stacks. “I don’t pretend.”
    “No, of course not,” Cam says, his voice low. “Because to you, it is normal.” He finishes his burger and crumples the blue Puget Pete’s wrapper onto his tray.
    “Well, yeah,” I say. “It’s sort of my job.”
    “I know,” he says, his eyes flicking back to the ring. He lets out a breath and then takes a long drag from his soda. “I don’t suppose you want to go back to school to do homework for the rest of the day?”
    “Do you?” I ask. I mean it to be teasing but it comes out short and snippy.
    “Yes, actually. I have a lot of stuff to get done before finals.” He stands and buses his tray. I put a fry in my mouth but it tastes like salty paper. I bus my tray, too, tossing the fries in the garbage.
    “Are you mad at me or something?” I ask.
    He runs his fingers through his hair and tugs agitatedly at the strands. “No. I’m scared.” The bell over the door chimes as we leave. “If something strange is going on with the demons, we all should be.” He spits the word ‘demons’ like it tastes bad. “Aren’t you?”
    “A little,” I admit. “Xanan looked a little scared. And that’s more frightening than anything I can think of.”
    Cam stops at his car and grabs my arm. He pulls me into a kiss. The air is freezing but he’s warm and solid, and I kiss him back. It tastes like mustard and salt.
    “You know,” he whispers, his lips against mine, “my house will be empty until five.”
    I smile. “That’s definitely better than homework.”
     
    Two hours later, Cam shakes me awake. I’m in his bed, beneath his blue bedspread. His hair is damp from the shower and he’s wearing jeans with no shirt. It’s a very sexy look. “Hey. It’s three,” he says, sitting on the bed next to me. I sit up and rub my eyes. The past hour and a half of sleep was the best I’d gotten in a while. Cam’s sheets smell like him. I want to wrap them around me and make a cocoon and never leave. “Next year I’ll have my own place and we won’t have to worry about parents or siblings barging in.”
    “Won’t you live in the dorms?” I ask.
    “No way,” Cam says, tilting my chin up and putting his lips close to mine. “I need a clean, quiet study environment. Brian and I are getting a place. If we both go to UW, I mean.”
    “Cam, you can’t pass on Stanford if they accept you.” I might be selfish but not enough to ask him to pass on his dream school just for me. It feels like I’ve practically become a Stanford cheerleader, the way I’m advocating for them. (Do they even have cheerleaders?) Which is ironic, given how I don’t want him to move two states away.
    “I absolutely can,” he says. “Besides, when I told my mom was I seriously considering UW, she practically did a jig. She’s thrilled at the prospect of me staying in the city, even though I threatened to bring my laundry home on weekends.” He kisses me, his palm running over my back. It sends a tingle through me. He pulls away like it takes a major effort. “Get dressed.”
    I get out of bed and find my clothes. My bra is on the nightstand and the rest are in a neat pile by the door.