Page 16 of Damsel in Disguise

Idiot. I’m an absolute idiot.

I was supposed to be focused on Alistair Hertley.

And I was.

Every bit of my attention had been fixed on him, narrowed down to a single point with almost surgical precision, until my phone started vibrating against my pocket every few seconds. At first, I ignored it. Then it kept going. Again. And again. And again.

I checked it for one second.

Only to discover that Brent was apparently having a crisis because I hadn’t replied to him in the last half hour.

Honestly, the boy could be such a child.

Just because I danced with him at the stupid party doesn’t mean I’m already planning our wedding.

Remind me that the next time Brent decides to annoy me about getting into a relationship with him, I should block him on every social media account I own and pretend he never existed.

The moment I sent him Guys My Age and restricted his account, I slipped out from behind the cover I had been using and continued with my perfectly reasonable, completely normal, definitely not concerning afternoon.

Apparently, the universe enjoys irony. Now I’m paying the price.

I got caught. Properly caught this time.

Not that this is my first offence.

The previous times I’d managed to pull my hood over my head, mutter a half-convincing apology, and disappear in the opposite direction before anyone could ask too many questions.

Today, I ran.

In hindsight, sprinting away from university security may not have been my brightest tactical decision.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t pass through the loads of students who were there between me and the only exit. My shoulder dropped, and I surrendered.

The first time I got almost got was by a porter because I chose the wrong entrance.

The second time was because I spent too long pretending to read a noticeboard while waiting for Alistair to leave a lecture hall.

And the third time for underestimating how quickly campus security remembers unfamiliar faces.

Each mistake taught me something.

I changed my clothes.

I changed my routes.

I learned which paths are busiest and which buildings are empty first.

Who knew my luck would run out so soon?

So here I am.

Standing in the middle of Oxford with my pulse still trying to claw its way out of my chest, my lungs burning from the chase, and two members of campus security staring at me with the weary expressions of men who are deeply offended by the fact that they had to exercise.

The older one folds his arms across his chest while the younger one watches me as though he’s trying to decide whether I’m dangerous or just exceptionally stupid.

Personally, I think the answer is obvious. I’m exceptionally stupid.

Danger requires competence.