~
Saturday morning, I woke up three hours before Dalton Deangelo was due at my house. It still wasn’t enough time for me to sort out what to wear.
I pulled on the blue dress I’d mentioned on the phone—the one he said would look good on his floor. The color did bring out my eyes, and the shirring above the waistband did wonders to hide my recent cupcake incidents. Then again, I remembered from Dottie’s workshop that red clothing made a stronger impression on the male mind, so I was rooting around for something else when the doorbell rang.
Shayla was silent in her bedroom, still crashed from returning late the night before.
I opened her door and said, “Get up if you want to meet Dalton Deangelo properly.” She’d given him heck on our front lawn that first night, but hadn’t talked to him since.
She stirred, moving just enough to pull the top cover over her head. “Merff,” she said, which was more of a sound than a word.
“You guys really tied on last night, didn’t you?”
She waved one limp hand. “Go ‘way. Your voice. Ugh.”
“Nice. So, you don’t want to meet him?”
“Merff.”
“Your loss.” I started down the stairs.
Shayla and I lived in a delicate balance, and her recent grouchiness shouldn’t have been surprising. She claimed to be happy for me, but whenever something good happened in my life, it took her some time to get used to the idea. Either that, or by wild coincidence the universe would make something bad happen to her to keep us in balance.
I pulled open the front door to find Dalton lurking a few feet off to the side of the porch, his arms crossed and his head nodded down.
The red geraniums in the terra cotta pots sat unharmed on the porch and front stairs, so he wasn’t looking guilty due to kicking one of them over (which happened a few times every summer when friends came over).
“What’s up?” I asked.
He turned a little to the side, taking on an even more lurking pose.
“Are you bailing on me today?” I asked. “Do you have to go back to shooting right now?”
He shook his head, no, but still didn’t say anything.
Now I was starting to get worried. “Something worse?”
He nodded, yes.
I knew, immediately, that he was dumping me. Without a doubt.
So I said, “You’re a f**king douche,” and slammed the door shut.
The doorbell rang again. I didn’t want his stupid explanation, but I opened it anyway.
“Invite me in,” he muttered, standing closer to the door but still keeping his distance.
“Fine. Come in.”
He stepped in with a flourish, his face lighting up with maniacal glee. His mouth opened wide in a snarl, revealing giant f**king vampire teeth.
I shrieked, like any normal person would, given the situation.
He was already laughing, bent forward with his hand on one knee. Waving his hand breathlessly, he said, “The look on your face!”
Holding my hand to my hammering heart, I said, “What’s with all you guys trying to terrify me?”
“What guys?” he said, sputtering around the prosthetic vampire teeth.
“Nobody.” The memory of me squirming on top of Adrian Storm’s body returned with clarity, and I plunged into a deep well of guilt.
Dalton adjusted one of the top teeth, which looked really sharp and dangerous. “Sh-h-ould I wear d-f-ese all day?”
“I don’t know. Definitely keep them on until you officially meet my roommate.” I glanced up the stairs for signs of life. “Unfortunately, she’s impersonating a person in a coma.”
My face twitched as I realized I’d made a coma joke. Once you actually know someone who’s been in a coma (my delivery guy, Carter), you either make twice as many inappropriate coma jokes, or just become aware of the ones you do. And the brain damage jokes are nearly as prevalent. I guess that, like cankles, some things just aren’t as funny when they’re personal.
“Does she sleep in the nude?” Dalton slurped around his vampire teeth.
“Nope.”
He was already moving past me, up the stairs. I followed him up, my hand clapped over my mouth to keep myself quiet.
He opened the door to her room and crept in, the old wood floors squeaking under his feet.
From within her covers, Shayla muttered something about coffee.
Dalton climbed right up onto the bed, his knees and hands on either side of Shayla’s form. I frowned, not pleased to see my vampire boy being so comfortable with another girl. But that was so… just… like Dalton, wasn’t it? For him to instantly feel comfortable and at home wherever he was, to not have any fears about being close to another person. It had to be an actor thing, as I’d never known anyone who acted like that.
He opened his mouth, raised his eyebrows, and pulled his lips back in a crazed expression that showed off the pointy teeth.
He nodded to me, so I said, “Shayla. Wake up. I’ve made a huge mistake.”
She grumbled and wiggled around.
I continued, “I’ve let a vampire into the house.”
The blankets peeled down, and she pushed her long, dark hair out of her eyes.
Dalton—no, Drake Cheshire—stared down at her silently, his fanged mouth wide open.
Time seemed to stop momentarily as she stared up into his eyes. The silence was broken by a high-pitched squeal and then hysterical giggling.
“That’s it?” he sputtered around the teeth. “No begging for mercy?”
She pushed his face away with one limp hand. “Bad kitty.”
He jumped up from the bed and started popping the prosthetic teeth off. Shrugging, he said to me, “Not the impression I wanted to make, but an impression all the same.”
“At least you scared me.”
“I sure did. Let’s see your room now. I bet it’s a girlie room with a pink canopy bed.”
His guess was so eerily similar to what Adrian had said the night before, I had to wonder if the two of them had been comparing notes.
“Right this way, sir.” I led him out of Shayla’s room and across the hallway to mine.
“I see you like books. And country furniture.” He picked up a handful of paperbacks from my yellow-and-blue antiqued dresser. That particular piece of furniture was actually a contemporary piece, from a cheap chain store. My mother had done her magic on it, painstakingly sanding the surface, applying one paint color, then the other, and finally battering the poor thing with a variety of implements.