Accidental Sire (Half-Moon Hollow #6)

“Then you should probably hang up now,” Ophelia whimpered.

“Gross. When you’re done, tell the girls I said hi.” I hit the big red end button and dropped the phone into my bag. And then I bathed my hands in sanitizer, because that would make a big difference.

“I need new nonpervert friends,” I said to myself, sighing and bumping my head against the railing.

So Tina told Ophelia that Jane asked for a list of Ophelia’s contacts. Jane didn’t know who asked for Ophelia’s contacts list but knew it wasn’t her. Ophelia sent it but didn’t know why anyone would want it. Jane and Ophelia had no reason to lie. That left Tina, the same Tina who seemed to have trouble counting vampires, who couldn’t possibly be as adorably clueless as she pretended to be. But why would she want a list of Ophelia’s contacts? Maybe she wanted to have some sort of intervention-style confrontation with Ophelia about her rude treatment of the roommate who kept stealing Ophelia’s body wash?

Why wouldn’t this problem just unknot itself?

I grumbled, focusing on the screen in the distance. My mom had loved this movie. Mrs. Winterbourne. It wasn’t even one of Brendan Fraser’s big hits, but it was her favorite of his because it was just so dang sentimental, with its twists and turns and impossibly happy ending. We’d curl up on the couch on her rare nights off and enjoy a good mid-’90s romantic comedy and some microwave popcorn.

Even though I couldn’t hear the dialogue, it was nice to sit here and watch something that reminded me of home, listening to the wind move through the leaves. I was relaxed. I was untroubled. I was not worried about someone dumping liquid silver on me in the name of science, which was a nice change of pace.

It lasted all of ten minutes.

I felt, then smelled Ben, all bay leaf and citrus, before I sensed the minute vibrations of him climbing up the ladder. I heard him grunt quietly as he leaped from the ladder to the platform. I rolled my eyes and leaned my forehead against the metal railing, praying to Oprah for strength.

“Oh, come on.” I sighed. “I was just having a really nice, relaxing moment here. I don’t need you or your emotional yo-yoing.”

Ben looked honestly hurt by that. “Emotional yo-yoing?”

“I like you. You’re awesome,” I said, mimicking him. “I think I hate you. Go away. But maybe not. Let’s make out! Nope, let’s pretend it never happened and just smile a lot!”

“Well, that sounds nothing like me.” Ben snorted.

I gave him dead-face.

He slid down to sit next to me on the platform.

“What are you even doing here?” I asked.

“Libby told Jane that she’d let you loose. I overheard because I may have dropped by your office to look for you. And then I followed your trail.”

“If you say ‘by smell,’ I swear I will hit you.”

I made a mental note to use either more deodorant or less scented body wash.

“No. It was weird. I could sense that this was where you were going. I could even see the water tower in my mind. Feel the cool metal ladder rungs in my hands.”

He could see inside my head? That was uncomfortable. Was this the first time? Or was it a full-time ability and this was the first time he’d mentioned it?

“Is that a normal vampire thing?” I asked. “Or some sort of special neovamp trick?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I want to ask anybody. Who knows what sort of experiments they’d do on us if they thought we were psychic, too?”

I sighed again, leaning my forearms against the railing. “We’d end up in one of those Men Who Stare at Goats scenarios.”

He looked at the drive-in screen. “Mrs. Winterbourne?” he asked. I lifted a brow, and he added, “I’ve seen it a few times. Edgar Beane, the guy who owns the drive-in? He never quite moved past 1998 in terms of his cinematic interests. And Brendan Fraser is a particular favorite of his.”

“So you’re just going to brazen your way through this? Pretend the awkward away?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I can’t expect you to just sit by while I figure out what’s going on in my own head. It’s not fair. And I’ve been a dick to you while I’ve tried to work through it.”

He looked to me, as if he expected me to argue, Oh, no, you haven’t been that bad! And my face remained impassive, because he had been that bad. I made a little hand-waving motion, as if to say Go on.

“I have feelings for you, very strong feelings,” he said.

At this, I pulled my head back and leaned away from him, making him raise his hands and say, “I’m not saying I’m crazy in love with you or making a doll out of the hair you leave in the drain or anything. But strong ‘liking you’ feelings, like thinking about you all the time. Like, when we’re at work, instead of concentrating on my coding, I’m sitting there at my desk wondering how you’re doing. If you’re having a good night, or if some wackaloon is yelling at you over the phone and what sort of placating yet still pretty insulting thing you’re going to say to him. When we’re at home, I have to concentrate on finding things to do to keep me from seeking you out, to keep from knocking on your door to talk to you, because I know you need to retreat into your safe corner. And I realize everything I’m saying is making me sound like a freaky stalker, and I’m sorry. I haven’t really felt like this about someone for a while, and at first, I wasn’t sure if it was because you’re my sire. I mean, Jane married her sire. Iris married hers. Miranda is going to marry hers. I didn’t want to be with you just because my vampire hindbrain told me I had to. So after I finally figured out that I didn’t have a reason to be pissed off at you for this whole vampire thing, I still kept my distance.”

I stared out into the night, focusing on Brendan Fraser’s goofy-handsome mug.

God, I hoped he was kidding about the hair-in-the-drain thing. Gross.

“And I am supposed to react to this how?”

“With a forgiving heart and a forgetful brain? I will settle for a permanent blackout of all memories connected to me interrupting what was a very enjoyable make-out session by freaking out and running away like a little girl.”

“Why did you run away like a little girl?” I asked. “Which made me feel just awesome, by the way. Super-attractive and desirable.”

“No, no,” he said, shifting his body toward mine, bending his knee so his shin brushed against my ass. “I want you. I want you on a level that would definitely not help my stalker status. But we started kissing, and I realized that I am not comfortable doing any of that in that house, with a mind-reader sleeping down the hall and people who have known me for years. So between that and the general ‘sire feelings’ freak-out, I ran.”

“Is this sudden avalanche of confessional feelings a result of the epic love story that is Gigi and her chiseled Russian boyfriend, and you realizing they’re never going to break up?” I asked.

Ben scoffed. “No. If anything, being around Gigi reminded me why we weren’t all that great together. We’re too damn similar.”