Dead as a Doornail (Sookie Stackhouse #5)(42)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"You’re referring to Bill’s reaction when he walked in on us?" Sam nodded. "Well, he seems to have gotten over it."

"I think he’s just repaying you in kind."

I felt awkward. Last night, I’d been on the verge of going to bed with Sam. But I was far from feeling passionate at this moment, and Sam’s leg had been hurt badly in his fall. He didn’t look as if he could romance a rag doll, much less a robust woman like me. I knew it was wrong to think of indulging in some sex play with my boss, though Sam and I had been teetering on a fine edge for months. Coming down on the "no" side was the safest, sanest thing to do. Tonight, particularly after the emotionally jangling events of the past hour, I wanted to be safe.

"He stopped us in time," I said.

Sam raised a fine red-gold eyebrow. "Did you want to be stopped?"

"Not at that moment," I admitted. "But I guess it was for the best."

Sam just looked at me for a moment. "What I was going to tell you, though I was going to wait until after the bar closed, is that one of my rental houses is empty right now. It’s the one next to – well, you remember, the one where Dawn…"

"Died," I finished.

"Right. I had that one redone, and it’s rented out now. So you’d have a neighbor, and you’re not used to that. But the empty side is furnished. You’d only have to bring a few linens, your clothes, and some pots and pans." Sam smiled. "You could get that in a car. By the way, where’d you get this?" He nodded at the Malibu.

I told him how generous Tara had been, and I also told him I was worried about her. I repeated the warning Eric had given me about Mickey.

When I saw how anxious Sam looked, I felt like a selfish creep for burdening him with all this. Sam had enough to worry about. I said, "I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear more troubles. Come on, let’s go back inside."

Sam stared at me. "I do need to sit down," he said after a moment.

"Thanks for the rental. Of course I’ll pay you. I’m so glad to have a place to live where I can come and go without bothering anyone! How much is it? I think my insurance will pay for me renting a place to live while my house is being fixed."

Sam gave me a hard look, and then named a price that I was sure was well below his usual rate. I slid my arm around him because his limp was so bad. He accepted the help without a struggle, which made me think even better of him. He hobbled down the hall with my help and settled in the rolling chair behind his desk with a sigh. I pushed over one of the visitor chairs so he could put his leg up on it if he wanted, and he used it immediately. Under the strong fluorescent light in his office, my boss looked haggard.

"Get back to work," he said mock-threateningly. "I’ll bet they’re mobbing Charles."

The bar was just as chaotic as I’d feared, and I began tending to my tables immediately. Danielle shot me a dirty look, and even Charles looked less than happy. But gradually, moving as fast as I could, I served fresh drinks, took away empty glasses, dumped the occasional ashtray, wiped the sticky tables, and smiled at and spoke to as many people as I could. I could kiss my tips good-bye, but at least peace was restored.

Bit by bit, the pulse of the bar slowed and returned to normal. Bill and his date were deep in conversation, I noticed… though I made a great effort not to keep glancing their way. To my dismay, every single time I saw them as a couple, I felt a wave of rage that did not speak well for my character. For another thing, though my feelings were a matter of indifference to almost ninety percent of the bar’s patrons, the other ten percent were watching like hawks to see if Bill’s date was making me suffer. Some of them would be glad to see it, and some wouldn’t – but it was no one’s business, either way.

As I was cleaning off a table that had just been vacated, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I picked up a foreshadowing just as I turned, and that enabled me to keep my smile in place. Selah Pumphrey was waiting for my attention, her own smile bright and armor plated.

She was taller than I, and perhaps ten pounds lighter. Her makeup was expensive and expert, and she smelled like a million bucks. I reached out and touched her brain without even thinking twice.

Selah was thinking she had it all over me, unless I was fantastic in bed. Selah thought that lower-class women must always be better in bed, because they were less inhibited. She knew she was slimmer, was smarter, made more money, and was far more educated and better read than the waitress she was looking at. But Selah Pumphrey doubted her own sexual skill and had a terror of making herself vulnerable. I blinked. This was more than I wanted to know.

It was interesting to discover that (in Selah’s mind) since I was poor and uneducated, I was more in touch with my nature as a sexual being. I’d have to tell all the other poor people in Bon Temps. Here we’d been having a wonderful time screwing one another, having much better sex than smart upper-class people, and we hadn’t even appreciated it.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Where is the ladies’ room?" she asked.

"Through that door there. The one with ‘Restrooms’ on the sign above it." I should be grateful I was clever enough to read signs.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn’t notice."

I just waited.

"So, um, you got any tips for me? About dating a vampire?" She waited, looking nervous and defiant all at once.

"Sure," I said. "Don’t eat any garlic." And I turned away from her to wipe down the table.

Once I was certain she was out of the room, I swung around to carry two empty beer mugs to the bar, and when I turned back, Bill was standing there. I gave a gasp of surprise. Bill has dark brown hair and of course the whitest skin you can imagine. His eyes are as dark as his hair. Right at the moment, those eyes were fixed on mine.

"Why did she talk to you?" he asked.

"Wanted to know the way to the bathroom."

He cocked an eyebrow, glancing up at the sign.

"She just wanted to take my measure," I said. "At least, that’s my guess." I felt oddly comfortable with Bill at that moment, no matter what had passed between us.

"Did you scare her?"

"I didn’t try to."

"Did you scare her?" he asked again in a sterner voice. But he smiled at me.

"No," I said. "Did you want me to?"

He shook his head in mock disgust. "Are you jealous?"

"Yes." Honesty was always safest. "I hate her skinny thighs and her elitist attitude. I hope she’s a dreadful bitch who makes you so miserable that you howl when you remember me."

"Good," said Bill. "That’s good to hear." He gave me a brush of lips on my cheek. At the touch of his cool flesh, I shivered, remembering. He did, too. I saw the heat flare in his eyes, the fangs begin to run out. Then Catfish Hunter yelled to me to stir my stumps and bring him another bourbon and Coke, and I walked away from my first lover.