Vampire Crush(43)
Author: A.M. Robinson

The silence ticks on; all I can hear are the sounds of my own breathing and the thrum of tropical music leaking through the walls. The thin bars of light squeezing through the slats make him look like a trendy tiger. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

"This is an abnormally small pantry. I’m going to write a letter," I say, leaving off the part about his shoulders seeming abnormally large. I’m thinking that I’m going to write a letter about that too when James suddenly blurts that he wants to apologize.

"Really?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah. I think it’s brave what you’re doing. And I’ve tried to stop hoping that there’s some way to change this, I have. Because I hate the way that it makes you look at me, like I’m some kind of criminal."

"That’s not what I think," I say, and it’s true. I open my mouth to tell him this, but the particles of dust stirred up by his entrance tickle my nose. I cover my mouth and sneeze as quietly as possible. It still sounds like a chipmunk that’s recently had a sex change operation.

"That’s not exactly the pledge of understanding that I was hoping for," James says, "but I’ll take it."

The dark is making his voice lower, warmer, and more rumbly. His shoulder is level with my ears. I don’t know if it’s a trick of the light or what, but at the moment it looks very comfortable. Distraction, I try to remind myself, but my brain doesn’t care. It would be so easy to just sort of rest my head on it for a few to see if it’s as comfortable as it looks. . . .

"You can if you want," James says.

I will be so glad when James is finally done with vampire puberty. "You have to stop doing that."

"I can’t help it. Your thoughts are very strong," he says. "It’s another reason I would like to not be . . . this . . . anymore. Mind reading is fun until you find out that your chemistry teacher dreamed he was a transvestite the night before."

"Mr. George?" I ask, suddenly beset by an image that is both hilarious and terrifying.

"Mr. George," James confirms. "The thoughts of yours I catch are at least amusing."

Is it wrong to be flattered by that? Because I am. Until I am struck by a very important distinction.

"Amusing ha-ha or amusing he-he?" I ask.

"I have no idea what the difference is."

I give him a withering look that is unfortunately wasted in the dark. "Amusing ha-ha is funny. Amusing he-he implies snickering. Obviously."

"Got it," he says, and then makes me wait for the answer. "Amusing ha-ha."

Okay, I am flattered. It nudges me to suggest something that has been rattling around in the back of my mind for these past few weeks. "What if, when I find her, we talk to her. Explain things to her. Then if she wants to help you, if she chooses to help you . . ." I trail off, but the meaning is clear. "We could work together."

"Together," James says as he steps closer, only the way he says it makes it sound about thirty times sexier.

"Together," I repeat, starting to ramble in an effort to cover up the fact that my heart is pounding so loud that I imagine my other organs might complain. "It wouldn’t be that different from asking someone to donate blood. I mean, I’m not all that sure about the particulars. Like do you have to actually drink it from her neck?" I ask. "Or maybe we don’t have to tell her. Can we say it’s for needy children and then, I don’t know, put it in a thermos? I’m not sure about that from an ethical standpoint, but we should discuss." I stop when I realize that he’s gone still, most likely out of disgust. "It was the thermos bit that took it over the edge, wasn’t it?" There’s still no answer. "James?"

I barely have time to register his head swooping down in the dark, and then he’s kissing me and even though this is a distraction, I want this. His lips are firm but cool, and I grab the side shelving to keep my balance. At first I’m too stunned to do anything normal like close my eyes, and I’m thankful that he has his closed so he doesn’t see me staring at his cheekbones like some sort of goggle-eyed amphibian. I lower my lids and concentrate on kissing him back, offering up a fervent prayer that my repeated viewings of the last five minutes of Grease in the fifth grade will finally pay off. Because he’s definitely improved since the hammock.

He smiles against my lips, and I realize that he must have heard that, but for once I don’t care. His hands slide to my waist, and I lean forward to wrap my arms around his neck. He tugs me forward against his chest, his palms brushing against my sides as his hands slide upward. I’m standing up on tiptoes to move closer when suddenly he pulls back. Even in the dark I can tell that he’s puzzled.

"Are you wearing a battery pack?" he asks.

His fingers have found the hard edge of Vlad’s book. Evidence of my snooping will bring a swift end to the kissing truce, and I was just getting the hang of it.

"Oh, well, funny story . . . ," I start to say as his fingers continue to explore upward. When they reach the bare skin of my back, I jump. "Your hands are cold!"

That was the wrong thing to say. James backs away.

"Not bad cold," I say hastily. "Cold like eggs! Like eggs when you take them out of the refrigerator."

He makes a sound that’s half laugh, half choke.

"And eggs are, um, full of protein." Shut up, Sophie. Shut up.

James doesn’t agree or disagree with my nutritional claims. Instead he peers out into the kitchen. "I should go," he says, and I can tell that I’ve ruined the moment. "There’s no sign of Vlad. You should go too."

I suddenly feel a little guilty for hiding in a closet kissing people when Vlad is out there stalking the girls I supposedly came here to protect. "I’m not finished at the party yet," I say, just when a familiar voice echoes from the room beyond.

"What is it, Marisabel?" Vlad says, annoyed. "There are girls with skin to check. And have you seen my journal? I was sure that it would be upstairs."

James looks at me, his eyes narrowing. "Sophie – "

"It’s fine," I hiss, rushing to the door to peer through the slats. Vlad is leaning against the oven while Marisabel faces him. Violet has cleared out, and from the way Vlad is scowling, I would say that was a smart move. His right hand flexes with impatience. When Marisabel doesn’t respond, he clangs it down on the front burner.

"What is it?" he snaps again.

"Just hold on a second, would you?" Marisabel says, and then closes her eyes as she massages her temples. "This is hard for me."

"Thinking? I know."