Page 22 of Bite Me
From five feet away, I spied Spiderman darting through the throng, a canister of silly string poised in one fist. His eyes locked on me like he was planning a drive-by. I glared at him, flexed my biceps, and he redirected to a group of minions near the drinks table.Choose your battles, Peter Parker.
I refreshed my drink, chatted briefly with Mark and Chet, then continued roaming aimlessly until I spotted Ansel near a fake ficus drowning in fake cobwebs. He wore a full-body skeleton costume and had even made up his face to match, his angular features exaggerated with dark shading, eyes stark and hollowed out like twin voids. The white paint highlighting his cheekbones made him look as if he’d been carved from shadow and bone. It was arresting, really, and a little unexpected.
“Yo,” I said in greeting. “You come alone?” I never knew with him, but I was aware of how overwhelming our parties could be, and Ansel wasn’t exactly Mr. Congeniality. Since I’d moved in with Eric, I didn’t see him as much, but even when I’d been in the house, he was mostly a ghost. He was easily the most cryptic and self-contained guy I’d ever met. I was pretty sure he had friends besides us, though. Maybe? He at least had teammates on the track team, and some of them had to be here.
He quirked a smile. “Nah. Pete’s here and some other guys.” He gestured vaguely, then glanced briefly down at his phone when the screen lit up.
“Want me to grab you a beer so you don’t have to fight the crowd? Or something else?” I offered. “We have hunch punch. Also, Captain and Coke.”
“Pass.” He wrinkled his nose. I’d gathered he wasn’t much for hangovers. Probably due to the insane number of miles he pounded out in a week. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t envy him either; running was probably my least favorite form of exercise. Ansel lived for it, though.
His phone lit up again, and once again, his attention skittered quickly that way before looping back to me. “I’m probably going to dip soon for a while, anyway.”
I nudged my chin toward his phone. “Hot date? Secret rendezvous? Masterminding a plan to blow up Jenkins Hall?” I could get behind the latter option, since that was where most of the university’s math courses were held. I still hated math. Still sucked at it, too, no matter how often Eric “tutored” me.
At that moment, the plug started vibrating in my ass again, this time at a higher frequency that made my knees wobble. I sucked in a shaky breath, clenching my cheeks.
Ansel’s lips had parted, as if he was going to answer my question, but he paused, his eyebrows flickering up with concern. “You good, man?”
“Yeah,” I bit out. “Hemorrhoid flare-up, I think.” In that moment, I decided I’d figure out a way to pay Eric back someday, no matter how long it took. It would be glorious retribution.
“Oof.” He winced in sympathy. “I’ve heard my dad talk about that before. Sounds painful.”
“Very,” I agreed, almost certain there was a little extra color in my cheeks. “Anyway, you were saying: hot date?” I grinned at my stealthy redirection.
“Ha! Yeah. None of the above. Or maybe all of the above.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ll probably never know.”
I didn’t doubt it. I knew next to nothing about Ansel’s social life. I was pretty sure he didn’t date anyone, basically ever. The only reason I knew he wasn’t some introverted virgin was because Eric and Chet’s best friend, Amanda, had a friend who’dactually hooked up with him once and apparently wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks afterward—along with how he’d ghosted her.
I was about to pry more, readying some conversational wizardry to draw him out, when I glanced over the crowd again and my brain froze. Because there he was, fuckingfinally,prowling through the crowd like a wet dream with fangs. Eric’s brand of sex appeal should’ve required a fucking license. It was lethal. And it wasn’t just me. Heads turned every which way. You could chart his trajectory by the way people turned and stared after him, openly ogling. I didn’t blame them; I was doing the same, but at least I remembered to shut my mouth so my jaw wasn’t just hanging open like a Venus flytrap.
The leather pants he wore were indecently tight, highlighting every inch of his thighs, every flex of muscle as he moved. His cock was brazenly outlined against the zipper and his white shirt, like mine, was open all the way to the waist, but looked far better on him under a velvety fitted waistcoat with tails.
He’d even gotten the hair right, the wavy blond wig tied with a black velvet ribbon like Tom Cruise’s inInterview with a Vampire.
My stomach did a weird flip-flop thing when I looked at the familiar features in contrast with the totally wrong length and shade of hair. A familiar stranger. A strange familiar. I wasn’t sure which. My dick definitely liked it, though. Eric made the perfect Lestat, but meaner, hotter, and more likely to fuck me on the nearest flat surface than drain me dry.
His eyes found mine across the room, and the look he gave me burned right into my core. He stared at me like he wanted to eat me alive, and I was a willing tribute. I kept my grip on the beer cup, though I was tempted to set it down and brace myself instead.
When he finally reached me, he stopped a few inches away, gaze flicking up and down my frame like it had earlier in the bathroom. The result was much the same; every part of my body took notice, lighting up like a circuit board. His hand zeroed in on the waistband of my breeches and tugged, pulling me in before I could think of something semi-witty to say. Or even a coherent greeting at all. His effect on me was like gravity that way, completely undeniable.
I felt the heat of his body meshing with mine, our shirts brushing together, one leg sliding between my thighs.
His mouth curved, and I caught a glimpse of the fang caps, perfectly placed, as he dropped his voice low and smeared a kiss along my jaw. “Sorry I’m a little late, frat boy.”
What was time anyway?
“Damn, okay, your costumes beat all the others I’ve seen by a mile,” Ansel said as Eric loosened his hold on me. I tried to blink out of my daze, having briefly forgotten Ansel existed. “Also, may that kind of love never find me.”
Eric chuckled, amused. “Why?”
“Too time consuming,” he replied succinctly, giving me a good idea why his dating game was nonexistent. His phone flashed bright again, and this time he tapped out a quick message before tucking it away and excusing himself. “I’ll be back later. Maybe.”
Eric and I watched him elbow through the crowd toward the door.
“He’s an interesting one,” Eric mused.
“Maybe he’s actually just boring?” It was hard to say. “Just runs his miles, does his homework, and then powers himself down for eight hours.”