Page 53 of My Vampire Plus-One

She turned to go—winking broadly at me on her way out the door.

“She seems nice,” Reggie said, once she was out of earshot.

I was hyperaware of the fact that we were now alone. I shouldn’t have wanted him to crowd me up against my bookshelves full of tax manuals and continue what we’d started at my aunt’s house. But lord help me, I did.

“She is nice,” I confirmed.Focus on Ellen. Think about how nice she is, what a great assistant she is.Anythingbut how incredible Reggie looks in that suit and how completely alone we are.“But can you please tell me why you’re here?” I walked around my desk until I stood directly in front of him. This close, I could all but count the faint freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. Just as I could have done last night right when he’d kissed me, if I hadn’t been so distracted by the feel of his mouth on mine.

“I’m trying to avoid being at home too much these days,” he said, cryptically. He walked over to one of the two chairs I kept inmy office for visitors, which were more decorative than functional. The moment he sat down, it was obvious it was too small for his large frame. He fidgeted, then awkwardly crossed his legs, looking uncomfortable. “I happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by.”

I stared at him. “Why are you trying to avoid being home?”

He hesitated, as though weighing how to answer that question. For the first time since he showed up, he looked fidgety and nervous. “I’m just kidding,” he said, though he didn’t look, or sound, like he was joking at all. “Forget I said anything. And—you know what, fuck this chair.” He awkwardly stood up and stretched his arms over his head, trying to work the kinks out. “Where the devil did you get that thing, anyway?”

“IKEA,” I said. “Sorry. I don’t usually get visitors.”

But Reggie wasn’t listening. He was walking to the far wall of my office, where I’d hung my diplomas and framed photos of my family. “Your office is very organized.”

“I— Thank you,” I said, caught off guard by his comment.

“It’s fascinating,” he continued. “Everything on this wall is hung perfectly straight and in perfect alignment with everything else.” He ran a finger along the top of the framed photograph of me standing beside my two siblings on one of our childhood family trips to Wisconsin. I was about seven years old in that picture; a snowdrift taller than I was towered behind us. “You even dust them.”

“I do,” I admitted.

The face he pulled was so mock-judgmental and silly I nearly burst out laughing.

“Butwhy?” he asked.

“I like things tidy,” I said, feeling defensive.

“I get that,” he said. “But there isn’t a single book out of placein this room. Or a single stray sheet of paper on your desk. There’s liking things tidy, and then there’s this.” He gestured expansively to the room we were standing in. “It feels like a mausoleum.”

I snorted. “Been in a lot of mausoleums?”

“More than you might think.”

“Listen,” I said, starting to get annoyed. “First you don’t really explain why you’re here, and then you start criticizing my office?” I shook my head.Thiswas why I preferred being single. “Tell me why I shouldn’t ask you to leave.”

His expression softened. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He paused, then tapped his index finger against his lips. “The real reason I dropped by is I wondered if maybe we could get a drink.”

My eyes widened.What?

“I can’t,” I said, on reflex.

“Why not?”

“I have at least four more hours of work to do before I can leave tonight.”

“Exactly why you should get a drink with me,” he countered. “You need a break.”

“I’ve been doing nothingbuttaking breaks this week,” I protested. “And besides, you sound like you’re asking me out on a date. We don’t do that.” And then, for good measure, I added, “We aren’t dating.”

A flicker of something I didn’t recognize flitted across his features. There and gone again. “I know,” he said. He put his hands on my arms, which I realized I’d been crossing so tightly across my chest my shoulders ached. Reggie’s palms were like ice, so cold I could feel them all the way through the thin fabric of my cardigan.

He gently uncrossed my arms for me and placed them down by my sides.

“This wouldn’t be a date,” he continued. “Just a chance for us to spend some time together while you unwind for an hour or two.”

“How is that not a date?”