Page 39 of Road Trip with a Vampire

Nineteen

Dear Grizzy,

Next time you decide to start a fire, maybe don’t do it at the same party where I’ve posted notes saying I hope all the guests die painfully?

It should be fine—these people don’t have the sense a haberdasher gave a felt brim—but just in case, I plan to lie low for a little while. You might consider doing the same.

No great loss. The world’s a better place without these arseholes in it.

—R

“I think,” I mumbled into Peter’s chest, “that alarm means we need to get going.”

“Mm,” Peter said, still half-asleep. Or perhaps not so half-asleep, if the way he slapped his hand on top of my phone to shut it off was any guide. That little problem taken care of, Peter rolled over and threw an arm over me, pinning me in place.

I laughed, squirming beneath him. Now I was fully awake. “Really, though,” I said, pushing at his shoulder. “We need to get up if we want to make it to Chicago today.”

With a loud, theatrical sigh, Peter rolled off me and sat up. The sheets fell to his waist, giving me a glorious view of his bare chest. It looked every bit as good as it had when I’d dug my fingernails into it the night before.

“You’re right. We should get up,” he said without conviction. He pulled back the sheets and stood, then wandered—naked—to the bathroom.

I had to look away from his gorgeous ass or else I’d tumble him into the bed again and we’d never leave.

“I can feel you looking at me,” Peter said without turning around. I could all but hear his cocky smirk. “ Behave , Turret.”

I threw a pillow at him, missing him by nearly a foot. I could hear his laughter from the other side of the bathroom door when he closed it behind him.

After the previous night’s magic show on the beach, we’d cuddled by the fire for a little while longer before agreeing that even with a fire it was too cold to be outside.

I’d doused the flames with water I conjured from the lake—a much easier feat than conjuring all that driftwood had been but no less impressive to Peter—then allowed him to guide me back to the car and drive us to the first hotel we could find.

Not that we’d actually slept much once we’d gotten there.

As Peter showered, I let myself think about how much he’d come to mean to me in such a short amount of time.

I’d said goodbye to more people than I could count over the course of my too-long life—but would I be able to say goodbye to Peter when we found whatever was waiting for him in Indiana?

If he got his memories back and decided he wanted to return to his old life and leave me behind?

I grabbed my hairbrush, then started attacking my hair so vigorously I lost count of how many strands I accidentally pulled out.

Better not to dwell on what came next.

No good would come of it.

Somehow we managed to check out in time to avoid a late fee from the hotel.

My phone said we’d get to Chicago in three hours. Peter agreed to drive so I could let Reggie know we were on our way.

Zelda: Hey Reg

Zelda: Still up for some visitors?

Once we got on the freeway Peter put on Chappell Roan. I almost asked him when he’d decided he wasn’t above pop music but decided to leave it. What if he’d done it on accident? I didn’t want to draw attention to the mistake and make him switch to something depressing.

“I really like this Chapeau Roanoke music,” Peter said too casually. “Has a good beat and you can dance to it.”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. He was using an old American Bandstand line to describe Chapeau Roanoke ? I was too stunned that he liked Pink Pony Club to address any of this. Besides—he’d been close enough with her name.

“You seriously like this?” I asked. I happened to think she was one of the greatest pop talents of the past decade, but I couldn’t imagine someone who thought Morrissey was the height of road trip music liking her stuff at all.

“Yes,” he confirmed, nodding emphatically. After a beat he asked, “Do you like this?”

The way he asked it—a slight lilt in his voice; a hesitancy I’d seldom heard him use—made me wonder at the real reason he’d put this music on.

“I do,” I confirmed, placing a hand over the one of his that was closest to me. “Very much.”

He grinned and relaxed back into his seat. Clearly that had been the answer he’d been hoping to hear. “We’ll listen to her all the way to Chicago, then.”

Before I could decide whether Peter actually liked Chappell Roan or whether he was simply trying to make me happy—and if so, what that meant—my phone buzzed inside my purse with new texts.

Reg: So you’re coming after all

Reg: Fab!

Saved by the Reginald.

Zelda: We are

Zelda: We got a later start this morning than we’d planned but we should be there by early evening

Zelda: That work for you?

Reg: Of course. I’ll make spaghetti for you and Amelia and two sauces—one for you, one for me and Petey.

Reg: (Don’t ask what I put in the sauce I’ll make for me and Petey—I think it’s delicious but you prob won’t agree)

I shuddered at the thought.

Reginald’s apartment was in a part of Chicago called Wrigleyville, which I wasn’t familiar with.

The last time I’d seen him, he’d been bouncing between places, with most of his time spent caring for his friend Frederick, who he’d accidentally put into a coma as part of a practical joke gone wrong.

I’d always found Frederick an insufferable blowhard who could benefit from a good old-fashioned accidental coma, but Reggie had felt guilty enough about what he’d done that I made a point never to bring it up.

It was still hard to believe that my once devil-may-care friend now lived with a human girlfriend in an upscale neighborhood. And attended scrapbooking conventions. And took on amnesiac charity cases like Peter.

“I hope this doesn’t end up being too awkward,” I said, nervously fidgeting with my purse strap when we finally pulled up in front of Reg’s building.

“Why would it be awkward?” Peter was eyeing me curiously. “He’s the one who sent me to you in the first place. Seems only fair for him to let us spend the night.”

I’d given Peter a brief summary of my history with Reggie, but while Peter knew it had been a while since I’d seen my old friend, I’d glossed over some important details. Like how I hadn’t seen him in a decade, hadn’t said goodbye when I’d left, and up until recently hadn’t spoken to him since.

“It’s just…been a while,” I said lamely.

“If you were friends for centuries,” Peter pointed out, “I have to think a few years without contact will mean nothing.”

I hoped he was right.

The man who opened the door to us was nearly unrecognizable as the person I’d been in cahoots with on so many past adventures.

It wasn’t that he looked significantly different physically.

No, his dark blond hair and his tall, broad-shouldered physique were essentially the same as they had always been.

But whereas the Reginald I’d known years ago had dressed so flamboyantly that eyesore was an overly kind description, the man grinning at me now looked downright…

Normal.

Respectable, even, in his blue button-down shirt and charcoal-gray slacks.

What had happened to my ridiculous friend?

“Grizzy!” he exclaimed, his arms outstretched. His eyes were bright, the grin on his face so delighted it left no room for uncertainty or guilt. “Come here, give us a hug.”

His embrace made me feel my old friend’s absence from my life more acutely than any other moment of the past decade had.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said, meaning it. “It’s been way too long.”

He gave me a mock scowl. “And whose fault is that?”

There was only teasing affection in his eyes. No recriminations. That only made the stab of guilt even sharper.

“I had to go,” I said, voice just above a whisper.

“I understand,” Reg said. I didn’t know if he meant it, but if anyone from my old life would understand the need to do something rash to build a better life, it would be him. “Mostly I’m just glad you’re back. You never did repay the twenty bucks you owe me.”

I snorted. Leave it to him to defuse an emotionally fraught moment with humor. “Hey. I won that bet fair and square.”

“Sounds like something a cheater would say.”

A throat cleared behind me, interrupting our banter.

Peter.

He stood on the stoop awkwardly, eyes darting between the two of us as if waiting for one of us to make an introduction.

“Peter, you know Reggie,” I said. “And Reg, I assume you remember sending this guy my way a few weeks ago without so much as a warning.”

“Indeed,” Reggie said, still grinning. “Nice to see you again, Petey.”

Peter looked like he might have an embolism. “Don’t ever call me that.”

“Please, come in,” Reginald said, ignoring him. He opened the door wider and gestured to the living space behind him.

I took Peter’s hand, pretending not to notice the way Reg’s gaze caught on our entwined fingers, then led him inside.

The place was lovely, the exact sort of tastefully decorated condo I never would have imagined my old friend living in. Of course, some things never changed.

“I see you still have that poster of Edward Cullen,” I mused when we walked into the kitchen.

Reginald slid his hands into his pockets on a dreamy sigh. “Isn’t he lovely?”

“Yes,” I lied. I had never personally given two shits about Twilight . But Edward had always been special to Reginald for reasons passing my understanding. I was fine with playing along.

“Amelia hates it,” he continued. “Especially the way it sparkles when you turn off the light. She won’t admit it, but I think she’s Team Jacob.”

I adopted a look of mock astonishment. “The nerve !”

“Right?” Reg said, sounding vindicated. “Anyway, it’s fine. I think her framed poster of the Internal Revenue Code table of contents is deeply weird, myself, so I figure we’re even.”

Peter eyed the Edward Cullen poster dubiously. “Huh.”