Page 8 of Road Trip with a Vampire

“Going where?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop myself. What did I care where he was going? I didn’t.

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “It’s overcast today, so I’d like to explore the area.” He turned, his brown eyes finding mine. “It’s nice. The, uh…the area, I mean.”

“It is,” I agreed. “Though I wouldn’t have thought a place that’s sunny most of the year would appeal to you.”

“Feels like I’ve been running for a long time,” he said. I related to that more than I was comfortable expressing to this person I’d just met. “I’d like to stop running for a while. See if it helps.”

“With your memories?”

“That, too.” He paused. “I also think it might help, being near someone who knows my full story.” Another pause. “Meaning you.”

A warning flare went off in my mind. “Look,” I said. “I’m glad I could help you in your time of need and all that, but I’m not looking for a vampire friend.” After all, I’d run away in large part to shake old supernatural habits loose.

Peter stiffened, making me realize that my words—while true—had come out more harshly than I’d intended. In a softer tone, I added, “But if knowing that I’m nearby helps you…I suppose that’s okay.”

His shoulders relaxed minutely. “Thank you.”

“I have to go teach now,” I said. “You can stay a little longer if you want. Just until you figure out where you’re heading next.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “I—thank you,” he said again.

Neither of us moved from where we stood by the front door. I held his gaze for longer than necessary, watching how the light from the window cast shadows across his handsome features.

Heat flushed the back of my neck, stained my cheeks.

And then, before I could stop myself from saying it: “You’re welcome to take classes at the studio.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I am?”

I hesitated. Was I sure about this? “Yes,” I said.

“What changed?” he asked. “Last night you all but hauled me out of there.”

I considered my answer carefully. What had changed?

“Yoga helped me find myself when I was lost,” I said, an echo of what I’d told him that night by the dumpster. “I don’t want to be friends, but I won’t deny you something that might help you find yourself, too.”

There was something warm in his gaze I didn’t know what to do with. “Thank you,” he said again.

I nodded silently, not trusting my voice.

Without another word, I strode into my bedroom so I could dress for the day.

I’d been in the studio less than thirty minutes before Becky sidled up to me.

“Oh thank god,” she breathed. “You’re alive.”

Huh. That was a weird way to say good morning. “I’m alive,” I confirmed.

“Who was that guy last night?” Becky asked.

Crap.

Lindsay must have told her about Peter showing up.

I started organizing an already-organized pile of papers at the check-in counter and decided to play dumb. “What guy?”

My friend and business partner raised an eyebrow. “Lindsay told me that a gorgeous stranger demanded to see you. She said he was really weird and called you Grizelda Watson, and then you tried to send her home.” She leaned in closer, arms folded across her chest. “Tell me everything .”

My stomach plunged. How did I spin this? I didn’t blame Becky for being curious. If the situation had been reversed and Becky had had a run-in at the studio with a mysterious hot man, I’d have been insufferable with my need for details.

But there was nothing juicy to tell. And besides—the hot guy in question was a vampire. Vampires owed their continued survival to humans not knowing they were real. Even if that weren’t the case, Lindsay and Becky weren’t equipped to handle the truth.

“He’s…” I began, racking my brain for something to say. “He’s a friend of a friend. That’s all.” By this point, several students had clustered a few feet away, pretending not to eavesdrop.

“If I were single, I wouldn’t mind if he was my friend of a friend.” Becky smirked at me. “Is he single? Lindsay sent a picture to the group chat. He may be strange, but that guy can get it.”

I made a mental note to remind Lindsay that taking pictures of people in our studio without their permission was against our privacy policy.

“I have no idea if he’s single,” I said, ignoring the stupid flutter in the pit of my stomach that arose at the thought of his dating status.

“But it doesn’t matter. He’s only passing through town. ”

As if on cue, the back door connecting the studio to the stairway to my apartment opened. In walked Peter, his dark hair still a little damp from his shower.

“I found a sublet,” he said. For the first time since I’d met him, he sounded happy. It was such a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor that it was striking.

Every person in the studio was now staring at me. At us.

Becky’s eyes were saucer wide as they bounced between us, full of questions.

“It’s only a mile from here,” Peter continued, oblivious to the chaos bomb he’d just dropped in the middle of my studio. “So I’ll be on my way. Thanks for last night.”

He shouldered his duffel bag, inclined his head towards me, and strode out of my studio without a backwards glance.

The studio grew so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. I could feel the weight of everybody’s full attention on me as I turned my back on them and went to unlock the Walnut Room.

Pretend like everything’s normal , I told myself.

“He spent the night with you?” Becky asked in a stage whisper, looking like her birthday had come early.

“Just a friend of a friend, huh?” One of the students, a middle-aged woman named Jessica, snorted, then pulled out her phone. “This is too good. I gotta text the Early Crew.”

This situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. “No one needs to text anyone,” I insisted. “Peter spent the night in my apartment, yes. But only because he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He slept on my couch, nothing happened, and now he’s gone. Can we please talk about anything else?”

“I’ve been in your apartment,” Becky mused. “There’s no way a guy that big slept on that tiny sofa.”

“It’s true, though,” I protested lamely. “Or at least I think that’s where he slept. Maybe he slept on the floor. Or not at all. Either way, I wouldn’t know, because he definitely wasn’t in my bed.”

Nobody was listening. Becky was already in the Walnut Room, setting up for class, chuckling to herself. Jessica was grinning at her phone as she texted away furiously. While it felt good on some level to have people so clearly invested in my personal life, I didn’t need this.

There was nothing happening between Peter and me.

And the more they dug into this, the more likely it was they’d discover something about me—or Peter—that they’d be safer not knowing.

After my morning classes, I went back home, preparing myself for a conversation I needed to have with somebody I had not spoken to in ten years.

Assuming Reg hadn’t changed his number since I’d last seen him. And assuming he would reply to me. I’d changed my number when I’d come to California a decade ago. It was possible he would take one look at my text and ignore it as spam.

But I had to know what the hell he’d been thinking, sending Peter my way.

Before texting him, I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a finger of whiskey for some liquid courage. Then I remembered it was only ten in the morning. I set the glass back down on the counter and closed my eyes.

I was being silly. Reggie had been my oldest friend.

I could do this.

Zelda: Hey Reg. It’s Grizzy

Zelda: Call me when you get this?

My phone rang a few minutes later.

“Oh my god,” Reg said, before I could even say hello. “Is it really you?”

His voice sounded exactly as it did in my memories, his riotous sense of humor imbuing every word. It pulled a smile from me before I’d even realized it had happened.

“It’s really me,” I confirmed.

Someone was talking in the background on Reginald’s end. Possibly the girlfriend Peter had mentioned. “Except you go by Zelda now. Right?”

“I do.”

“That’ll take some getting used to.”

I switched my phone from one ear to the other. “I didn’t call to talk about my new nickname.”

My words came out more harshly than I’d intended, making me wince. Despite the stunt he’d pulled with Peter, this was still Reggie I was talking to. The person I’d been able to count on above everyone else back in the bad old days.

But former BFF or not, he had some explaining to do.

“Can I infer from the fact that you’ve texted me for the first time since you disappeared that you’ve met Peter?” he asked.

“You can,” I said. “Seriously, though—what were you thinking ?”

“That one lost soul might be able to help another?”

I snorted. “Become philosophical in your old age, have you?”

“Look,” he said. “I panicked, all right? I admit that shipping him to California without warning you was some chutzpah on my part, but—”

“ Chutzpah? ” I huffed a humorless laugh. “Reg, when I sent you that hi, how are you, I just gave The Collective the slip, I’m still alive letter a few months ago, that didn’t mean you could send me an entire amnesiac vampire.”

On second thought, I needed that whiskey after all. I grabbed the glass and tossed it back, reveling in the burn as the alcohol slid down my throat. It had to be five o’clock somewhere, right? I was more than four hundred years old. I’d earned the right to do whatever I wanted from time to time.

“I may have acted first, thought things through later,” Reggie admitted.

“Reassuring to know some things never change.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded like he meant it. “Amelia and I just felt bad for the guy. We can’t take him in right now—”

“You thought I could?”