Page 13 of Thirsty

“I brought you your dry cleaning,” Charlie pointed out. “So really, youhaveto talk to me. That was our deal.”

“What about the plumber?”

“I’ll get a plumber.”

“And I will answer your questions once you do,” Lorenzo said, turning away and clasping his hands behind his back.

“Oh, come on,” Charlie said. “Talk to me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Lorenzo thinned his lips and didn’t answer.

Charlie sighed and looked back at the dance floor. It looked like the formalities of the event were getting underway; the few adults in attendance, including Lorenzo’s friend, seemed to be introducing some of the teens to each other and leading them into a coordinated dance that reminded him of a cotillion. The teens looked notably less excited about this part.

And it was clear that none of these people would agree to an interview with him. The adults were preoccupied, and itwouldbe creepy to talk to the kids. The fact was, he was an outsider here. The only person he had any sort of connection to was Lorenzo.

Clearly, then, he’d have to charm him a little if he was going to make anything out of this night.

“Look, can I at least put your dry cleaning somewhere?” he asked Lorenzo, lifting the bag. “I Ubered here, and these look delicate. Are they...vintage? Like, from your time?”

Lorenzo gave him a stony look. “They are from ASOS.”

“Oh,” Charlie said. “Well. Still—I don’t want them to...wrinkle. So...?”

Lorenzo sighed shortly. “Fine. Come with me.”

He followed Lorenzo through the trees back toward the parking lot. Lorenzo walked swiftly, staring at the ground, his shoulders tense. Charlie hurried up next to him and said, “So—doyou have any clothes from back then? Any, like, waistcoats, or cravats, or whatever?”

“No, I don’t have any cravats,” Lorenzo said in a longsuffering tone.

“So you’re the kind of vampire who likes to stay trendy, huh,” he said. “That’s cool.”

“How long do you think clothes like that last outside a museum?” Lorenzo asked dryly. “How many of your socks have holes?”

“Fair,” Charlie said. “But do you miss those kinds of clothes? How long ago did you say you were turned, again—the 1800s?”

Lorenzo stopped walking, bringing Charlie to a sudden halt beside him, and a long silence followed as Lorenzo eyed him in the dim light between the trees. He swallowed uncomfortably, wondering belatedly if it was considered rude to ask a vampire about their age. He was keenly aware that, if he had crossedsome kind of line, Lorenzo could very much rip his throat out with his teeth. And not in a horny, stupidI want him to run me over with his carsort of way, but like...literally.

Finally Lorenzo started walking again, apparently having decided to either murder Charlie elsewhere or simply blow off his questions. Either way, he kicked himself; the whole point of this had been to charm Lorenzo into talking to him.

Before he could strike up another conversation, however, Lorenzo said quietly, “1809.”

“Oh—wow,” Charlie said, more surprised by Lorenzo talking than by what he’d said. “That’s amazing. What was it like back then?”

Lorenzo glanced at him darkly. “What was what like?”

“Uh,” Charlie said unimpressively. “Everything?”

Lorenzo glared at him.

“Okay,” Charlie conceded. “Well—hey, where were you born?”

“Why do you care?” Lorenzo asked with a surprising amount of acid.

“I’m—just making conversation,” Charlie said.