Page 79 of Thirsty

“You don’t understand,” Lorenzo said. “Every year, it goes faster. It all— Why can’t I...”

Charlie waited urgently for him to continue, but Lorenzo just shuddered. Charlie felt cold all over, desperate to reach Lorenzo somehow, to bring him out of this funk and into the version of himself that Charlie could see. The warm, funny, wonderful guy who Charlie couldn’t get enough of. “I think you’re just...in a rut,” he tried.

In a rut.What did that mean? He was so bad at this.

He leaned closer, took one of Lorenzo’s shoulders in his palm, and stilled the small tremors that were running through him. “You’re right, you’ve been alive—or undead—a long time, it’s no wonder you might feel...aimless,” he said lowly. “So—why don’t you pick an aim?”

“An aim?”

“Yeah, like a goal, or a project or something,” Charlie said. He ran his fingers through Lorenzo’s hair, tucking it back behind his ears. “My mom read me this book when I was little—it was about this woman who went around planting flowers everywhere. Purple flowers. And when they went into bloom every year, she was the reason. That was her thing. The flower lady.”

“You want me to plant flowers?” Lorenzo asked. His small, confused glare through reddened eyes made Charlie’s breath catch.

“I think you should plant something,” he said softly. “You have so much going for you, I think you just need to look around and see it. I mean, look at all the supernatural creatures you’re friends with.”

“You mean that I work for.”

“Okay, but, that’s kind of cool too,” Charlie said. “I mean, they all seem pretty segregated. You’re the guy who knows everyone. That’s interesting.”

“It’s not—”

“What if you—formalized it?” Charlie suggested.

“Formalized what?”

“What if you started, like, a club? For the supernatural creatures of Brookville.”

“Like a support group?” Lorenzo asked doubtfully.

“Like anything,” Charlie said. “I’m just saying. Maybe you’re not the only one feeling this way.”

“I’d rather plant flowers,” Lorenzo muttered.

“Mm,” Charlie said, levering himself up to sit next to Lorenzo on the bed, moving his arms from Lorenzo’s shoulders to his waist. “They were pretty. I think they were called lupines.”

Lorenzo scowled at him. “What?”

“The flowers.”

“You want me to plant werewolf flowers?”

“What if you had a party,” Charlie said. “With all your friends—everyone you’ve introduced me to over the last few weeks, and anyone else you can think of?”

“For what?”

Charlie shrugged. “To see if it...feels like something.”

Lorenzo rolled his eyes. Charlie crawled into Lorenzo’s lap, lifting his jaw gently until Lorenzo looked at him. “And for the record,” he said, “you do contribute. You contribute to your roommates being happy. You contribute to the overall hotness in the town of Brookville.”

Lorenzo scoffed.

“And you contribute to me being happy,” Charlie said quietly. “Very happy. And having lots of orgasms.”

Lorenzo was watching him again, his eyes inscrutable. His cheeks were still steaming slightly from the last of his tears. “And you contribute to my knowledge of the world around us,” Charlie said. “Like that vampires tears are...acidic?”

Lorenzo frowned, then swiped at the tears on his face, swearing a little. “Not acidic,” he said. “Or...just to us. To vampires.”

Charlie lifted a hand and touched Lorenzo’s face hesitantly, and found that the tear tracks on Lorenzo’s handsome nose felt just as he might have expected them to—soft and harmless. Damp. Human.