Freaksville (11 page)

“Here.” They all snort and shake their heads.
They don’t think I can take care of myself
. I cross my arms over my chest, and they all take a step back.

Except Nicks. “There’re people out there killing your kind, Nessa. Don’t let your ego get in the way of your safety.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Whatever but you’re not staying here by yourself.” He holds his hands up. “So, either you stay with one of us, or we stay here with you.”

“You can stay with me,” Devin volunteers quietly. “I have extra rooms and no parents to ask questions.”

“Where are your parents?” Kyle frowns.

“They died a long time ago.”

Kyle’s eyes widen in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was a really long time ago.” He waves it off. “Nessa, if you want to…?”

Nicks puffs his chest out, “And what about the New Born?”

“He’s fine, able to control himself now. He was even at school the other day with no incidents.”

Ha. There’s so much more arguing but, in the end, I give in and go get my bags together. Four weeks. Who the hell knows what all I’ll need, so I pretty much pack my whole room and then some.

~ Undercover Vamp, Plus One ~

Walking into Devin’s apartment for the second time is still weird. Especially because I’ll be staying here for four weeks. Four full weeks, but, hell, at least Billy and Mom will be safe. They—mainly my mom—have been texting me every half hour. Making sure I’m okay. It doesn’t bother me too much. It’s nice to know they’re safe.

Peeking into the shadows of the massive apartment, I don’t see the New Born right away. I still haven’t learned his name, and I don’t know if I’ve fully forgiven him yet, either. But it’d put me slightly at ease to know where the little bastard is.

Trailing behind Devin’s tall form down the hall—I guess to my new temporary room—I don’t want to be caught off guard.
I don’t think I’ll be getting too much sleep.

He opens a door to a roomy bedroom. “Is this okay?” Beads of sweat dot his forehead. I didn’t even know vamps could sweat. But, then again, I’ve never really sat down with them and played twenty questions about their functioning and how things work.

“It’s fine.” I toss my bags on the very welcoming fluffy, blood-red comforter and turn to face him, “Why’re you so nervous?”
And so cliché with your apartment? Vampire, blood-red things? All right, where’s the bat cave?

“I’m not,” he answers calmly, leaning against the doorframe, and picking at the end of his shirt.

“You’re sweating in all of the stress spots.” I raise my eyebrows slowly, taking in his awkward stature. “Not to mention playing with your shirt…. So, try again.”

“When did you get so smart?” He wipes his hands on his black jeans.

“If you’re re-thinking my invite for the full four weeks, then just tell me and I’ll go. No problem.” Hell, I wouldn’t want to deal with me for that long. I wouldn’t blame him one bit if he showed me the door, especially with my newfound powers springing out at random times and attacking people.

“No.” He shakes his head roughly. “That’s not it at all. I don’t mind company.” He shoves a hand through his hair, making it stick up all over the place. “It just makes me uneasy standing so close to a bed with you in the room. I’m scared you might actually jump me this time.”

A startled laugh bursts out of me and he blushes.

I can practically smell his deceit. “What is it really?” He’s hiding something. It’s always been there, but I don’t think it’s something too horrible. Being patient isn’t easy for me, but he’ll tell me when he’s ready. Now is not that time.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I’m making something special for dinner, and I’d better go ahead and get started on it. The bathroom’s down the hall to the left. You’ll be sharing with Toby—the New Born—if you need anything else just yell.”

“I’ll be watching you, Gray,” I warn, as he starts walking back the way he came. He turns around and winks, walking backward. Then, very dorkily, he trips over a table and falls on his butt. Recovering quickly, he vanishes down the hall like nothing happened.

Wow. Very cute, but, wow. I had no idea vamps could be dorky. Thought they all just swam in constant elegance while the rest of us are here to trip over our own feet.

They’re always so graceful, it makes me want to punch one in the face just to see them blink a few times.
Is that mean? Hell, probably. Oh, well
.

Having nothing else to do really, I finally decide to go exploring. I was only in the living room while I was here before and only for a short time while he changed because he’d spilled something all over himself.

Something
being blood.

He should’ve had enough common sense not to try and drink blood out of a plastic cup—no lid—while driving down the road. Someone pulled out in front of him and he had to slam on the brakes. Cup-o-blood went flying. It would’ve landed on me if he hadn’t used his vampy reflexes to catch it, sloshing liquid on his shirt.

After walking down the hall to the bathroom I was to use—pretty nice, walk-in shower with fancy turquoise-colored tiles—I pass the kitchen where he’s chopping at something and take in all of the fancy paintings lining the hallway. But…strangely enough I don’t recognize any of them.

In school I had to do a project about artists back in the day—I didn’t mind—and I’ve come to love even more of the popular ones. Like Vincent Van Gough’s
Starry Night
,
Water Lilies
by Claude Monet. Love all of his.

“Who painted this, sweet cheeks?” I call, bending closer to it. It’s of a woman standing right beside the pier, watching a ship leave, and she’s crying. I’ve never seen this before. Squinting down at the bottom right corner, I make out a DG.
Dollar General?

“I did.”

Shock goes through me and it quickly turns into raging jealousy. “I hate you,” I growl, sneering the mocking painting down.

I feel him look up, “Why?”

When did I become so aware of you?
I wonder. “Because I can’t paint a stick figure in a patch of grass.” He chuckles and goes back to chopping. I didn’t notice it before, but the sleeves to his black dress shirt are rolled up and he’s actually wearing an apron. It’s pretty sexy.

“Why’re you staring at me again?” He briefly raises his head from what he’s doing.

“Just checking you out….” I move to admire another painting on the far wall. This one’s of a forest with a tiger’s glaring eyes coming through the leaves. Pretty cool. “Ya know, if you’re actually good at cooking, you should get your own show. People would tune in just to drool over you.” I glance over in time to see him nearly drop the knife.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Gilmore?”
Wonder if he realizes he’s not even chopping anymore?

“Nope,” I reply cheerfully, moving on from the painting. “That’d take too much effort.”

There’s a silence.

I start to go over to the spiral staircase in the corner then he’s in front of me. “That’s off-limits,” he warns in a stern, serious voice.

“Seriously?”
It must be something juicy
.
Ooh, is that the bat cave?

“Yes, seriously.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I might take you up there eventually, but, for now, it’s off-limits. Okay?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” I stand up straight, arms straight against my sides then put on my war face. “But, tell me, is it your secret sex chamber? Are you a cliché, Mr.
Gray
?”

“Why is everything always about sex with you?” He goes back behind the island. I follow and climb into one of the bar chairs.

“It isn’t, not really.” I consider his statement. “I just like bringing it up to see people’s uncomfortable reactions.”

“Were you dropped on the head as an infant?” he asks and I send a glower his way. “Sorry, that wasn’t very nice of me, was it?”

“You are a cliché. Christian was an ass, too.” Propping my elbows on the counter I continue with the dirty look.

“I guess I deserved that.” He sighs, giving me a very tired gaze. “Will you now accept my apology?”

“Fine,” I grumble. “What’re you making? And where’s Toby? Isn’t that his name?”

“You’ll find out when it’s done.” He goes back to chopping, “And he’s out with his friends. He usually comes back around midnight.”

“Is there anything else to see in this place?” I take in the black marble counter tops, flat stove, and all of the other fancy stuff in the nice kitchen.
I’ll never get used to this
. My house has a lot of old stuff. Stuff that’s been there since I was a kid, like the same fridge that makes strange, what we call “mating” sounds. The toaster that really lets you know when it’s done. It makes a horrible racket, and the dishwasher that leaks through the floor. So, this is weird for me.

“No, I think you’ve seen everything. There are three bedrooms. Mine’s up there.” He points with his knife. “Two bathrooms—one connected to my room—the living room, and the kitchen.”

“So, no hidden dungeons, or bats with coffins?” I tease.

“No, I am not a cliché vampire,” he snaps in annoyance. “What is it with you and cliché’s anyway? If I hear ‘cliché’ one more time, I might jab this thing in my ear.”

“I hate clichés,” I explain, “Sorry.”

“Why?”

“Come on, cliché—” I bite my lip. “How about we call it asparagus?” I suggest, seeing a package of it sitting beside of me.

“Asparagus?” he repeats, raising his brow then chuckles. “Fine, asparagus it is then.”

“Asparagus annoys me. The asparagus love story. Where the girl meets the guy or they’re best friends to begin with and he does something or she finds something out about him she doesn’t like. They stop seeing each other, and they’re both missing each other like crazy. Every little thing reminds them of said person. In the end, they get back together, realizing they’ve loved each other all along, and happy music plays.” I throw my hands up in exasperation.

“I think you just described every rom com out there.” He points the knife at me.

“I can’t believe you just said rom com,” I snicker, face palming.

“I can’t believe you hate asparagus.” He laughs. “If you pay enough attention, you’ll realize that life’s an asparagus.”

“How so?” I ask this know-it-all.

“Read the paper. Watch the news. Every day there’s someone out there falling in love for the first time, getting their heart broken for the first time. Someone out there’s writing a love story. Writing about a vampire falling in love with a mere mortal, about someone being abused then finding the peace and closure they need and moving on. Sometimes the
asparagus
in life is beautiful. Don’t be so quick to judge from an insider’s point of view.” He waves that knife at me again, like a teacher giving a lesson.

“Well, I still hate asparagus love stories.” I fold a leg under me, leaning back in the chair.

“Fine, then, Miss Gilmore, how would your non-asparagus love story go?” He gives a gallant sweep of his arm for me to tell my story.

“Well.” I think about it. “Okay, say a girl named…uh….” I try to find something, and then I see a salad. “A girl named Sally—”

“Asparagus name,” he interjects in a bored tone.

“Well, fine, then, we’ll just call her Dildo.”

“Always about sex.” He adds noodles to boiling water.

“Do you want to have it right here on this counter?” I hop my teasing ass on the counter and he flushes bright pink before turning his back to me and searching through the cabinets.

“Tell your story, Nessa.”

“A girl named Dildo has a pretty decent life. She’s worked hard for it after her mom falls from grace. Her mom lost her high-paying job as a lawyer because people found out that…that she’s a racist bitch. Her daughter, Dildo, wasn’t though.

“She’s married to a black man.
Happily
married, I might add. They have one kid, a little girl. Dildo started off as a hair stylist then worked her way to owning the building, and now she owns hair salons everywhere. Damn, wait, is that an asparagus happy ending?” I scrunch my nose up. “Then she gets squished by a meteor, wait, no, by-by the frozen shit that comes out of planes, literal shit. Now, that’s a bad day.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just stands there, breathing deeply. I’m tempted to ask if he got another woody at my mention of us having coitus on the counter but bite my tongue.

“Decent story, but you suck at telling them,” he finally replies and returns to cooking. Like nothing happened.

<<<->>>

The next morning, I have a minor freak-out thing, not knowing where I am. Then I remember and calm down. Waking up to a ceiling that isn’t covered in glow stars and Nicks’ chewed gum is weird for me. As soon as he grew tall enough, he stood on my bed and threw them up there, they still haven’t fallen. I’ve been waiting for it to smack me in the face in my sleep.

Devin’s black-out curtains in every room is another weird thing. The only reason I know it’s daytime is because of the light peeking under the curtains.

Thankfully it’s a holiday because I probably overslept. I don’t know what time it is and I don’t have to, it’s one of the best feelings. Snuggling deeper into my blankets, I wish for more sleep. Mostly because whatever Devin made last night still has my stomach in knots and I just wanna be lazy for a little while.

This wish doesn’t happen though. Of course.

I was finally dozing back off when a soft knock on the door jerks me awake again. Hoping whoever it was would get the message, I throw my pillow at the door. If they know me at all, they’ll understand, if they’re not careful, my shoe’s going up their butts.

There’s another knock.

Gotta rip it off like a Band-Aid, or it’ll be more painful. Groaning, I throw myself out of bed and glance over my shoulder. The feathers on my wings are actually ruffled.
Interesting
. Yanking the door open, I glare at the intruder, hoping to scare them off.

“Hey,” Devin says.