Here Comes the Vampire (Dead End Dating)

by Kimberly Raye

  “I didn’t want to scare you off.”

  She seemed to think. “I can understand that. My grandmother was one and she scared the crap out of me every time I went to her house. It was always so dark and creepy.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “And all those candles...”

  “We mainly rely on electricity these days, but I hear ya.”

  “And all those rosary beads she used to wear. I like a great piece of jewelry as much as the next girl, but the whole crucifix thing went out ages ago. I get it that she has one hanging by her bed, but she doesn’t have to wear them, right? I mean there’s no law that says she’s going to hell if she doesn’t have a rosary around her neck.”

  Okay, we’d definitely hopped two different trains of thought back at the uh, oh station. “What, um, exactly are we talking about?”

  “The fact that you’re Catholic. That’s why you need to prove that you didn’t have sex with Remy, right? To get an annulment from the Church?”

  Relief rushed through me, followed by a sliver of disappointment because, in all honesty, I did think of Evie as one of my BFFs and I hated keeping such a huge secret from her. Next to The Ninas, Evie was my girl. She cd a girl. ould drink a latte, answer phones and greet clients, and all without smudging her Perfectly Pink lip gloss. She was smart and loyal and I was lucky to have her working for me.

  At the same time, I had responsibilities. Not only was I duty bound as a born vampere to procreate, I had to play it cool. Lay low.

  “Catholic,” I blurted. “That’s me. Guilty as charged. That’s why I need to prove my innocence. So I can get an annulment. From a priest.” When she didn’t say anything, I added, “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Please don’t be mad at me.”

  “I joined Couponclippers.com two weeks ago,” she blurted, as if she’d just admitted to committing one of the seven deadlies.

  “Seriously?”

  “So I guess we’re even. So tell,” her voice took on an excited note, “was it even the teeniest, tiniest bit romantic?”

  “There was an Elvis impersonator officiating the ceremony.”

  “Are we talking Elvis pre-bloat or post bloat?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Well, yeah. Have you ever seen him in Jail House Rock?” A loud sneeze punctuated the question. “Total hunk.”

  I searched my mind for some picture of the ceremony and kept coming back to my mother’s smiling face. “I’m not sure, but that’s beside the point. Skinny Elvis or fat Elvis—it doesn’t matter. I’m stuck with Remy Tremaine. Forever.”

  “Annulment isn’t the only choice.” Another sneeze. “There’s always divorce.”

  “That won’t really work in my case.”

  “Look, I know your family might get upset, but you’re the one who has to live with him. Just get a good lawyer, chalk the whole thing up to lots of alcohol and bad choices, and get on with your life. Your parents will come around.”

  “Before or after they disown me?”

  “You really think they’ll get that freaked?”

  “I know. Marchettes don’t get divorced. It goes against everything we believe in.” Not to mention there was no such thing as divorce among born vampires. We mated for life.

  Eternal life.

  “I think I’m going to be sick again.” I swallowed and thought of my own Prada stilettos directly in my line of fire should I start rolfing again.

  I know, I know. Not quite as expensive as my ma’s Gucci pythons, but still. I liked these shoes.

  Five seconds and I managed to quiet my nerves and summon some optimism. “I just need to hold it together until I get back to Manhattan,” I said more to myself than Evie. “Then I can figure out something.” I had the DVDs which basically equaled a Get Out of Crappy Marriage Free card, right?

  Unless I really had humped Remy’s brains out in that elevator. Then it was a Paris Hilton moment just waiting to happen.

  “I’m going to think of a way out of this,” I said again, bolstering my failing confidence. “When I get back, I’ll cancel all my appointments for the next few days and put everything on hold while I fix this.” Focus. That’s what I needed.

  “I’m afraid the on-hold will have to go on-hold. You have two new clients tomorrow who can’t wait. And then there’s Ash.”

  “Ash is next week.”

  “He was next week. He’s leaving on a mission tomorrow night and will be gone for at least a week. He says he can’t wait that long so you have to meet with him before he leaves.”

  “I’ve been offering to hook him up for the past six months. What’s the hurry all of a sudden?”

  “I don’t know, but he said he hopes you’re half as good as you think you are because he’s desperate. I told him not to worry,” she added and I coul myd and Id hear the smile in her voice. “You’re better.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  “You’re already hitched.”

  Ugh. “Thanks for reminding me.” She sneezed again and I asked, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I think it’s just allergies.”

  “Go back to bed and get some rest.” I hit the OFF button and spent the next fifteen minutes pinching my cheeks and trying to urge some color back into my bland complexion.

  I was stalling, but the less time I spent with Remy and my mother, the better off my own shoes would be.

  I finger-combed a few strands of hair and thought about trading in the highlights for a solid color. Something vivacious like red. Or maybe even pink—

  The thought stalled when I heard the creak of the door. The traffic in the bathroom had died down and I was the only one standing in front of the mirror. I half-turned, but by the time I glanced to the side, the door had rocked shut. I glanced around, but I didn’t see anyone. Still, it felt as if someone was there. Close. I caught a whiff of caramel and apples and a rush of goose bumps chased up and down my arms.

  I turned and eyed the row of stalls. Three of them were occupied, which could explain the unusual feeling that I wasn’t alone.

  Because, duh, I wasn’t.

  There were at least three other women in here with me. I’d seen them come in while I’d been worrying over my complexion and mourning the loss of my cosmetics. I could hear them—the toilet paper unrolling, the shuffle of shoes, the zipppp of a zipper.

  But this... This felt different. As if there was something else here. Someone else.

  The scent teased my nostrils and another wave of gooseys rolled over my skin before I heard the knock at the bathroom entrance, followed by Remy’s deep voice.

  “Are you going to walk out of there on your own, or do I have to come in and get you?”

  “I’m coming already.”

  I chalked the feeling up to my already strained nerves, gathered my courage, held tight to my handbag and walked out of el bano to find Remy waiting for me.

  I debated doing a one-eighty despite the heebie jeebies and marching right back in, but he caught my arm before I could turn.

  “Here.” He took my hand. “Your mother gave me this. Take it. It’ll help you calm down.”

  I stared down at the tiny white pill in my palm. “I don’t want a valium.”

  Okay, so I did want one. An itty bitty dose of ahhhh that would make all my troubles float away? I was so there.

  At the same time, I knew a pill wasn’t going to fix this disastrous situation. Only a DVD of Remy and I playing solitaire instead of humping our brains out could do that.

  “I don’t need a valium. I need out.” My gaze met his. “You can’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Why? Because it was so sudden?” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s a good thing. It’s like diving into the deep end. If you think about it, you’re liable to chicken out. It’s better just to jump. Then before you know it, you’re swimming.”

  “I don’t swim. It messes up my hair.”

  “I’m serious.” So was I, but he didn’t seem to be clued in t
o that. Instead, he continued on, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this is a good thing. I’m sure you’ll see that in time.” Even more than Remy’s words, the determined light in his green eyes told me he wasn’t about to give up on our commitment. He’d jumped and was already treading water, meanwhile I was sinking to the bottom.

  Dread rolled through me and I knew he’d finally crossed over to the enemy camp. He was one of them now. A born vampire who looked at love and relationshm bd relatips as a practical business arrangement. Our backgrounds fit. Our hopes and dreams fit. Therefore, we fit.

  Which meant I could forget kicking and screaming and begging for his sympathy vote. He wasn’t about to let go of the perfect wife. The only way out was to prove that we’d never consummated in the first place.

  That, or prove to him that having the perfect wife wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  “This is going to be so great.” His words echoed in my ears as I followed him onto the plane, and straight into a first class window seat. Remy slid in next to me.

  I debated making a run for it, but then a flight attendant leaned over to check my seatbelt, so I opted for the next best thing.

  “I need liquor,” I blurted. “Lots of liquor.”

  “But we haven’t taken off yet—“

  Now. I sent the silent command on the off chance that our flight attendant was a switch hitter. She looked puzzled at first, but then a smile curved her lips. Bingo.

  “How about some champagne? I’ll get you a glass right now.”

  “Make that the bottle.” I chanced a sidelong glance at Remy who was stuffing a pillow behind his head. “An expensive bottle.”

  He didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. Not that I’d expected as much. Remy was rolling in the dough and so blowing a little on yours truly wasn’t going to shake him in the slightest.

  No, I had to get a lot more obnoxious if I wanted to show him just how not-so-great this was going to be.

  I bided my time through take-off and three glasses of champagne before snatching the pillow from beneath his head.

  His eyes snapped open. “What the—“

  “Let’s talk.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Hey, if we’re going to spend eternity together, I think we should know everything there is to know about one another. Good communication is key, you know.”

  “Common ground is key,” he said, waving his born vamp flag in my face. He frowned and tried to grab the pillow back, but I shoved it behind my back. “I already know everything about you.”

  “What’s my favorite color?”

  “Pink.”

  “My favorite song?”

  “Love is a Many Splendored Thing.”

  “My favorite designer?”

  “It’s a toss-up between Gucci and Chanel.”

  Darn it. “Lately I’ve been leaning toward Michael Kors,” I blurted, eager to prove him wrong. “He’s a legend. And then there’s this new guy—Paul Graciano—who’s just hit the scene with a really incredible fall line of accessories. He’s making a huge splash and I just so happened to snag one of his scarves this past week. I bet you didn’t know that?”

  “Red with blue trim,” he said and a wave of anxiety rolled through me. He must have noticed my look, because he added, “You were wearing it last night.” A deep sigh vibrated his broad chest. “Lil, we grew up together. I know everything about you.”

  “Well I don’t know everything about you. For instance, I have no clue what your favorite color is.”

  Okay, so I did. I knew he liked blue because he was forever wearing blue ties, but I wasn’t letting him know that I knew because that would kill the first step of my fantastical plan—annoy the hell out of him.

  “Or if you like cats better than dogs,” I plowed on. “Or what brand of toothpaste you use, or whether you voted Democrat or Republican.” He gave me a look that said Seriously? and I shrugged. “Okay, so I know that.” Born vamps were money hungry moguls and so it didn’t take a genius to guess a political affiliation. “But that’s all I know. Why, you’re a virtual mystery to me oy ftery totherwise.”

  A frown pinched his eyebrows together. “Can we please do this later?” He signaled the flight attendant who appeared with another pillow. “I’m exhausted.” He stuffed it under his head.

  “Fine. If you’d rather sleep than get to know the woman you’re going to spend the rest of your after life with, be my guest.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t want to talk to you,” he adjusted the square of cotton and leaned into it, “it’s just I’ve had exactly three hours of—“

  “Forget it. I’ll just zip it so I don’t disturb your precious sleep.” I tossed the first pillow at him.

  It bounced off and rolled into the aisle, but Remy was unfazed. “We have plenty of time to talk. The rest of eternity.” He gave me a wink.

  I scowled. “Fine. Whatever.”

  He settled back down and closed his eyes. “You’re the best,” he murmured.

  He had no idea.

  I pulled out my iPod, shoved the headset into my ears and scrolled through my playlist until I found the Black-Eyed Peas My Hump. It wasn’t their latest and greatest by any means, but it was just monotonous enough for what I had in mind. I settled back in my seat and hit Play.

  And then I s

  tarted to sing.

  CHAPTER SIX

  By the time the plane landed, I’d belted out two Black-Eyed Peas CDs, the soundtrack from Saturday Night Fever (What can I say? I’d had it fierce for John Travolta back in the ‘70s) and ten tracks from Now That’s What I Call Yodeling. Not that I actually knew one yodeling tune, much less ten, but Remy wasn’t privy to that juicy tidbit.

  Long story short, he glared the entire trip and practically kicked me out of the cab when we reached my apartment.

  “Aren’t you coming with?” I whined when he didn’t climb out after me.

  No, really. We’re talking a high-pitched, irritating sound that probably tormented all dogs within a ten block radius.

  He shook his head. “I’m due at the station this afternoon, so it makes more sense for me to head back to Connecticut now. I’ll call you when I’m free and we’ll figure out a joint living arrangement.”

  Before I could open my mouth, the door slammed shut. Tires squealed and suddenly I was standing on the sidewalk all by my lonesome.

  Yeah, baby.

  I’d really done it. I’d used my fantabulous vocal ability and keen improvisation skills to wiggle my way out of the dreaded commitment (and into the complaint box at the American Airlines customer service desk).

  Albeit temporarily (the commitment, not the complaint box—I’d been banned from all flights—foreign and domestic), but still.

  Score one for Vampzilla.

  I gave myself a mental high five and turned toward the renovated duplex that housed my apartment.

  It wasn’t anywhere close—not via Mapquest or property values--to the lavish Central Park penthouse my parents called home whenever they ventured into the city. Forget a uniformed doorman, a carpeted walkway and a tastefully decorated lobby. Negative on an elevator attendant waiting to buzz me up. Or a butler waiting to answer the door. Or a personal chef ready to slice open a vein and squeeze out dinner. My place was much more subtle in its appeal, relying almost entirely on je ne sais quoi.

  That’s French for cheap.

  Concrete steps. A narrow stoop. Leftover cigarette butts here and there. Glow-in-the-dark buzzer. Yesterday’s newspaper for a welcome mat.

  Wiping my feet on the singles sectionp> --complete with a half page ad for Pump it Up, the latest and greatest in male enhancement products--I let myself in and headed up the five flights of stairs to my floor.

  It was a quarter ‘til five in the morning and most everyone was still asleep. With the exception of my neighbor who lived across the hall. She was an accountant who loved Thai Food, perfume knock-offs and early-morning spreadsheets. The scent of Ed Har
dley (no, it’s not a spelling mistake) surrounded me as I headed down the long corridor. The sound of a coffee machine gurgled in my ears, followed by the excited tap tap tap of fingers on a keyboard.

  What’d I tell ya?

  I reached my Life is a Luau doormat and slid my key into the lock. The knob clicked, the door opened and I walked inside. Nothing had changed since I’d left it three days ago. Two empty Barney bags still sat center stage (I’d made a few last minute purchases for the Vegas trip), along with a pile of clothes that hadn’t made it into the three suitcases I’d taken with me. The sight was both a bummer and a relief. A bummer because it meant that Ty was still out of town on his case and a relief because hey, Ty was still out of town on his case.

  Meaning I still had time to figure a way out of my current predicament before he got back.

  Meaning maybe, hopefully, I might not have to bore him with the details of how I’d gotten shit-faced and pledged my after-life to Remy.

  I held tight to the hope, kicked off my shoes and drank in the scent of Chanel and kitty litter. Did I mention that I have a cat?

  That’s English for obnoxious, uppity pain-in-the-ass.

  I’d found Killer in an alley and done my civic duty by bringing him home instead of contributing to the city’s rodent infestation by feeding him to an already gonzo-sized sewer rat.

  A choice I’d regretted on numerous occasions because he a)had more attitude than Kanye at an awards show and b) routinely yakked all over various wardrobe pieces—especially footwear--just to piss me off.

  I’d left him with Mrs. Janske aka the Cat lady who lived downstairs. She had a houseful of her own “babies” and could always be persuaded to open her heart to one more of God’s precious creatures.

  I’d had to bribe her to get her to take Killer.

  His image flashed in my head and I had the sudden urge to race downstairs and pick him up. Not that I missed him. It’s just that my database wasn’t exactly overflowing with fifty-something Garfield addicts and I’d promised Mrs. Janske a free Dead End Dating hook-up with the cat lover of her dreams. And a super-sized bag of catnip, two cases of Kitty Cuisine and a month’s supply of kitty litter.