I realized a little too late that John had asked a question. I hadn’t been paying attention, too absorbed in my own obsessive thoughts. I shook away the mental fog, grasping for any nugget of the conversation, but coming up short. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“The Marauder’s Cove,” he said. “I bus tables there and wondered if you’ve ever been.”
“I’ve heard of it,” I said, strictly thinking of my parents. They wouldn’t be caught dead in a hole like that. It had a reputation, and not a good one. I couldn’t believe John worked there.
“It can be a little intense,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.
I laughed. “And you think I can’t handle intense?”
The corners of John’s eyes wrinkled in amusement. “Wanna find out?”
I bowed my head to cover my smile. “I just might surprise you, John.”
We sat for a few moments in silence, our legs dangling over the edge of the dock. Then John nodded toward the water and asked if I wanted to go for a swim. I swallowed hard, not wanting to admit I didn’t know how. So much for showing him I could handle intense. “No thanks,” I said.
But John just shrugged it off like it was no big deal. He stood up and kicked off his sandals before pulling his t-shirt over his head. He backed up a few paces and then, without so much as a word, took a running jump off the dock and plummeted into the water some four feet below. His splash sent up a cool spray that left droplets of water purling on my lotion-slicked shins and spotting the hem of my cover-up.
John’s head bobbed into view seconds later, water dripping from his jet-black hair and pinking his pale cheeks. “The water feels great!”
It was a blatant invitation for me to jump in and see for myself, but I wasn’t about to do it. The water lapped just below the midline of his chest, leaving his head well above the surface—he was only a few inches taller than me, and I was pretty confidant I wouldn’t go under. Still, I’d read plenty accounts of people drowning in far less water than that. I wasn’t taking any chances.
“Don’t you want to come in?”
I peered down at him, getting dizzy just thinking about becoming lost in that vast expanse of water. “I said no thanks. Maybe some other time.”
“Come on! You’ll have fun. Get in the water, Blake.”
I stood as though jerked up by some unseen force and slid the straps of my cover-up off my shoulders, letting the bright pink and lavender sarong pool at my ankles. I stepped to the edge of the dock and looked down on John staring up at me. He studied me with a grin, one green eye closed in a squint against the sharp glare of the sun.
“Now jump!”
I felt like I was in a dream and had no control over my actions. I bent my knees and launched myself into the air without a second’s hesitation. It seemed to take forever from the moment my feet left the warm solidness of the wood planks until I came crashing down again. Turns out it was more than enough time to wonder what the heck I was doing.
I went under, and the cold water washed away the fuzziness in my head. For a split second I panicked, believing that I had jumped too far out. But then a hand clamped around my arm and pulled me to a standing position.
“See? I told you it feels great,” John said, as I brushed my sopping hair out of my face and blew water out of my nose.
My shoulders and head were still safely above the water. I curled my toes into the rocky lake bottom, steadying myself against the dissipating wake of a speeding boat in the distance. My calf began to cramp with the tension.
“It doesn’t feel great,” I said. “It’s cold!”
I couldn’t believe he’d actually talked me in to jumping, and with apparently little effort. I didn’t know whether to be angrier at him, or myself. Since when had I become the girl that jumps just to impress the guy she has a crush on? Olivia would have a few words to say for sure.
John splashed water in my direction and I shrieked in response, becoming even more aggravated. I could hardly feel my toes anymore, and I was afraid that if I lost my hold I would drift away and drown. “Stop it!”
He splashed me again. “I’m just playing, Blake.”
I grabbed his arm, panic taking over. “I said stop it! I can’t swim!”
The playful smile fell from John’s mouth and he immediately linked his arm around my waist. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have made you jump.”
I breathed out through clenched teeth. “Because everyone in the world knows how to swim except me!” I looked away and said in a smaller voice. “It’s humiliating.”
John laughed. “First of all, everyone in the world does not know how to swim. And besides, it’s easy enough to learn. Basically all you have to do is move your arms and legs.”
“And try not to drown,” I pointed out.
“And that,” John said. “Want me to teach you?”
My teeth clacked together from the cold. What I wanted was to get out and find a warm, dry towel. “That’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No, really—”
“I said I don’t mind. But you have to trust me, okay?” he said, no hint of teasing in his voice now. “Whatever I tell you to do, do it. No questions. Swear to me.”
I grabbed his arm again, overcome with a sudden bout of lightheadedness. I hadn’t had much for breakfast and was starving. That, combined with the oppressive heat and John’s good looks, it was no wonder I was acting so unlike myself. “I swear to you.”
“Good. Now bring your legs up.”
I did as he said, and John guided me in to a reclining position. The sensation of falling back into what felt like empty space made my body zing with adrenaline, and I clutched reflexively at John’s arm, digging my nails into his skin. But then his sturdy hand came to rest between my shoulder blades, and I took a deep breath, willing myself to relax.
His other hand settled behind my knees, barely touching my skin. He smiled down at me, wet lashes framing his eyes. For the first time I noticed the spray of freckles on his nose and cheeks, and the perfect Cupid’s bow of his lips. I wondered what it would feel like to kiss his mouth and then quickly erased that thought from my mind.
“And now you’re floating,” he said.
I closed my eyes and laughed despite myself. This was as close to swimming as I had ever gotten. My dad lived by the “sink-or-swim” philosophy, and his attempt to teach me when I was five years old by tossing me into the deep-end of our family pool had me swearing off all bodies of water deeper than the bath tub.
“You’re doing it,” John said. “You’re swimming.”
The muffled sound of his voice carried to me through the water. I stretched my arms wide and waved them up and down, as graceful as a manta ray’s fins.
All at once, the reassuring solidness of his hands slipped away. My eyes popped open, and I flailed my arms and legs in automatic response. “Hey!”
My uncoordinated movements did nothing to help me stay afloat and I went under. But John had me on my feet almost at once, and I came up spewing water from my mouth and nose.
“Why did you do that?” I yelled, once I’d gotten my breath back. “You said I could trust you!”
He looked almost ashamed, but not quite. “You can.”
“What’s going on down there?” A voice on the dock interrupted us, and I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude when I looked up to see my best friend. I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue the swimming lesson anyway, now that I had firsthand experience with John’s M.O. Good-looking or not, the entire encounter was all very strange.
“I’ve been looking all over for you, Blake. What the hell are you doing?”
Olivia peered down at us from the edge of the dock. Her dark, oversized sunglasses made it impossible to see the look in her eyes, but I knew from the tone of her voice that she was shocked to see me actually in the water, not to mention in someone’s arms other than my boyfriend’s.
“I’m learning
to swim,” I said, putting a few feet between John and me while refraining from adding, It’s not what it looks like.
Olivia crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a curvy hip. “Well it’s about time. Does, uh, Zach happen to know about this?” she said, swirling her finger to indicate John and me.
“Libby!” I pushed the tangled mass of hair out of my face as I glared up at her.
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything. However, I’ve just spent the past five minutes looking for you while dodging Mr. Grabby Hands over there.”
She threw a look over her shoulder, but I couldn’t see who she was talking about. “I swear, sometimes I think I should wear a sign around my neck that says ‘Please Touch. I Don’t Mind.’ One of these days I’m going to sue for sexual harassment.”
Although Olivia’s ample bra size had made her the butt of jokes in junior high, she’d become the subject of every guy’s wet dream in high school. Unfortunately, there was the occasional jerk who forgot personal boundaries and actually tried to cop a feel.
“So who’s your new friend, Blake, or aren’t you going to introduce me?”
I made a self-conscious gesture toward John. “You know John Kelly. He sat behind you in History last semester.”
Olivia raised her glasses, the corner of her mouth turning up as she did so. Then she lowered them back in place and dug her keys out of her bag, jangling them at me. “Well, I hate to break up this little soiree, but we have to go now.”
“Seriously? We haven’t even eaten yet,” I said, “I’m starving. And I bet the burgers are almost done.”
“Sorry,” Olivia said. “The twins were jumping on the bed, and one fell off and . . .” She trailed off, shrugging her shoulders. “You know the rest of the story. Mom thinks Eleanor needs stitches, but she’s refusing to drag Henry along with them to Urgent Care. She said she’s fed up with them today and can’t take any more stress. I have to rush home to babysit.”
She looked around and sighed. “This party blows, anyway. Gabe and Zach didn’t even bother to show up. I can’t believe they thought lifting weights at the gym was more important. Sometimes I wonder why we bother with them.”
“I can take her home,” John offered.
Olivia pushed her glasses up again and looked from him to me. She quirked her brow in an I-don’t-think-so kind of way before finally turning her attention back to John again.
“Didn’t I see you with Jill Honeycutt earlier?” Olivia said. “Blake and I have been friends, like, our whole lives, so I’m pretty averse to letting her go off with some random douche bag that would drop one girl for another. And besides . . .”
Her voice trailed off, but the message was clear: She’s taken.
“Come on now, Libby,” John said, teasingly. “You’re not her mother.”
I burst out laughing, especially at the expression on Olivia’s face. “First of all,” she said, “no one’s allowed to call me that except Blake. Secondly, it’s both your asses if Zach finds out.”
“It’s just a ride,” I said.
“I promise to get her home safe and sound. Olivia.” He gave her that same endearing smile he’d used on me, and for a brief moment I felt a qualm in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m holding you to that promise,” Olivia warned. The corner of her mouth drew up in a lopsided grin as she pointed a finger at me. “I’ll see you later.”
We watched Olivia turn on her heel and walk away, and then John offered me his back and told me to hop on. “I’ll swim us to shore,” he said.
The suggestion seemed oddly intimate, especially since we didn’t know each other well at all, but I got that lightheaded feeling again and was afraid I’d faint from hunger right there in the water. I jumped on his back and wrapped my legs snugly around his waist. Zach would break up with me for sure if he saw this, I thought, and yet for some reason that wasn’t enough to stop me from doing what I was doing.
John didn’t complain of my strangling grip or that he couldn’t breathe, even though I had his neck in a choke-hold. Still, I didn’t loosen my arms, even when it occurred to me that if I unintentionally killed him, I’d only be screwing myself in the process.
“So that was pretty good for your first time,” John said as we plopped down on the rocky beach.
I stretched my legs in front of me and turned my face toward the sun. “And my last time. Swimming is completely overrated if you ask me.”
After a few minutes John elbowed me in the side. “I have an idea. You wanna blow this joint and grab some lunch at The Market?”
I shook my head uncertainly, “I don’t know.” John was actually a very nice guy, but like Olivia said, I was taken.
“It’s just lunch,” he prodded. “My treat. You said yourself you’re starving.”
“Fine. I’ll go with you,” I said with a smirk. “But only because you’re buying.”
October 27
I stared at my reflection in the mirror and delicately probed the pale curve of my neck where bite marks had been set in indelible ink. “You’re an idiot, Blake Ehlert. What the hell were you thinking?”
Mom had the weekend off for a change, and her voice floated up from the foot of the stairs that breakfast would be ready in ten. I gave up any hope that the tattoo would just magically disappear and instead stripped out of my pajamas. I ran the shower as hot as it would go, testing the rising temperature with the inside of my wrist, but it never seemed to get hot enough.
As the water rained down over my head and shoulders, I recalled the sensuous flick of John’s tongue against my neck the night before. I shivered at the memory, one steamy thought leading to another.
The first time John kissed me, I realized I’d been missing out before. There was something about John’s kisses that always took me by surprise and left me breathless and wanting more. It was like knowing there’d be presents on Christmas morning, but what was hidden inside the boxes shrouded in mystery, something to be discovered and enjoyed slowly to make the excitement last as long as possible.
John’s lips were soft and always very warm; his breath against my skin a moist heat. He wasn’t hard as marble or deathly cold, or any of those other stereotypes typical of vampires. He felt very much human when holding me in his arms. But the fact remained that John was a vampire, and I wasn’t. I didn’t belong in his world, just as sure as he didn’t belong in mine, and I was not about to make that leap.
I couldn’t.
I leaned my head against the shower tile and took a deep, shuddering breath. My life had been stolen from me, and now I was doomed whichever path I chose.
There was a knock at the bathroom door and my mother’s muffled announcement of breakfast. I turned off the water and stood dripping, my legs weak with a shameful craving that consumed me from within. Seeing John again last night—him touching me, and me touching him—had left me more confused than ever.
I knew he was right when he said I needed him, and it wasn’t just a base need rooted in mutual attraction and desire. It was a need on which my life now depended. The only problem was I’d come to regard him and his kind as something like a disease. And unfortunately, the cure for what ailed me came with one very nasty and long-term side effect.
I dressed in jeans and the heaviest wool sweater I owned pulled over an oxford button-down before making my way downstairs to the kitchen. The heat from the oven made the room a few blessed degrees warmer. I took a seat at the table opposite my dad and spooned a serving of steaming, creamy-yellow eggs onto my plate, if only for appearance’s sake.
My stomach ached with a terrible hollowness that made me feel as though I was being turned inside out. But when I brought a forkful of eggs to my mouth, I stopped abruptly, fighting back the sudden rise of nausea. I covered my mouth and nose with my hand and pushed the plate aside, willing myself not to be sick all over the table.
“Is everything okay?” Dad asked, eyeing me over the top of his newspaper.
&nbs
p; I spread my fingers enough to talk. “Are these eggs expired?”
Mom turned around, a spatula of bacon hovering over the plate in her hand and a confused expression on her face. “I just bought them yesterday. Why?”
I pinched my nose and said in a distorted voice, “Because they smell rancid.”
Not believing me, Mom stepped to the table and picked up the bowl of eggs. She took a generous whiff and then shook her head, her dark hair brushing her collar. “They smell absolutely fine to me. Are you congested? Maybe you’re getting a cold.”
“No. They definitely smell funny.”
Mom pulled the carton from the refrigerator and held it up to check the “use by” date. “They’re still good for a few weeks.” She looked at me, her brows pulled together. I knew what she was going to say before she even said it.
“You’re not calling the doctor,” I said to head her off.
“I’m calling the doctor,” she said anyway. “This is just ridiculous, Blake. You’re not eating. You’re still losing weight. You’re cold all the time.” She flung her hands up in frustration. “Just look at you! I can’t believe all this,” she said, thrusting her hand at me, “is because you’re anemic.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ve only been on the medication for a few weeks. It probably just takes time to kick in, you know?”
Mom and Dad were still staring at me, neither of them saying a word, so I downed my glass of orange juice just to prove my point. The acidic, too-sweet taste nearly made me gag, but I choked down the urge to vomit.
“I think I’ll go for a drive if that’s okay. I need to . . . I just need to get out of the house and clear my head.”
“Sure,” my mother said, a note of concern still in her voice. “If you think that will help.”
I got up to dump my dishes in the sink, stepping around my mother. She did a double-take and grabbed my arm before I could walk away. She brushed aside a thicket of curls and folded down the collar of my oxford.
“Good Lord, Blake.” She dropped her hand, shaking her head. Her jaw clenched and unclenched. “You couldn’t have gotten a heart or butterfly? Something a little more girly than that?”
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