Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Note from the Publisher
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue—Halloween Night
About the Author
Also by Julie Lynn Hayes
Writing as Reinette
Leonardo di Caprio is a Vampire
Julie Lynn Hayes
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Cover Artist: Reese Dante
Editor: Dawn Sievers
Leonardo DiCaprio is a Vampire © 2011 Julie Lynn Hayes
ISBN # 9781920484729
Attention Readers: This book uses US English. Thank you.
All rights reserved.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model.
PUBLISHER
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Note from the Publisher
Dear Reader,
Thank you for your purchase of this title. The authors and staff of Silver Publishing hope you enjoy this read and that we will have a long and happy association together.
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Thank you for not pirating our titles.
Lodewyk Deysel
Publisher
Silver Publishing
http://www.silverpublishing.info
Dedication
I would like to dedicate this story to Leonardo di Caprio, from whom I drew its inspiration
To Mags and Cate for their helpful critiques
To my fellow staffers at BishieCon:
Katrina, Mikhail, Sarah, Ramona, Larry, Erin, Kelly, Brittany, Jack, Megan, Harley, Alexx, Wendy, Jon, Eric, Chance, Sam,
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson Consumer Companies, Inc.
Chapter One
"Did you know that Leonardo di Caprio is a vampire?"
Fisher Roberts stopped in mid-chew of a mouthful of high fiber cereal to cast a wary, disbelieving glance at his best friend and roommate Hunter Long on the other side of the table. Wary, because he wondered what in the world Hunter was going on about so early in the morning. Disbelieving, because he only had so much time for breakfast before he had to get going to work, and he had a bad feeling that Hunter was trying to eat into that time. Why he wanted to do that was beyond Fisher. Of course, a lot of things about his roommate were beyond Fisher, despite the fact that they'd been friends since they were—well, too young to actually remember how long they'd known each other. But for as long as Fisher could remember, he and Hunter had been best buddies. And he'd learned over the years that, with Hunter, longevity did not equate to knowledgeability, far from it.
Now, Fisher could react in one of two ways. He could ignore his roommate and keep eating. Pretend he'd heard nothing. But from past experience, that would only cause Hunter's performance to escalate. That would entail taking more time to decipher what he was saying, and in the process make Fisher even later to work. Or he could simply bow down to the inevitable and give in by asking him the question he was doubtless waiting to hear. Even if it brought about that smug smirk he was so fond of wearing.
Fisher finished chewing, swallowed, and managed not to roll his eyes as he reached for his juice to kill off what was left in the glass. Waste not, want not. "What do you mean?"
Hunter Long might be six foot two and possessed of a body that many a male model would kill for—at least that's what Fisher heard the girls who flocked around him say—with the palest of blue eyes that twinkled all the time, and a smile that could and did light up a room. But honestly, he had the capacity to be an overgrown child at times, and this was one of those times. Fisher chalked it up to it being that time of year.
"Well," Hunter replied, "look at him, going on forty, and he looks just like he did what, fifteen years ago? It only stands to reason he must be a vampire. They never age, you know. I mean take a look at us. We're almost his age, but over the years we'll grow up to be little old men and he'll still be playing sweet baby-faced guys even when he's collecting Social Security; know what I mean?"
"There are no such things as vampires," Fisher made his typical logical reply, "and just because it's Halloween tomorrow night, and you've got the house all decorated for it, doesn't mean you have to bring it to the table. Know what I mean?" He arched a no-nonsense brow at the other man. This was not Fisher's favorite time of year. Neither was Christmas, come to think of it. Or any other holiday. Ironic that he should write articles for a living that meant he was forced to expound on such seasonal topics for Midwest Home and Fantasy, a regional online magazine with a growing fan-base, when he had no real interest in them himself, being a practical, no-nonsense kind of a guy.
"I'm a vampire." Hunter smiled, leaning across the table toward Fisher. "Want to see my fangs?"
"No thanks," Fisher promptly replied, shaking his head. "Let me guess. You bought a costume and you're going trick-or-treating tomorrow night. You know something? Vampires are so overdone. You should try something else, something even slightly more original. Honestly, if you've seen one bloodsucker, you've seen them all. They're all just stupid and boring. And non-existent. Or, and here's an original idea, grow up and stop dressing up. That's what children do and we aren't children any more. We're thirty-three, Hunter. Playtime's over."
"Never." Hunter chuckled, "I refuse to grow up and I refuse to let you grow up. Besides, it's for tonight, not tomorrow night. For the Halloween party you promised we'd go to. Remember? The one you said you'd get a costume for? You didn't forget, did you?"
Fisher groaned. He had completely forgotten. Or, to
be more accurate, he had pushed the promise out of his mind right after he had made it. It had actually been made under duress, when Fisher had been tired and not thinking properly, after one of their all-night bullshit sessions. If he'd been in his right mind, he'd have never made such a stupid agreement, considering how much he hated the holiday. Hunter had taken definite advantage of him. As he generally did.
"I… I can't go," he mumbled, risking a quick glance at his wrist watch. Damn, he had to go. To work, that is. He swallowed most of what was left of the milk in his bowl, careful not to spill any on his jacket, and set it down on the floor for their cat, Lady Madeline, to drink. Her full name was Lady Madeline Usher, named after the Edgar Alan Poe character. His roommate's idea, of course. She was a stray Hunter had brought home one night, said he'd found her sleeping on the street, and how could he refuse her shelter? She'd been with them ever since, some six or seven months now. She was a fluffy white cat with mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—and a gentle disposition. She rubbed gratefully against Fisher's ankle before delicately lapping from the bowl.
"Besides," Fisher continued, even though Hunter hadn't said even one word in protest, "Why do you need me around? I'll just cramp your style. Your ladies complain that you don't pay them enough attention when I'm around. They'll be glad if I don't show up, so they can claim your undivided attention. And besides, I don't have a costume." That part was true. He hadn't bothered to get one, seeing as he had completely forgotten about it. Nothing Freudian about that at all.
Fisher got up from the table, having dismissed the matter already, at least in his own mind. He carried his dishes to the sink once the Lady was finished with her milk; he rinsed them out and set them into the dishwasher for later. He was already thinking ahead to what lay in wait for him at the office. He wasn't being dismissive of Hunter's feelings; he just didn't have time to go into this at the moment. Like everything else in his life, he tucked it away for later. However, by the time that he reached the front door, laptop in hand, prepared to step outside, Hunter was already there, his long lanky body filling the space between Fisher and the outside world by leaning against the door.
"I have one."
"You're making me late," Fisher moaned, before asking, with a sigh, "You have what?"
"A costume. I also took the liberty of getting one for you. I knew you'd forget."
"Thanks," Fisher mumbled, half under his breath, squirming uncomfortably. "Now I'll just have pissed off groupies to contend with."
Hunter laughed, brushing one hand lightly over Fisher's arm, reassuringly. Fisher hated when he did that, not because he abhorred his friend's touch, far from it. He liked it too much for his own good. And because with just one touch, Hunter could get him to do damn near anything. He had once jokingly told him that he should become a masseuse, but Hunter's reply was that he didn't want to touch anyone else. Fisher knew better than to take that the way it sounded. It was just Hunter being Hunter.
"You know they come to see you, stud, not me." Hunter grinned. "They only use me to get to you."
"Yeah, right." Fisher was out of time, and anxious to get away from that intimidating touch, the one that talked him into things he should have more common sense than to go along with. It was time to be responsible in the real world. Part of that responsibility meant getting to work on time.
"What time?" he heard himself weakening. "Maybe just for a few minutes, okay? But no pressure. When I want to go, I'm going, all right?"
"Party starts about eight," Hunter replied, "and the nice thing is, we can wear our costumes again tomorrow night, when the trick-or-treaters come."
Yeah, right. Fisher didn't see that happening. Especially since he invariably managed to wriggle out of the Halloween night extravaganza that Hunter pulled off every year, the production he made out of the simple act of distributing candy to the children that came to the door specifically to beg for it. It occurred to him he hadn't even asked what costume he'd committed to wearing. He sincerely hoped it wasn't something outlandish—like Mae West or Jabba the Hutt. Hunter had a weird sense of humor. One year he tried to talk Fisher into playing Ricky Ricardo to his Lucy, an idea that had been soundly vetoed. But he had no time to worry about the costume right now.
"Fine, whatever, I gotta go, move."
Hunter leaned over and ruffled Fisher's hair lightly, before vacating his position. "See you tonight," he said with a smile, as Fisher ducked out the door and ran to his car. He couldn't help but think that Hunter'd gotten his way—again. What else was new?
Chapter Two
"Why do you put up with that stuff from him?"
Fisher sat at lunch with his co-worker and good friend, Holly Gale. She handled the local sports beat for MWH&F, and did a damn fine job of it. She was a natural brunette who liked to play with henna, and as a result her hair had a perpetual reddish tinge. She wore it shoulder-length and layered, and it stopped short of looking severe on her because of her naturally warm brown eyes. She was very fond of Fisher, and not shy about telling him how she felt about anything or anyone. Including Hunter Long, whom she felt was taking advantage of Fisher's innocent and generous nature. She thought Hunter was too good looking for his own good, and very conceited—although the latter was her own opinion, which Fisher did not share. He agreed that Hunter was damn good looking, though. Beautiful being the word that often sprang to mind with regard to his roommate, although he tended to quell the idea as soon as he thought it, locking it away in the recesses of his heart.
Fisher listlessly picked at his rice. Normally he was very fond of Chinese food, and tucked into it with a will, but today he seemed to have no real appetite, a fact that did not fail to escape the radar that Holly possessed where he was concerned.
"Hmmm? What do you mean?" He feigned innocence, pushing around the grains of rice until Holly felt compelled to take his spork away from him in exasperation.
"How old are you, twelve? And you know exactly what I mean. He tells you that you gotta go to this Halloween party and even though you know you hate it, you're gonna show up?"
"I promised." Fisher flailed in his own defense. He automatically played devil's advocate, although he agreed with her.
"Oh yeah?" She gave him one of her double squints, a particularly forceful look that meant that he was the sole object of her concentration at the moment and could not wriggle out of her grasp no matter what he did. "What if I said to you—'Fisher, I'm having a Halloween party, will you come'?"
He squirmed uncomfortably and glanced down at his takeout container. "You know I don't like that kind of thing," he protested.
"I do know it. And so does he. But when Hunter Long asks you to go, you not only jump for him, you ask how high."
Fisher's face flamed at her words, even as he attempted to deny them. Although his denials fell into the category of pretty damn lame. "I promised him. I can't get out of it, it's not like I want to go, or anything, as you very well know…"
"What I do know is that you like him more than you're willing to admit, and you don't have the balls to tell him." Her words might have been a little harsh, but her tone was sympathetic.
"Of course I like him, he's my best friend." He reached for the plastic utensil she still held within her grasp, reclaimed it and began to eat. Better to stuff his mouth with food, than to allow any traitorous words to escape and be heard. His thoughts were dangerously close to the surface. He felt as if they were about to suffocate him, so he held them in check and chewed.
"Stop." He felt her hand upon his wrist, and glanced up to find her full gaze directed at him. He swallowed quickly before he choked on something. Like his words. "I know you, Fisher. Better than you think. I went out with you for six months, remember?"
"Of course I remember, I'm not senile. At least not yet," he grumbled.
"I know he's your best friend, and I know how you've been friends with him since you were kids. And I know how he drives you crazy with the things he does, and the way he acts sometimes."
Holly gave his hand a reassuring pat, even as he gave up any pretense at eating.
"If this is because you don't think I date enough," he began, but she cut him off before the words had barely crossed his lips.
"Enough? You don't date at all! When is the last time that you took a woman anywhere? And I don't count; we stopped dating a long time ago."
"I dunno," he stammered, embarrassed, "I don't keep track of that kind of thing."
"Well, I do, and it's been two years since the last one, unless you've neglected to mention one, which I doubt, since you tell me everything. Everything that is, except for your feelings about Hunter." She flashed him a knowing look as he tried to think back, wondering if maybe she was right. The last girl he remembered seeing was Evelyn something. And he hadn't seen her for… for at least two years, come to think of it. If not more.
"You know there hasn't been anyone," he admitted, "but that doesn't mean anything. Maybe I'm just picky about the women I see?"
"Or maybe you really don't want to see anyone who isn't Hunter?" Holly countered. "You can't lie to me, remember, I was one of them? You were the perfect gentleman with me, Fisher. You never made any advances, never tried to take advantage of me."
"And that's a bad thing?"
"No, but you also never did more than kiss me. Ever. I was the one that kissed you, come to think of it. Tell me something, Fisher, though I suspect I know the answer already. Have you ever slept with a woman? With anyone?"
If Fisher thought he was red before, that was nothing compared to how he felt now, his face growing so heated, he felt like he was having a hot flash.
"You don't have to answer," Holly said compassionately, "I can see it in your face, and in your eyes. You don't really like women, do you? I mean, not like that. Not sexually."
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