Love Bites

by Annabelle Costa

  “It’s tofu.”

  “I hate tofu.”

  “Right, but that’s because you haven’t had good tofu before.”

  His lips twitch in a smile. “No offense, Brooke, but I don’t think this is going to be the one shining example of good tofu.”

  For a year, when we were first dating, Jamie cut back on the amount of meat he was eating. Then a year ago, when we moved in together, he decided to give it up entirely, aside from a few lapses. To say it’s been hard is an understatement. I gave it up too in solidarity, but between the two of us, it’s been much harder on him.

  “You know what would make this better?” he says to me.

  “What?”

  “Meat.”

  I sigh. “You know, this was your decision. You had some stupid romantic notion about wanting to grow old with me…”

  “Yeah,” he says, “and if you keep cooking this way, it’s going to make me want to die real quick.”

  I think the hardest thing for Jamie about giving up meat is that he is just a regular person now. For example, I had no idea he’d never had a common cold in his entire life. When he caught his first cold last winter, he acted like he was dying. Although to be fair, my dad does the same thing.

  It’s harder for him to walk too. He struggles more with his cane. Uses his wheelchair more often.

  But he says it’s worth it.

  “You know,” I say to Jamie, “your father would love this.”

  He snorts. “I bet he would. Christ, I wonder how awful his wife’s cooking must have been.”

  Stephen, a.k.a. Mr. Teitelman, still lives in the apartment below ours. For a long time, Jamie was really wary of him. He didn’t entirely believe that Stephen was on the level, even after Charles was dragged to prison, where he remains to this day. But then Stephen offered a chance for Jamie to help work for the bureau to catch and incarcerate more of their kind. Jamie jumped at the chance, and over the last year, the two of them have become close.

  They mutually agreed they wouldn’t tell Stephen’s other children that Jamie was their brother. Given that Jamie appeared several years younger than Stephen’s oldest son, it would just cause too many problems. Instead, Jamie was introduced as his nephew—the son of an estranged brother. The truth would remain a secret only the two of them knew. Well, and me.

  I know much more than either of them probably would like.

  But Stephen’s wife Beverly knew the truth, and now so do I. I know Jamie’s seen and done things I can’t even imagine. I know he puts his life in danger every day to track down his own relatives and put them in a place where they can’t hurt anyone else. I know Jamie and I will never be able to have biological children because any sons we have could end up like Charles.

  Although that last part doesn’t bother me. We’ve agreed there are more than enough children already out there in need of good homes.

  “Look,” Jamie says. “We live in New York City—you don’t need to be a great cook. Let’s just get a pizza.”

  I look dolefully at the couscous dish I lovingly prepared (although admittedly overcooked by quite a bit). I’m not ever going to be a great cook, so I’m glad he doesn’t seem to care. We’ve been going to a lot of vegetarian restaurants in the city lately and there are days when Jamie claims he doesn’t miss meat at all.

  This is not one of those days.

  “You’ve been so good for the last few months,” I say to him, “maybe you can treat yourself tonight. Get a steak.”

  I see the hesitation in his eyes. He wants it—I know he does. He craves it more than a smoker craves a cigarette. More than an alcoholic craves a shot of whiskey. More than I crave cinnabuns when I’m on a diet.

  “No, thanks,” he says finally. “Pizza is fine.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “Are you sure?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I’m sure.” He grins at me. “Hey, you know what we should get? That pizza that has ziti noodles baked on top of the crust. I love that.”

  But more than he craves a big juicy steak, he wants to grow old with me.

  So we’re going to go get some pizza.

  With ziti noodles on top.

  THE END

  Dear readers,

  I don’t know why I got motivated to write a vampire chick lit novel.

  As an author, you’ve got two choices:

  You can write the same kind of book each time because you know that’s what your readers want. Or…

  You can try writing something new and different.

  Love Bites was the something new and different for me.

  So here’s where I need your help. I need you to tell me, “Annabelle, stick with what you’re good at” or else, “Annabelle, you need to step out of your comfort zone more!” Because I really listen to what the readers have to say. I really, really do. And I’d also LOVE to know if you guessed the ending of the book with Tom’s true identity.

  So I please tell me! You can either email me at razberripie@gmail.com. And either way, I would love a review on Amazon here: http://mybook.to/lovebitescosta. Other authors say I’m supposed to tell you to like me on Facebook or follow me on Twitter, but honestly, I’d be happier with the email or review.

  Thank you once again to all my readers,

  Annabelle Costa

  P.S. After the acknowledgements, there’s an excerpt from my last book, My Perfect Ex-Boyfriend. Please enjoy!

  Acknowledgments

  I don’t know how I got into the habit of always trying to put something funny in the acknowledgments. I just started doing it and now I can’t stop because people expect it. It’s like in the Marvel comic movies, how they always have that bit at the end after the credits so that your boyfriend won’t let you leave, no matter how much you have to pee. And maybe there’s some Marvel writer who is like, “I am so sick of having to always have those bits at the end of the movie! I don’t want to do one this time!”

  Except they can’t stop. Because you don’t want to disappoint the audience. There could be riots.

  Anyway, after all that, I always thank the same people. Because they’re still awesome. They didn’t stop being awesome from my last book.

  Thank you to the wonderful Molly Mirren and J. Saman for the invaluable advice. And then you for the extra beta advice from Avery Kingston, Whitney Dineen, Holly Kerr, and Sarah-Jane Fraser.

  Now turn the page for an excerpt from my book, My Perfect Ex-Boyfriend…

  My Perfect Ex-Boyfriend

  Lily is in rare form on the Amtrak train down to Maryland.

  It’s like she read a magazine article before the trip on how best to annoy your parents during a long train ride. First she’s hungry. That’s an easy one—we feed her. Then she’s sick to her stomach from the food she just ate and wants me to fix it somehow. Then she’s bored. So bored. Soooo boooooored. I brought a stack of activity books for the train, but none of them hold the slightest interest for her. She starts kicking the seat in front of her, oblivious to the glares from the passenger unfortunate enough to be sitting there.

  Now, with twenty minutes left until we arrive at the Baltimore station, Lily has gotten stuck in an endless loop. For the last hour, every five minutes, she has asked, “Are we there yet?”

  I thought kids saying “are we there yet” was one of those stereotypes about kids that doesn’t really happen. But I assure you, it does really happen. Over and over and over. And there’s no way to stop it. No way for me to say “not yet” or give her a sense of the arrival time that will keep her from asking.

  “Are we there yet?” Lily whines.

  “Not yet, Lily!” snaps my father. Even he’s lost his patience with her.

  Lily’s never been yelled at before by Grandpa, and immediately, her little heart-shaped face crumples. And now she’s wailing hysterically. She’s six years old and she’s louder than the newborn infant two rows down. I’m scared someone’s going to throw us off this moving train.

  Dad is profusely apologizing for his o
utburst when my cell phone rings. I see Theo’s number on the screen and consider not answering. I’m not in the mood for Theo right now. Well, I’m never in the mood for Theo, but especially not now. But then again, it will be a break from the monotony of this ride and Lily’s screaming.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Hey, Bailey,” he says. “I was just thinking about taking Lily out for dinner tonight. Maybe we could go see Catdog.”

  “Dogcat,” I correct him, although I’m not sure why.

  “Sure—that,” Theo says.

  “Too late,” I say. “I already took her last weekend after you bailed.”

  “Fine,” Theo says. “I’ll take her to some other movie.”

  “Sorry,” I say, even though I don’t feel at all sorry. “We’re taking a trip to Maryland for the week. We’re actually almost there.”

  “What?” Theo has a temper. It’s one of the many, many things I’ve come to dislike about him. And it’s flaring up right now. “You never told me you were taking Lily to Maryland!”

  “It didn’t even occur to me that you’d care,” I reply honestly.

  “You’re supposed to tell me when you take Lily on a trip!”

  “Yeah, well, you’re supposed to pay me child support.”

  Theo snorts. “Are you trying to shame me, Bailey? You know I pay what I can.”

  Yeah, and that’s apparently nothing.

  “Look,” I say, “I don’t know what to tell you, Theo. We’re nearly in Baltimore.”

  “Are you going with some guy?” he growls. “Is that what this is about?”

  Ha. That’s so far from the truth, it’s depressing. But I’m not going to tell him about my father and offer any window into my life.

  “It’s none of your business,” I say.

  “The hell it’s not!” Theo yells. “Lily is my daughter! You can’t just jet her off wherever you want with your… your man-whore!”

  Back when Theo and I were married, I had to listen to him scream his head off at me when his temper was flaring. Fortunately, we’re not married anymore. So I can click the “end” button and our conversation is over. He calls me back immediately, but I put my phone on “silent” and shove it back in my purse. If only I could temporarily put Lily on “silent,” this would be a great trip.

  I hear the conductor announcing overhead that the next stop is Baltimore. I breathe a sigh of relief. “How are we getting to the cabin?” I ask my father. “Do we need to call a taxi?”

  Dad shakes his head as the train whistle sounds overhead. “Gwen’s son is picking us up at the station.”

  “The son’s here?” I imagined that Gwen’s son was lending us an empty cabin to stay in. I didn’t know we were going to have to share it with the son and likely his family. Fabulous.

  Dad nods. “I haven’t met him either, so Gwen thought this would be a nice introduction for everyone. He sounds like a nice kid.”

  Kid? How old is this guy? Old enough to drive and old enough to own a place in Manhattan and a cabin in Maryland. Of course, my father probably still refers to me as a kid, so for all I know, this guy could be fifty.

  “How are we supposed to know it’s him?” I ask. “Is he going to be holding up one of those big signs that says, ‘CHAPIN’?”

  He laughs. “Maybe. I don’t know—I didn’t ask her. Apparently, he thinks he’ll be able to find us.”

  The train skids to a halt at the Baltimore station. I stand up, stretching out the crick in my neck from the long ride. Lily leaps out of her seat and smooths out the dress she’s chosen to meet her new step-grandmother-to-be. The dress has a lot of cats on it. And when I say that, you might be imagining a dress that has three or four cats on it, so let me rescue you from that delusion. Every inch of this dress is covered in multicolored pictures of cats. It’s almost dizzying how many cats are on her dress. There’s got to be, like, fifty of them. It’s her favorite dress.

  “Come on, Lily,” I say as I grab my duffel bags down from the compartment above the seats. My father was bright enough to purchase luggage on wheels, but I was apparently not. All our clothes and supplies for the week are stuffed into these two giant bags. Well, aside from the few things I fit into Lily’s miniscule backpack. I hope Gwen’s son is strong and likes carrying luggage.

  We dismount the train, my father holding Lily’s hand as I struggle with my two pieces of luggage. I really hope this guy is waiting for us and we don’t have to look everywhere for him. Dad is looking around, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. That’s when I notice that there’s a man walking in the opposite direction of the passengers coming off the train. He’s clearly coming toward us.

  It’s very sunny and I squint to see him better. The first thing I notice is the tousled dark blond hair and strong, solid build—this is a guy who should have no trouble throwing a couple of duffel bags over his broad shoulders. As he gets closer, I can see the muscles filling out his blue T-shirt. Damn, this guy is a hottie.

  And then his features come into better focus. The stubble on his chin. The blue eyes. The solid jaw.

  Oh my God.

  It’s Noah.

  Oh no.

  Purchase a copy of My Perfect Ex-Boyfriend today!