“I don’t,” he responds. “Doesn’t mean that I can’t. I partake every once in a while. Especially when a nice Appalachian woman offers me something for all of my hard work. Well, at least offers me more than a hard time.” He raises an eyebrow at me.
I take my box to the truck while stating, “You didn’t have to come. No one twisted your arm. I couldn’t if I tried anyhow.”
He slides his box into the truck then leans against the bumper, smiling. “You know you couldn’t do this without me.”
I roll my eyes. “I so could have. And probably would have had less aggravation, too.”
“And less distraction, too,” he quips. “I’m sure your other help wouldn’t have been as attractive as me.” He winks, then walks back to the shed.
I stand there, hands outstretched in exasperation. I decide not to egg him on. One thing I’ve learned in the past couple of weeks since we finished the FOHVA project is that if you respond when Rick goads you, it just encourages him to do it even more. It doesn’t help that I once let it slip out that I thought he was hot. He likes to throw that up in my face every once in a while. Reliving that humiliation is not my idea of time well spent. But he seems to get a kick out of it. Bastard. And I say that in the most loving way possible.
When I get back to the shed, Rick is already drinking his lemonade and chatting with my mom. Talk about humiliation. The last thing I need is more Emma stories that he’ll use to tease me unmercifully in the most awkward of moments.
“Whatcha y’all talking about?” I ask as I reach for my glass of lemonade.
Handing me my glass, Mom says, “Oh, we’re just shootin’ the breeze.”
“Uh-huh,” I groan as Rick grins at me. “What?” I ask him.
“Just enjoying the relaxed form of speech you get whenever you’re around your mom,” he replies.
I whack him on the arm. “Now, Emma Jean, cut that out,” Mom scolds me. “Rick came all this way to help ya and that’s no way to treat a friend. I taught you better than that.”
Rick raises his eyebrows at me. “Sorry, Mom. He can be as hard to deal with as trying to hold onto a greased weasel.”
Rick laughs loudly while I resist the urge to throw my empty glass at him. Mom gives me a tough stare, then says, “I still don’t understand why y’all couldn’t’ve moved all this stuff during the day instead of comin’ out here so late. It’s so dark you’ll have a dickens of a time driving back to Rowan.”
Rick and I look at one another. My eyes widen as it occurs to me that Mom doesn’t know that Rick is a vampire. Rick seemingly understands my thoughts and slightly shrugs his shoulders.
“Uh, Mom? We couldn’t come during the day because Rick’s a vampire.”
She looks at me then looks at him, then back at me again. Before I can say another word, she ambles up to Rick, standing toe-to-toe with him as she peers up into his face. I steel myself for what is about to happen, hoping that it’s not that bad. Rick looks down at my mom with the kindest look on his face.
She clucks her tongue. “Let me see your teeth,” she demands quite simply.
He smiles down at her as I gasp, completely horrified. “MOM!” I exclaim.
She turns to me. “What, Emma Jean? I’ve never met a vampire before. I just want to see.” She turns to Rick. “Let me see your teeth.”
Rick continues to smile. “My pleasure, Mrs. Burcham.” He opens his mouth and his fangs extend out in all their blood-drinking glory.
Mom humphs as she looks closely into his mouth. “Well, I’ll be damned. Those things look sharp! I bet you could open a can or bottle of beer with those things!” She looks at me and love taps my arm. “Good thing to have around if you lose your can opener.”
Rick laughs good-naturedly. “I’m not sure if I could do that. Might chip a fang.” He winks at my mom.
Mom looks back at him. “Well, can’t ya just go to the dentist if that happens? They put caps on other teeth, why can’t they cap a fang?”
I roll my eyes, trying not to get too embarrassed at my mom’s inquisition. It’s like bringing a boyfriend home for the first time. “Mom, please, I’m begging you. Just leave him alone.”
Rick shows his exceptional patience. “It’s all right, Emma. Jean.” He grins. “I’m not sure a doctor could help with these types of teeth. Since they extend from my gums at certain times, a cap wouldn’t work.”
Mom looks him up and down. “Docs have used prosthetics on other parts that extend.”
“OH MY GOD, Mom. Please stop!”
She looks at me again. “What? It’s the truth.”
Rick laughs. “That it is, Mrs. Burcham. Fortunately for those who need it, that can be done as the part in question is…well, flexible enough that polymer-based synthetic skin would work. Because it can stretch. That’s not the case with fangs, which are basically hardened calcium. Which in vampires, they can…” He looks at me. “... get bigger.”
“Huh. Well, it’s a thought. If doctors can make teeth for me, surely they can come up with something for you in the event ya need it. Maybe y’all can make money in developing the first vampire dentures.”
Rick smiles benevolently at her. “Good idea, Mrs. Burcham. I like the way you think.”
Mom takes the glasses from us and humphs. “Now y’all finish your work and get on back to Rowan before it gets too late. I’m gonna head on to bed.” I hug her good night then return to the shed for the last couple of boxes, trying to run from the embarrassment of the last few minutes. Rick helps me finish loading the truck, smiling to himself the entire time. At this point, I don’t dare ask him what he’s smiling about.
We close and lock the hatch to the truck, then situate ourselves in the cab. I’m the lucky one who gets to drive this beast of a vehicle. It’s not too much of an aggravation if it’s a short distance, but the three-to-four hour drive to Rowan is a little daunting. And so far, Rick hasn’t offered to share the driving responsibilities.
Before starting the truck, I look over at him. “Listen, Rick. I really appreciate all of the help you have given me with moving my stuff. I hate to sound ungrateful, but can you drive at least part of the way?”
Rick gives me a droll look. “First, you don’t hate to sound ungrateful. You have actually made that a competitive sport.”
I stick my tongue out at him. My issues with acting like an angst-ridden teen tend to devolve into childish temper tantrums when I’m tired and emotionally exhausted from trying conversations.
He laughs. “Second, all you have to do is ask. I may know what you’re feeling, but that doesn’t mean I can read your mind.” He leaps from the truck and walks over to the driver’s side.
Opening the door, I say, “If you know how I feel, then you know how tired I am. Why not offer to drive instead of making me ask?”
He cocks his head to the side, looking at me like I just made the most ridiculous request. “Emma, one thing I have learned about you is not to assume what you’re thinking based on how you’re feeling. You are one person who is a perplexing study in emotional contradictions. You rarely think what you feel, much less say what you feel. Besides, I kind of like it when you ask me.” He winks.
“Whatever, Rick. It’s not like you know me that well.” I push against his abdomen with my forearm.
His voice drops to the salacious timber he has perfected. “Oh, but I know you much better than you realize.” Grinning, he hops into the driver’s seat. Shaking my head, I let it go and count up my bad thoughts for the week before getting into the passenger’s seat.
“Buckle up,” he says. “I’ve never driven one of these things, so I can’t guarantee how safely I’ll drive.”
“Wonderful,” I grumble. “You’ll have to change how you’re always telling me that I’m SAFE in the company of a vampire.”
He grins. “And by the way, I’m in no need for prosthetics for any of my parts.” He winks at me.
Horrified, I turn away from him and hunker down in my seat. He just laugh
s as we hit US 60 toward I-64 East toward my new home in Rowan.
Sitting in my recliner, having some hot coffee and watching the news, I wonder what I can get into on a lazy Sunday. It’s my last day off before my first official day with the FOHVA Paranormal Investigations team. I want to spend this time NOT thinking about things that go bump in the night, but I can’t help but think of the project work we completed, particularly the last demonstration with the child vampire. Even after having a long talk with my mom, I still can’t let go of the idea that we executed a child. Yes, the child was actually a 103-year-old pedophile vampire, but he still looked like a ten-year-old boy.
I’ve always known on some level that looks can be deceiving. Yet, that experience with the child vampire was an unequalled example of how sometimes what you think you see is nowhere close to being the truth. I’m still trying to figure out why the universe saw fit to make me live through that event, while I’m also trying not to think about supernatural entities. Yes, my life is not only full of paradoxes, but also a study in ambivalence.
Right now, I think I’ll opt for some distraction. I’ll think of everything else once it’s actually part of my job. In other words, I’m putting it off until tomorrow. For today, getting out and exploring more of Rowan seems like a good idea, even if I have to venture out on my own. Rick won’t be getting up until later this evening, and I don’t want to waste any precious sun time. Might not get much of it in the near future.
I quickly shower, dress, apply my signature pink lip-gloss and black mascara, then head out to my car. Taking long drives around the county is always relaxing. Since Rowan is far from a metropolitan deluge of stimulation, one can almost go into a meditative state while driving. On second thought, that’s not so safe, considering the number of deer and other wild animals bounding across the roads at any given moment. I definitely need to find a new way to relax.
I pull to a stop in front of the local diner, The Soup Spoon. I’ve neglected to realize that it’s Sunday; so many local business are either closed for the day or only open after church services are completed. Well, I guess I can always go to the one place that is always full of activity on the weekends, before, during, and after church – the Rowan flea market.
As I head toward the epicenter of friendly and social bartering for goods, I stop at the locally owned gas station, Bobby Joe’s Drop ‘N Shop. I get out of my car, then suddenly stop to watch a rather attractive man in blue, grease-stained coveralls walk quickly to the side of my car. He nods at me, smiling. “Hi. I’m the only one here right now, so I’ll go ahead and pump your gas for you. Want me to fill it up?”
“Oh, yes,” I gasp breathily before stammering, “Yes, please. Fill me up, er, fill my car up, yes, please.” I quickly turn away from him as the heat of my skin threatens to expose my inner humiliation. I glance over my shoulder to watch him as he busies himself with fully servicing my car – pumping the gas, cleaning the windows, and checking my fluids. This is definitely the type of service you don’t find in big cities. I also don’t remember ever being serviced by someone quite so beautiful.
Serviced, right. I need to stop thinking like this for the simple fact that I can’t trust what might come out of my mouth if he starts talking to me. I try to watch him slyly, appreciating his shaggy, shoulder length black hair bound with a bandana, chiseled masculine bone structure pushing against taut bronze skin that would be the envy of a Greek God. As he squats to check the air in my back tires, I imagine myself running my hands over the fabric that is pulled tight across his muscular back.
The pump clicks to indicate my tank is full, abruptly snapping me out of my reverie. He looks up at me and smiles. “I’m almost done.”
I return his smile. “Take your time.”
When he finishes everything, he walks over to me and says, “That will be $56.47.”
“Ouch,” I remark as I hand him my debit card.
Looking at my card, then back up at me, still smiling, he states, “Okay, Emma. I’ll be right back.”
After a few moments, he returns with my card and a receipt. Taking them from his hand, I say, “Thank you…what’s your name?” I’m kicking myself for being so forward, but hey, my only friend in Rowan is someone who sleeps through the day. I’ll take a chance and hopefully not make a fool out of myself.
“My name’s David. I would shake your hand, but I’m covered in grease.” He holds up his hands, turning them from side-to-side and for the first time I notice the multiple tattoos snaking up both of his arms.
I pull my eyes away from his forearms. “Nice to meet you, David. Thanks for the thorough job you did on my car.”
“My pleasure. And with these gas prices, you deserve all the servicing you can get.”
“Yes, good service does help the feeling of getting screwed.” I bite my lip and briefly close my eyes as I mentally kick myself. I am so mentally challenged right now.
David laughs good-naturedly. “No truer words have been spoken. Well, I’ve got to get back to fixing another car.” He walks toward the garage before turning back to say, “It really was a pleasure to meet you, Emma.”
I smile broadly as I get back into my car, willing my legs to stop shaking. I’m back at my apartment before my breathing returns to normal and I realize, dang, I completely forgot about going to the flea market. I guess Rowan is full of more distractions than I realized.
I decide to busy myself with housework and reading while I wait for the sun to go down. At least Rick is somewhat used to my nonsensical chitchat. At least with him I’m less likely to feel overly self-conscious about making a fool out of myself. I mean, he’s seen me passed out, splattered in blood twice and still doesn’t treat me like a pariah. I’ll take my good luck where I can get it, and Rick has been quite a charm in more ways than one.
When the sun sets, I open the front door, expecting to see Rick climbing the external stairs. I glance around the apartment complex and don’t see anyone moving around the building. Right as I’m shutting the door, Rick pushes it open. I grip the doorknob as I grit my teeth. “Why don’t you announce yourself? One of these times, you’re going to do that and I’m going to have a stake in my hand. I won’t be responsible for what happens after that.” I take the charm comment back.
Grinning, he strolls into my apartment. “Been waiting for me long?” he asks.
Rolling my eyes, I plop down on the couch. “I was hardly waiting for you.”
“So you often look outside your front door after the sun sets?”
“Only since I learned that the bogeyman is real.” I stick my tongue out at him as my face scrunches into a scowl.
He laughs as he makes himself comfortable in my recliner. Resting his hands behind his head, he states, “Our last free night before we start our new jobs as paranormal investigators.”
I sit on the couch and try to relax. “Yep, the big day. I wonder what we’ll have to investigate first.”
He looks at me, suddenly very serious. “Are you ready for this?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He gives me an oh-give-me-a-break glare. “Okay,” I respond. “I’m nervous because it’s going to be the first day. And yes, I’m hesitant about just how I will react to things.”
Nodding, he says, “That’s to be expected.”
“How do you mean?”
He leans forward in the recliner, rubbing his hands together. “Well, the project was very emotional. For all of us. You were dealing with a lot of situations that you probably never thought you would have to deal with. And it was traumatic. Especially…”
“Especially the last demonstration.”
“Right. How are you holding up?”
“Rick, I told you before that I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Want and need are two different things,” he offers, his voice low and caring.
I look down at my lap. “I have talked about things. With Mom.”
“Good. I’m glad that you’re not bottling
things up. Did you tell her everything?”
Twisting my hands together as I make a show of examining my fingers, I say, “Not exactly.”
“Meaning?”
I look at him, exasperated. “Well, it’s not like I could give her the details of a top-secret project. Still, it was helpful.”
Rick moves to the couch, sitting close, but not too close. He rests his arm on the couch behind me. “Helpful is always…helpful. Was it enough to make you feel more comfortable about things?”
I look up at him. “Sort of. What I don’t want to do is relive the experience.”
“But you do.”
I scowl. “I do NOT. I don’t ever want to relive that.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I know you don’t want to, but even if you don’t talk about it, you’re still reliving it on the inside.” He takes my hand. “I told you before. You don’t have to do everything yourself. I was there. I know what happened. I will be able to relate to things. If we talk about them.”
“Rick, I really don’t want to do this…” I start to get up, but he grabs my arms and holds me down. I try to jerk away from him, but it’s completely pointless against his vampire strength. “Rick, just let go of me!” I yell.
He pulls me flush against his body. Breathing heavily, I continue to struggle against him. “Let go!” He leans closer to me, speaking slowly in that hypnotic way he does. “Never,” he says as his eyes dart over my face. “I will never let go. Not while you’re hurting. And when I know I can help.”
I stop struggling, my eyes still narrow in anger. “It’s. Not. Your. Place.”
He pulls me into a softer embrace, voice still low. “Look at it this way,” he says while searching my face. “We’re on the same team. I know that at least part of the time, your head is somewhere else. And until you deal with it, you are going to be a liability on any work we do. Consider it me helping myself, if that helps you get through the night.”
I push him away, and he doesn’t resist. I scoot over to the arm of the couch, running my hand through my hair. I can’t seem to find the words to say what I need him to hear.
Vampires Romance to Rippers an Anthology of Tasty Stories Page 14
