Nice Girls Dont' Live Forever

by Молли Харпер

  Dang it.

  Head Courtney cleared her throat. “Since you’re struggling with your very simple assignment, Jenny is going to be joining your committee.”

  “What?” Jenny cried.

  “Why?” I yelled. “Why would you do that?”

  “Jenny has the organizational and people skills necessary to complete the task.”

  Damned if she didn’t have a point there.

  Jenny spluttered. “Courtney, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Now, Jenny, new chamber members are expected to make sacrifices. You want to make a good impression, don’t you?”

  “But-but-but,” Jenny stammered.

  OK, that made me giggle a little.

  Nice Courtney leaned over and whispered, “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” I assured her. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Jenny and I were assigned a meeting schedule, a color-coded chart to record our progress, and little pamphlets with suggestions on what phrases to use to wheedle, I mean, encourage donations. If we didn’t collect at least two hundred items by the next meeting, we would both be given twenty demerits.

  Eventually, I was going to have to ask Nice Courtney what that meant, exactly.

  9

  It’s normal to “relapse” into old patterns. The important thing is to try to avoid hurting bystanders.

  —Love Bites: A Female Vampire’s Guide to Less Destructive Relationships

  I was not invited to the McClaine clan baby shower. After my participation in Zeb and Jolene’s disastrous wedding events, I was considered a bit of an event jinx by Jolene’s family. So, they held it at noon, outdoors, at the McClaine family farm.

  I’m not sure if my absence made the party better or worse for Jolene.

  Apparently, because the McClaines are such a fertile family, baby showers aren’t so much giftgiving occasions but a recycling of the most recent babies’ clothes, blankets, and so on, for the use of the new arrival. They do wrap the items for the new mother to open, though.

  There was cake. There was a corsage of roses made from tiny baby socks. There were hostile cousins who still resented Jolene as the golden child of the pack, despite her humbling experience at her wedding rehearsal, when Zeb dumped her while under the influence of posthypnotic suggestion.

  It’s a long story.

  As Jolene’s pregnancy progressed, the McClaines had stepped up their campaign to keep Zeb and Jolene’s home from being built. The pack had scared off every construction crew in three counties, showing up during the day to “supervise” the work. When the more obtuse crews didn’t pick up on the subtle intimidation, the pack would use scary subliminal wolf behavior to scare them off—prolonged stares, low growls, and, in one instance, peeing on a plumber’s van. The Lavelle house was basically a concrete pad and some framework that had been up for so long it was starting to buckle under the elements. Jolene and Zeb had no choice but to hire Buster Dowdy, the laziest contractor in this end of the state. He frequently spent his billable hours at the site, in the back of his truck, drinking beer and napping.

  The climax of the shower was a weird diaper-related shower game in which the prize was being allowed in the delivery room when Jolene’s babies were born. Jolene had not been informed of this, and she vehemently protested when her cousin Lurlene, the current president of the We Hate Jolene Club, was named the lucky winner.

  “Stop laughing!” Jolene cried later, as she told me and Andrea how she tried to explain that watching her deliver twins wasn’t something Jolene was willing to raffle off. We were an odd combination—the vampire, the human, and the weeping werewolf. But it felt right, somehow, for us to be sitting in the trailer’s tiny guest room, sorting through baby clothes and comforting Jolene. Andrea and I were now a safety net for her.

  Jolene wailed, “It’s not funny! They just do not get why I don’t think that was a wonderful way to end the shower. Aunt Vonnie said that they were trying to help keep me from abandoning family tradition altogether, since my human husband is insisting I go to some silly hospital instead of having a home birth, like every other woman in the family for the last thirty generations. And then Lurlene got to pretend that her feelings were hurt because I wouldn’t let her ‘share’ in this moment and ‘help’ me through labor. We both know damn good and well that Lurlene doesn’t give two sniffs about being there— Stop laughing!”

  “I’m sorry,” I cried, trying to stifle the giggles that were so clearly pissing off the hormonally imbalanced and extremely swollen werewolf. “It’s indignant laughter … on your behalf.”

  Jolene sniffed as she tried to fold a tiny pink sleeper for the fourth time, finally bunching it into a ball and tossing it into a laundry basket. “And then Mama said they had a surprise for me, and I thought, ‘Oh, Lord, what now?’ and they covered my eyes and led me across the pasture, and surprise! There’s a brand-new trailer sitting there with ‘The Lavelles” already burned onto one of those little wooden porch signs? Mama said the family wanted to help me and Zeb, since they’d heard how much trouble we’d been having with building the new house. They took me inside, and it was so big.” She looked around the cramped confines of the camper. “It was one of those big double-wides, with a gas fireplace and a master bathroom with separate shower. They already had it all decorated, and …” She sighed. “It was so pretty and new and clean. Did I mention it was new?”

  Andrea smiled gently and patted Jolene’s hands. “A few times. So, are you going to be moving in?”

  “No,” Jolene said, fully tearing up now. “Because then they showed me the nursery, and they already had it all set up. They’d already picked out all this Noah’s Ark stuff, quilts and a crib set and this big mural thing on the wall. I mean, they’d done everything. And they hadn’t even asked me. They never ask me. They always just assume that they’re doing what’s best for me. Aunt Vonnie started talking about how silly it was for me to want to move off the farm anyway, since I was going to need so much help with the babies, and how it would just be so much easier for everybody this way. And I realized it was never going to change. I’d be stuck there, and they’d just be constantly coming in without being invited and taking over everything and treatin’ Zeb bad. And I lost it.”

  “What exactly does ‘lost it’ mean?” I asked, knowing full well that werewolf family arguments usually devolved into full-scale riot situations.

  “I told them no. For the first time, I really, completely, no doubt about it, said no. No to the nursery, no to the trailer, no to the little wooden sign. Just no. I told them I knew that the reason we were having so much trouble finishing the house was that they were scaring off all the contractors. I told them I wasn’t going to move back to the farm ever, no matter what they did. I told them they’d be lucky if Zeb and I told them when we were going to the hospital to have the babies, much less allowed them to barge into the delivery room. I told them I would raise my babies how I saw fit and that if they wanted to visit after the twins were born, they would have to call before coming over, otherwise we weren’t answering the door.”

  Andrea’s jaw was hanging freely at this point. All I could do was mouth, “Wow.”

  Jolene sighed. “Yeah. And Mama burst into tears. Aunt Lola kept asking everybody what I really meant. Aunt Vonnie said that if I felt that way, then she guessed I didn’t want their shower gifts. I told Aunt Vonnie to take her used Diaper Genie and shove it up her ass sideways.”

  “Ouch,” I said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I know that was hard. But I’m proud of you.”

  Andrea nodded. “And it certainly explains why your shower haul is so skimpy.”

  “I didn’t take anything.” Jolene sniffed, wiping at her cheeks. “I just left.”

  “This whole situation sucks now, but it’s going to do you a lot of good in the long run. I’m sure Zeb will appreciate not having to live on the farm,” I said, rubbing Jolene’s back.

  “I’ve never understood why people pick
Noah’s Ark for a nursery theme anyway,” Andrea said breezily, folding a tiny pair of socks.

  “Really.” I snorted. “I mean, who wants reminders of a natural disaster, literally of biblical portions, on their baby’s walls? What are you supposed to say, ‘Oh, drowning sinners, isn’t that precious?’” Jolene looked up at me through glassy eyes. “You’re weird.”

  “I hear that a lot.”

  My concerned and vigilant friend’s letters increased in frequency. Once a week, then twice a week. It was creepy. And they rarely varied from the theme ofGabriel hurt me, he’ll hurt you. He made promises to me. Ruined me forever. You’re a big fat idiot for trusting him.

  OK, that last part was implied.

  One night, I sat at the shop counter, sorting through them as Dick sipped an Americano and read aTales from the Darksidecomic. I tried to divide the letters into piles, based on threat level. But I kept getting the “I hate him,” “I love him,” and “He’ll hurt you” piles mixed up with the larger “I can make your life a living hell if you don’t listen to me” pile. I sighed and rubbed my eyes.

  There was also a disturbingly large pile of photos of yours truly taken with a telephoto lens.

  Frankly, it was at times like this that I missed Gabriel’s overprotective caveman tendencies.

  Even if it insulted my feminist sensibilities, it was sort of nice knowing someone was out there watching my back. Going through this without him made me feel incredibly alone, even though I’d told Dick and Andrea. Going home alone each night, being unsure of what was waiting for me there, was weighing on my nerves.

  I muttered, “For a stalker, this chick is all over the place. She’s angry and focused in one letter and erotomanic the next. Or at least, I’m assuming she’s erotomanic for the sake of my pride.”

  Dick’s face was blank. “Erotomanic? That sounds sexy in a way that’s … not.”

  “It means someone believes they’re in a relationship with someone, but that person usually isn’t aware that their so-called lover exists. You have your basic I-want-to-become-famous-by-killingsomeone-famous fellas. And there are the delusionals, the ones who think Ryan Seacrest is sending them secret love messages through the television. The most dangerous ones are the people who actually know you, whom you run across in your everyday routine, because the people around you really don’t know whether you’re lying when you say you’re not involved with your stalker. Hence my confusion. Gabriel could be the victim of a stalker, or he could be a plain old cheater. But since he’s acting more like a cheater than a victim … What?” I asked when I caught the befuddled expression on his face.

  “You read up on stalking?”

  “I had someone paint ‘Bloodsucking Whore’ on my car a year ago. It merited a Google.”

  “I don’t like it,” Dick said, grimacing.

  “I think the very wordstalkingimplies that you’re not supposed to like it. Otherwise, it would be called ‘fluffy harmless observation time,’” I said, chewing my lip. “And, considering that this woman might be dangerous, I don’t know whether to warn Gabriel, which would mean I would actually have to talk to him. Or just let whatever’s going to happen happen to him, because a tiny part of me thinks he deserves it.”

  “Well, you know my vote, Stretch,” Dick said, turning his attention back to his comic.

  I think the stalking talk made Dick uneasy, because he didn’t want to leave the shop that night until I was safely tucked in Big Bertha. But he had what he would only call “special plans” with Andrea, and I needed to stay late to go over some Internet orders, so he had no choice.

  Around one A.M., I put the stacks of letters in my purse and headed out the rear staff entrance.

  As I pushed the key into the deadbolt, I saw a dark male shape reflected behind me in the glass.

  Even if I hadn’t seen it, I would have felt him. My keenly developed sense of paranoia was a wide-open channel to the towering male presence.

  I snaked my hand into my purse and ran my fingers along the leather stun-gun holster. I felt the body behind me advance, so I turned, whipping the stun gun out and proceeding to shock the ever-loving hell out of my ex-boyfriend.

  “Gah!” Gabriel screamed as the current shot through his body, dropping him to the concrete like a sack of potatoes.

  “What is wrong with you?” I yelled as the current made his torso arch off the ground. I may or may not have held it to his chest a teensy bit longer than absolutely necessary.

  “S-stop sh-shocking m-m-me!” Gabriel grunted through chattering teeth.

  “Sorry,” I said, pulling the stun gun away to let it cool off.

  “Why do you have a stun gun?” he demanded, hefting himself off the ground.

  “Because people have been sneaking up behind me,” I said, glaring at him. “Honestly, why would you surprise the most spastic person you know?”

  “I knew you’d do something to avoid talking to me if you saw me coming,” he said, dusting himself off. “And what do you mean, people keep sneaking up behind you? Are you all right?

  Has someone been bothering you?”

  “Yes, you. When you know someone will try to evade you if you try to talk to them, that’s called a hint. You need to learn to interpret social cues. And sarcasm, but that’s not exactly urgent to the situation at hand. Why are you here? I haven’t heard from you for weeks, and you show up now?

  What do you want, Gabriel?”

  “I miss you,” he admitted.

  Despite the tiny crack that made in the hard cement shell I’d built around my heart, I kept my teeth gritted together, my tone flat and unaffected. “How sad for you.”

  “I miss you,” he said again, backing me against the shop door. The cold of the glass and the remaining images of that horrible Victorian corpse dream were the only weapons I had to battle against the smoky comfort of his scent, the weight of his hands on my arms.

  I pushed him back, without any real heat. “That’s not really my problem. And you don’t miss me, you’re checking up on me because you don’t trust me to take care of myself.”

  “I miss you. I miss your laugh and your voice, and I even miss your insults.” He smiled, wistful, tracing the lines of my fingers with his own, up my arm to stroke the edge of my collarbone.

  “Look, about opening night,” I told him. “You said some really hurtful things.”

  “So did you,” he countered.

  “Well, you’re way better at them.”

  “We can talk later. Right now, please, just admit it, you miss me,” he said, pressing me to the glass again, using exactly the right parts to do the pressing. I didn’t answer. Because, frankly, I was doing very well to stay upright and clothed at this point. Bastard.

  As his mouth pressed ever so softly against mine, I forced my lips shut to keep from shouting that yes, I missed him. Yes, having his hands on me made me feel more settled than I had in weeks. Yes, his grinding me against the door was absolute heaven, and if he did it slightly to the left, it would mean the end of a disturbingly long waking-orgasm dry spell. Fortunately, Gabriel started biting my lips, which limited my speaking options even further.

  Gabriel’s fingers stroked up my throat, trailing the tips along my jaw and into my hair. He ground his mouth down on mine, drinking in my groans as I pulled blindly at his lapels.

  This was just not fair.

  “Tell me,” he demanded between kisses. “Tell me you miss me.”

  I bit my lip. His brows drew together as I felt him slide what I called my “sensible shopkeeper” skirt over my hips. His fingers slid over my panties, drawing little circles against my skin through the damp material. His hand glided over my thighs, to peel away my panties. He tucked them in his pocket.

  “Tell me,” he said again, pumping one and then two fingers inside me with aching slowness.

  My head slid back against the glass as my vision seemed to blur. Gah! He wasn’t letting me think. If I was about anything, it was the thinking. His thumb glided ov
er my oversensitive flesh, then plucked it like a guitar string, sending a thrumming wave along my nerve endings. I whimpered.

  “You can lie to me, Jane, but your body can’t. I can feel how much you’ve missed me, how much you want me right now.” Keeping my eyes locked with his own, he brought his fingers to his lips and tasted me. He smiled. “Just as much as I want you.”

  My jaw dropped as I watched him lick his fingers clean. Screw thinking.

  “I miss you,” I whispered, hating myself as I felt his lips curve against my neck. I slid my hand between us and fumbled with Gabriel’s belt buckle. Gabriel’s own hand slipped along my rib cage, cupping my breast. He bent his head to press teasing little kisses over the thin fabric of my blouse before closing his mouth over my nipple.

  I dropped my bag so I could slip my hands around Gabriel’s neck and pull him closer. The contents spilled around his feet as he cupped his hands under my butt and hitched me higher. His kiss was the center of my universe. Without it, I would go spinning off course into the dark, seeing nothing, feeling nothing.

  Through the haze in my head, I heard the faint slide of a zipper and locked my legs around his hips, crossing my ankles at the small of his back.

  I grabbed the lowest rung of the fire-escape ladder for leverage as I began the long, slow slide onto him. I threw my head back, gasping, and nearly came right there. I let go of the ladder and twisted my hands in Gabriel’s hair, yanking his head back, claiming his mouth with lips, fangs, and tongue. This was mine. He was mine.

  I clutched at his shoulders, arching my hips in time with his. A stream of promises, profanities, and pleas poured from Gabriel’s mouth against my skin. I cupped the back of his head, cradling his face against mine. I closed my eyes, inhaled his scent, and smiled, even when his fangs extended and scraped lightly across my collarbone.

  If he kept doing that, keeping his mouth in sync with his movementsI howled and put my dizzying dream orgasms to shame. I writhed and convulsed around him, pulling him tight against me with all the strength I had. I may, at some point, have said some extremely dirty things in Portuguese.