“No.”
“I broke up with that girl,” he huffed between gasps of air.
“Oh.”
He smiled at Celia like she’d said something funny. His black hair was plastered to his forehead. There was a drop of sweat on his nose, which made Celia want to suck on his nose. Luckily, just at that moment, she thought about Ralph.
“Do you want to hang out tonight?”
“Why’d you break up with that girl?” she asked.
He sniffed, and the bead of sweat went flying. “Uh.” He chuckled and touched his bottom lip. “She wasn’t what I was looking for.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He squinted at her like he was waiting for her to solve a math equation. When she didn’t say anything like “x equals 34,” he ran his hand across his sweaty head. “So can we hang out tonight?”
“I was going to watch Pretty Woman.”
“I’ll watch it with you.” He pointed at his house. “I just gotta shower. Give me fifteen.”
“Wh…” She watched his cute butt walk away and thought Ralph, Ralph, Ralph.
Celia closed her front door and called Imogene, because that was what she’d been doing lately whenever she had a thought about anything.
“God, what now?” Imogene barked on the fifth ring.
“Ian broke up with that girl,” Celia whispered.
“How do you know that?”
“He just told me.”
Imogene paused. “He’s not sitting right next to you, is he?”
“No, he’s taking a shower. Then, we’re watching a movie.”
Celia heard the sound of Imogene’s huge boots, dancing. “You’re totally gonna fuck.”
“Imogene! No, we are not!”
“Then, bite him! Bite him! Bite him!” Celia had never pictured Imogene as a cheerleader.
“No. Stop it. We’re watching a movie.”
“He broke up with that skanky girl for you, dumbass!”
“How do you know that?” Celia curled into a ball on her couch and started rocking back and forth.
“Because you kissed him the other night, and he obviously likes you. And he just told you he broke up with the other girl. He just announced he’s available. To you. Now, stop being a dumbass and tear his clothes off!”
“I don’t tear clothes off,” Celia said.
“How’s your boing practice?”
She glanced at her cracked ceiling. “Good. Unfortunately, I have to think about Ralph all the time, but it works.”
“Well, keep thinking, Merk, because you’re about to be curled up on a couch with the guy of your dreams.”
She stood up. “Oh my God, you’re right. Oh my God.”
“Merk, Merk, deep breaths.”
Celia tried to breathe deeply, but she felt like her uvula was choking her.
“Merk, you got this. Ian is the nicest, dorkiest hot guy I’ve ever met. He’s not intimidating, right?”
“No.”
“And we trust him?”
“Yeah.”
“So everything’s gonna be great.”
“Right.” Celia nodded. “Yeah.”
“Are you wearing yoga pants right now?”
“Shit. I have to change.” She hurried to her bedroom, but before she hung up on Imogene, she heard her voice…
“You should be paying me by the minute, bitch!”
Celia’s closet was a disaster. She had nothing to wear—nothing. Ian had seen her in the same jeans practically every day, so she went for her one dress, the one she’d worn the night she met Danny. The color was good. The navy blue went well with her red head. It tended to cover all her sensitive areas: the soft places on her stomach and upper thighs—not that it mattered since Ian still occasionally called her “Mermaid.” It wasn’t like he didn’t know what he was getting himself into.
She pulled her hair into an orderly ponytail and put on a hint of blush, plus mascara. She almost poked her eye out with the mascara brush, she was so out of practice.
In the mirror, she said, “Ralph.” Quickly: “Ralph, Ralph.”
She went to her VHS collection to prepare Pretty Woman, which was right on top since she watched it once a week. She put it in the VCR. Then, she thought about putting a padlock on her fridge, because what if Ian brought beer over and wanted to keep it cool and opened the fridge to find bags upon bags of human blood?
Celia did the deep breathing Dr. Savage taught her once and that Imogene apparently approved of as well. There was just no time to calm down, though, because right then, Ian knocked on Celia’s front door.
She turned on the TV for some background noise. Jeopardy! was on. Then, she opened the door. He didn’t have beer, as she’d feared. He did have a bag of popcorn in one hand, though.
He wore the holey jeans she liked, bare feet, and a black button-down that matched his hair. The top three buttons were undone. She wondered if he’d done that on purpose or if he’d just not noticed, because Celia noticed. She noticed the edges of his collarbone, the shadow at the base of his neck, the neck freckle—dear God, the neck freckle!—and every inch of skin that ran from chest to chin.
She giggled in greeting.
Ralph, Ralph, Ralph.
“Wow, you look really pretty.” He leaned across the threshold and kissed her cheek.
She giggled in reply. Ralph.
He walked past her, and she closed the door behind him. He stood in front of her TV and said, “Caduceus.”
“What?”
He gestured to Jeopardy!. “Symbol for medicine.”
“Oh. Are you good at Jeopardy!?”
“Yeah.”
“Were you the really smart kid in school? Because you don’t seem like it.”
He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled.
Then, Celia realized she’d insulted him. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said. “I just meant no pocket protectors or Steve Urkel pants. You seem like you would have been one of the cool kids in high school.”
“I was too busy surfing to get good grades,” he said.
She took a step closer. “You surfed a lot, huh?”
“Since I was eight.”
“And now you won’t go near the water.”
He turned away from the TV and toward her. “I go near it.” He smiled again.
“You seem like the happiest person I’ve ever met.”
He shrugged. “What’s there to be sad about?”
“Nothing. Right now.” She clasped her hands behind her back so he couldn’t see her picking her fingernails.
“I brought popcorn. We’re watching a movie?”
“Yeah!” She grinned. “Yeah, it’s my favorite.” She handed Ian the box with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere on the cover. “I know you said you might have seen it, but that means you haven’t seen it because it’s so great you’d remember.” With him standing in front of her, she switched the input on her TV, and the screen glowed blue.
Ian carried the empty VHS box with him to the couch and sat right in the middle. Celia had no choice but to squeeze in next to him, and he made no sign of scooting over. He opened the bag of popcorn. The cloying scent of butter was almost enough to make her feel sick. He held the bag out to her.
“No, no, thanks,” she said.
“More for me.” He crunched a kernel and put one of his arms over the back of the couch—not around Celia but over her.
She felt kind of tingly as she fast-forwarded through all the copyright warnings and old rom-com trailers. Then, it began: Pretty Woman.
Ian’s commentary was quiet and mostly to himself between chews. For instance, “Hey, that’s George Costanzsa,” or “Did Richard Gere ever not have gray hair?”
At one point, he grabbed the controls from Celia and hit Pause. “So Julia Roberts is a hooker?”
“Yes.”
“And she’s the protagonist.”
“You use words like ‘protagonist’?”
He scratched his hair, which sent off
a wave of men’s shampoo smell. Ralph. “Oh, is this where the phrase ‘hooker with a heart of gold’ comes from?”
“Yes, exactly!” Celia said.
“Okay, keep it rolling.”
Ian got surprisingly angry at the bitchy women on Rodeo Drive who wouldn’t let Julia Roberts shop. He didn’t understand the whole no-kissing-on-the-mouth thing, so Celia tried to explain that kissing was too intimate, to which he replied, “What part of sex isn’t intimate?”
Celia made him shut up when Vivian (Julia) finally got to go on her shopping spree. Celia loved that part—all those people running around, giving her outfits to try on, and everything fitting perfectly, of course, and looking great.
Ian cheered when Vivian got to go back to the bitchy lady’s store and tell her off. Celia found his exultation to be adorable. Plus, although he’d been silent about all the classic eighties music in the film so far, he finally did say, “I know this one!” when Roy Orbison started singing.
Celia hadn’t noticed it, but at some point, her hand had traveled to Ian’s knee. His hand was on her shoulder, and his fingers would sometimes sneak up the side of her neck.
“People always fall in love during montages,” he said to the screen as Vivian and Edward returned to their hotel for another night of hooker passion. “Wouldn’t it be nice to know what they were talking about?”
Celia shook her head. “No, I like montages better. Then, you can fill in the blanks.”
“Shit, she’s going to kiss him,” Ian said.
“Shh…”
He was right, of course. Vivian broke her rule and kissed Edward and of course ended up falling in love, because that’s how movies worked: people kissed, fell in love, and lived happily ever after—following totally awesome shopping sprees.
Celia was so focused on the kiss on TV that she didn’t notice Ian next to her, leaning forward. Then, his hand was on her face, turning her head to him. He kissed her. Not like the quick peck she’d given him days before. Theirs was movie kissing—open mouth, little bit of tongue. He tasted like butter and…Ian.
Celia’s gums burned, so she said, “Ralph.”
He paused. “Did you just call me Ralph?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay.” He leaned in again, but she smiled against his mouth.
“The movie’s not over.” She half-heartedly pushed him away.
He made a humming sound. He was leaned over her, his hand on the outside of her thigh, and she had no idea how it got there so fast. He did eventually back off because he said he had to see how it turned out. Celia was relieved since she loved the scene where Vivian talked about being locked in the attic as a kid. She always dreamed her white knight would come and save her from the high tower, but he never did.
Ian made it to the part where “It Must Have Been Love” by Roxette started playing. That was when his warm lips found the side of Celia’s neck.
“Is it almost over?” he whispered.
Was what almost over? Celia’s head was filled with cumulonimbus clouds, and each lightning strike made the sound, “Ian…Ian…Ian.”
“Wait,” she squeaked when his hand moved even higher on her thigh. “It’s the big ending.” She pointed to the screen. “See, Edward gets over his fear of heights to get to Vivian.” She looked up at Ian. “He’s her white knight.”
Celia didn’t know if Ian was smiling at the utter cuteness of the movie or at her. When he ran his thumb over her bottom lip, she concluded her, which was so weird. She’d never had a guy look at her like that before, except maybe Danny just before he bit her.
“Can I kiss you some more?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She nodded and didn’t even have to think “Ralph.” What was happening to her wasn’t about blood anymore. This was…something else. For some reason, she wanted Ian’s entire body on top of her, and she’d never felt that way before. Usually, Celia didn’t even like stuffed animals on her lap, but she was super pumped when Ian somehow maneuvered her whole body onto the couch and laid down next to her. His hands were in her hair, and he kissed her neck. She felt flushed and kind of like she had to pee.
Then, his mouth was on her mouth again, and she did her best to keep up.
“You’ve kissed a lot of girls before, haven’t you?” she asked.
“No.” He smiled with his nose pressed against hers. “Yes.”
Celia returned his goofy grin and dug both her hands into his thick, black hair.
“Bedroom?” he whispered.
The clouds in her head scattered. The heat left her loins. She sat up suddenly, and, due to her unnatural amount of strength, knocked him completely off the furniture and flat on his back between the coffee table and couch.
Ian stayed there and stared at the ceiling. “Too fast?”
Celia put her hands over her face. “I am so sorry. Are you okay?”
He sat up and leaned his elbow on the couch. “Yes. That was a completely reasonable response to my question. Way too fast.”
She curled her legs up under her. “It’s just, I’m different.” She wasn’t even talking about the vampire thing either. “I’ve only had sex twice, and I don’t really remember either time.” Why the hell did you just tell him that?
She expected some kind of…reaction. There were a few options:
1.Ian would ravage her and make sure she remembered.
2.Ian would freak at her inexperience and never touch her again.
3.Ian would say they should just be friends.
In classic, unflappable Ian fashion, though, he just said, “Huh.” He climbed back on the couch next to her. “You’re a really good kisser.”
“I am?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He slouched down in the couch, and she had the same feeling she’d had the other night: the need to touch his hair. Then he went even further and laid his head across her lap—which actually made it even easier to play with his hair. He curled his long legs up so he could fit on her couch and said, “So what other favorite movies you got?”
Let the eighties education begin.
Chapter Nine
There were so many things to talk about with Dr. Savage except Danny, like how Ian had by then seen The Dark Crystal, Say Anything, and The Neverending Story—which just wrecked him when Artax died in the swamp. Celia thought he was going to cry. He held her so tight, if she’d been human, his fingers would have left little blue circles on her skin.
Of further interest, she was doing much better with her fangs. She didn’t have to say “Ralph” half as much anymore, even when Ian and she were cuddling on the couch and he moved her hair so he could kiss her upper back—and oh, God! Celia wondered why people didn’t talk more about upper back kissing?
Despite all this, Dr. Savage wanted to talk about Danny because Celia promised she would.
To talk about Danny, she had to first talk about Terrance. Terrance was a chubby frat boy at the University of Miami. Celia lost her virginity to him freshman year. It was her first time being drunk, and he seemed to like her all right, so when he invited her to his room, she said, “Sure.” She hadn’t really thought things through.
She remembered there was nothing special about her first time. It was over in three thrusts, and she left Terrance passed out, face-first, with his pants around his ankles. When Celia got back to her dorm, she looked at herself in the mirror and expected to look different—womanlier. Instead, she was just Celia with bloodshot eyes.
She partially blamed that botched sexual experiment on her obsessive behavior in regards to her first bite. It was the last “first” she had left as a woman/vampire, and damn it, it was going to be special.
Which brought her mind back to Ian, who fell asleep wrapped around her on the couch the night before. Only when he was still, sleeping, did she notice the thump-thump of his pulse and remember he was full of blood. Sometimes, she just sat there with her fangs out, staring at his neck. She didn’t think there were rules about staring at men’s ne
cks when they were asleep.
She got through all these meanderings before Dr. Savage stopped her. “Celia! Danny!”
“My friend Layla.” Celia paused. “When I say ‘friend,’ I just mean she didn’t ignore me in high school. She invited me out to celebrate her college graduation, probably because she felt bad for me, and we went to Tequila Sunrise, this sort of trashy bar in Lazaret.” She shrugged. “I got drunk.”
Dr. Savage made a note and looked up over her glasses. “Then what?”
“I was dancing. Well, I was standing in a crowd, moving my hips. I had my hair down, which was probably what caught his attention. Danny likes red hair.”
She remembered he started dancing around her, and he could not have looked more out of place. He was in a full three-piece suit. His dark hair was combed back over his head like Redford in The Sting.
Due to Ian, Celia had come to realize there were different levels of hot. Ian was cute-hot. He was boy-next-door, the hot you wanted to marry. Danny was bad boy hot—hot as a blowtorch, hot as in you-will-never-meet-my-mother. And that night at Tequila Sunrise, he was all over Celia.
She told Dr. Savage he whispered weird things to her over the music:
“You’re a hell of a dame.”
“Wanna blow this juice joint?”
“Let me make you beautiful, baby.”
It was like Terrance all over again.
Danny invited Celia back to his hotel, and she went. They were both completely hammered—or, as Danny said, “ossified.” They had sex, but there was nothing really sexy about it. Afterward, he kept kissing her neck.
More weird things were whispered:
“Do you want to be perfect?”
“Let me make you perfect, baby.”
Yes, yes, okay.
“Then, he bit me,” she said, “and the booze mixed with his vampire venom until I thought we were floating on the ceiling. Maybe we were floating on the ceiling. Can vampires float on the ceiling? I’ve thought about it before, like bats, but—”
“No, Celia.”
She sighed. “So Danny bit me and then made me drink some blood from a cut on his wrist. I threw up. I threw up some more.” She tugged on the hem of her shirt. “When I came back from the bathroom, he woke up long enough to say, ‘Hey, you’re a vampire. Stay out of the sun.’”
Bite Somebody Page 8
