Bite Somebody

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  They got to Ian’s bathroom, and Celia turned on the water, which was when she decided to come clean. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “Like, in regards to life, or…?”

  Celia didn’t know how to answer that question, so she put her hand on the front of his shorts. “I’m talking about this.”

  He closed his eyes for a second and sighed through his mouth. “Oh. Really?”

  “Remember? Sex twice. Just had my first orgasm a couple days ago. Yeah, no clue.”

  “I’m not very concerned.” He pulled his t-shirt over his head and threw it on the floor.

  Celia watched him take off his shorts. “You’re not?”

  “No.” He turned her around and unclasped her bra. He basically lifted her into the shower, and once there, both of them totally nude, he pressed her against the cold tile beneath the showerhead and kissed her.

  “Wait, I’m sticky,” she muttered into his mouth.

  “Don’t care.” He put his hand in the place Celia liked, which made her knees shake and her eyes wiggle in her head.

  “Wait!” She pushed his hand away. “This is about you.” She held onto him and turned them both around so his back was against tile. Then, Celia experimented.

  She quickly learned there was a distinct advantage to being a vampire in human/vampire sexual situations. She heard things humans could not, like increased heartbeats, for instance, or more importantly, where the blood was pumping.

  It was pumping in her hand.

  The soap helped, as did Ian’s “nuh” noises, which turned into an echoing barrage of “oh my gods” and “Celias” as the minutes passed. In the end, Ian crushed the shower curtain in one hand and held her face to his with the other. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Celia watched all of this in rapture. Her fangs went boing.

  Talk about a light bulb moment! Celia realized, watching Ian try to catch his breath and remain upright, that she immediately wanted to touch him some more, which made him twitch and stop breathing altogether.

  “Sensitive,” he muttered.

  It took all her resolve to not attack him all over again, just to hear his noises and see the way his face changed. Celia’s orgasm had been great, but making Ian happy felt like the best thing she’d ever done in her whole life. It was like living every happy part in every rom-com eighties movie ever. That was how she felt, watching Ian recover—all naked, shark-bitten, lanky six-feet of him.

  Celia had her second orgasm about ten minutes later.

  Dry and wearing loose pajama pants, Ian made popcorn while Celia went to her place to prep the TV. She was going to show him When Harry Met Sally. When he arrived, he laid his head in her lap while balancing a bowl of buttery fluff on his stomach. She put her hand in his hair.

  Between kernels, he said, “Imogene says that I love you.”

  “Huh?”

  “I love you.”

  “Imogene says?”

  “Well. I say.”

  She leaned forward on the couch, forcing him from her lap and into a seated position. “I’m confused.”

  He tossed a piece of popcorn in the air and caught it in his mouth. “The other night, she said I was talking about you too much and obsessing over the cute things you do.”

  She leaned back a little. “I do cute things?”

  “All the time. Anyway, she said people only talk like that about their significant other when they’re in love.”

  Celia’s brow furrowed. “You think Imogene knows about love?”

  He shrugged. “She knows about lots of things.”

  Celia was so distracted by the mere idea of Imogene being in love, she didn’t notice Ian’s hand on her hip.

  “Celia.”

  She looked at him.

  “I love you. Really.”

  “But…why?”

  He paused. “You need an explanation?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. Not even Celia’s parents used the “L” word. If she thought being a vampire was foreign territory, this was like being on Mars.

  Ian leaned forward. “You’re sweet and funny and…weird. And you seem to have no idea how beautiful you are. I’m childish and annoying and kind of an idiot, but that doesn’t seem to bother you.” He scratched his chin. “You don’t like me because of the surfing or the way I look. You just…” He chuckled. “You just like me—for everything I am, and I’ve never had that before with anyone.”

  Celia had trouble swallowing. “Okay.”

  He nodded, speech finished, and laid back down in her lap.

  She put her fingers in his hair and thought back to the time when he puked right in front of her and she still thought he was cute. She considered the way his touch made her fall apart—in a good way—and how it felt to be in his arms, so maybe, just maybe…

  “I think I love you, too,” she said.

  “Good,” he whispered.

  He fell asleep halfway through the movie. Celia sucked adoringly on his shoulder.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Celia left Ian and Imogene in her apartment where they somehow played Scrabble while watching Jeopardy!. Needless to say, she was impressed. She rode her bicycle to Happy Gas, where her huge, bald boss, Omar, was still standing around. He gave her the eye, but not the one she was used to—not the “you’re late” or “why aren’t you wearing your ugly orange apron” eye. No, he gave her the eye.

  “You look different,” he said.

  She walked past him maybe a little too fast.

  Ralph made obscene gestures toward the cash register. “It’s because of all the world-class champion surfer sperm she’s been—”

  She smacked him on the back with accidental vampire strength. His skinny, teenage chest almost knocked the register off the counter, and he was left gasping for breath, choking.

  Omar rubbed his shiny head. “You got a boyfriend, Celia?”

  She shoved her bag under the counter. By then, Ralph was in a groaning ball on the filthy floor. “Yes,” she said.

  “Well.” Omar wagged his fat finger. “Don’t let him get in the way of your work.”

  Because being a gas station attendant takes such mental acuity.

  “Sayonara,” he said as he left, and Celia wondered when he’d gone from Mafioso lingo to ninja.

  She picked Ralph up off the floor by the back of his shirt and smacked him a couple times in the chest.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he choked.

  “Don’t ever say something like that again, you little twerp, or you will never hang out with Ian for the rest of your idiotic little life!”

  Ralph looked at her like a frightened child, and she realized being with Ian was totally making her more assertive.

  She’d changed her reading material. She’d stopped reading vampire books. Now, she was nose-deep in self-help. Tonight’s feature, which she hid whenever she heard an unexpected noise, was called How to Be Awesome in Bed. She was leaning back behind the Happy Gas counter practicing something called the “Cowgirl Shimmy” when her phone rang in her purse.

  “Hello?”

  “You’re out of blood.” It was Imogene.

  Celia smacked herself in the forehead. “I completely forgot about my weekly pick-up.”

  “Well, now what the fuck are we supposed to do?”

  “I can text Steve. Schedule a pick-up for tomorrow night.”

  “I need some tonight.” Imogene paused.

  Which made Celia realize…“Do not bite my boyfriend, Imogene.”

  “Come on,” she whined. “Just a little? I’ll glamour him. He won’t even know it was me.”

  “No, we do not glamour Ian—and you do not bite him.”

  She sighed. “Fine. We’re rolling your way.”

  Imogene hung up as Celia said, “Whu-wha—”

  Imogene’s black convertible screeched into the Happy Gas parking lot three minutes later. Her purple hair was in windblown knots, but because she was kind of insane, the look suited her. Ian looked surf
er boy extreme in khaki shorts and a forest green hoodie. His hair was tossed from an afternoon walk along the beach (progress for him), and his late spring golden skin was deepening to a warm, sexy bronze.

  He jumped the counter and gave her a big, wet smack on the lips. “I want to go with you to meet Steve.”

  “What?” Imogene pushed her sunglasses onto her head. “I’m going with her.”

  “Who says?”

  “I say,” she replied.

  “Does not compute.”

  “Wait, stop.” Celia put her hands on his chest and pushed him sideways so she could get a better look at Imogene. “Who said anything about going to see Steve?”

  “We need blood.” She shrugged. She glanced around the empty gas station. “It’s not like you’re doing anything right now.”

  “I’m at work.”

  Ian kissed her neck. “Imogene’s gonna stay and watch the place.”

  “Bullshit,” Imogene said. “You’re staying and watching the place.”

  “Rock-paper-scissors?”

  “You’re on.” She pushed her glasses down over her dark eyes.

  “Hey!” Celia yelled. “Both of you. Calm down!”

  They both went silent until Imogene said, “Huh. Is she the dominant one in bed?”

  “No,” Ian and Celia said in unison.

  “Look,” Celia continued, “before we do anything, I have to get in touch with Steve. Plus, I don’t even have my big red cooler.”

  “It’s in the back of my car.”

  “Oh.” Celia looked to the convertible outside. “Well…”

  Ian smiled down at her. His eyes glowed like fluorescent blue fireflies.

  “Hang on. Let me just…text him.”

  Ian and Imogene cheered.

  As Celia waited for a response, her friends played football down the aisle with a loaf of stale bread. She sometimes thought it was kind of weird that they got along so well. Imogene was the grumpiest, meanest, most bloodthirsty person Celia knew; Ian was like a tall teddy bear on ’shrooms. She guessed they complemented each other. Then, she thought about she and Ian, and it was kind of the same thing; they complemented each other, too.

  Steve was his usual terse self via text, responding to her inquiry with “K.”

  What followed was an epic rock-paper-scissor battle that began with Ian’s announcement: “If you glamour me, this doesn’t count.”

  “She’s not allowed to glamour you,” Celia said pointedly with her hand on his shoulder.

  After three rounds, her boyfriend emerged victorious. As he did a victory dance somewhere between the robot and general flailing, Imogene ripped Celia’s orange apron off and pointed at the exit. “Blood. Go, bitch.”

  Ian drove them both to Lazaret, which gave Celia the opportunity to ask, “Why do you want to meet Steve anyway?”

  “He sounds angry.”

  “And that makes you want to meet him?”

  “Uh-huh.” He nodded as they crossed the bridge. “I like trying to make angry people uncomfortable with cheerfulness. It’s my thing.”

  She chuckled and then grabbed him by the side of the neck and licked his face.

  As usual, no one paid attention as they entered Lazaret Memorial Hospital. Nurses scurried around in shades of pastel scrubs, and Celia wondered if sometimes she subconsciously glamoured people. How else did two people who closely resembled beach bums just waltz into a hospital with a bright red cooler? Hopefully, she wasn’t accidentally glamouring Ian into loving her.

  They took the elevator up to see Steve and found him alone, curled over a microscope. Before she could speak, his tiny head shot up, and he started sniffing the air…sniff-sniff-sniff…until he turned around and noticed them, noticed Ian.

  Suddenly, bringing Ian seemed like a really bad idea.

  In his plastic-wrapped shoes, Steve made it to them in vampire time, which made Ian almost fall over—until Steve caught him by the wrist. “I’m Steve.”

  “Ian.” He had to clear his throat twice to find his voice, probably because Steve’s fangs (way bigger than Celia’s) were out, and his black eyes were totally black, as in no whites left.

  Steve’s shark eyes darted to her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I told you I was making a pick-up.” She tried to insert herself between her dealer and her boyfriend, but Steve kept tugging on Ian’s arm, keeping him close.

  “The blood’s in the cooler.” Steve gestured with his head, his black eyes never once leaving Ian’s neck.

  Celia stuttered. “But you-you usually…”

  “Ian, huh?” Steve licked his lips. “Wanna make some extra cash, pretty boy?”

  “No, thanks, creepy blood dealer guy.”

  Steve smirked and looked at Celia. “He yours?”

  “Yuh-yeah.”

  “The way he smells, you know how much money you could make off his blood? I could sell his for double my going rate—triple maybe—especially if vamps got a look at him.”

  “Could I have my wrist back?” Ian pulled at his arm.

  Steve didn’t let go. “You’d get a cut, obviously,” he told Ian. “I’d make it worth your while.”

  “Celia?” Ian glared at her.

  Then, she noticed his heartbeat sounded funny. Her human was terrified. Screw boing; her fangs went Ba-BOOM! She shoved the angry Hispanic midget backwards and stepped in front of the man she loved, fangs out, hissing.

  “All right, all right.” Steve held his hands in the air. His eyes went back to normal, but his fangs still hung over his lower lip. “Just saying. Shit.” He tore the cooler from her arms and headed for blood storage.

  Celia turned to Ian. “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t expect him to be smiling. “That was hot.”

  “Huh?”

  “You going all fangs-out for me.”

  “Oh.” She covered her mouth. “I didn’t mean to. You were just…scared.”

  He put his hand on her face. “I shouldn’t be, with you around.”

  She smiled, but inside, Celia was worried.

  When Steve returned with her weekly batch (some extra for Imogene, of course), she grabbed Ian and headed right for the door. From behind them, she heard, “Let me know if you change your mind, Ian.” She didn’t look back.

  They found Imogene sulking behind the counter of Happy Gas upon their return, reading Celia’s self-help sex book. She’d gone through three bottles of peach juice, which Celia would have to pay for.

  Despite being seemingly clueless as to the feelings of others, Celia must have looked tense. “Everything okay?” Imogene asked.

  Celia nodded and shoved the cooler at her. “Take Ian home, and don’t leave him alone.”

  “Celia…” He put his hand on her arm.

  She put her hands on his shoulders. “I’m serious. Stay with Imogene until I get home, okay?”

  “What the fuck happened?”

  “Steve took a particular liking to the smell of Ian’s blood,” Celia said.

  “Who wouldn’t?” Imogene snorted. “He’s like Thanksgiving and Christmas wrapped up in bacon.”

  Celia buried her face in her hands. “Imogene.”

  “What? That was a compliment.”

  “Thank you?” Ian said.

  “Imogene, wait in the car.”

  She spat a raspberry as she left.

  “Sleep at my place,” Celia told him.

  He nodded.

  “I should never have let you go with me.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “For now.”

  “I have you. I have nothing to worry about.”

  If only she had as much faith in herself.

  The hours at work passed like days, weeks, years. All she wanted was to be home with Ian, wrapped around him, listening to the sound of his breath. Plus, she was starving. She should have kept a bag of blood for herself.

  When Celia got home, her apartment was quiet. Imogene looked like a broken rag doll on the couch, sunglasse
s snug on her head, mouth wide open as she snored quietly. Celia glanced into her bedroom, where Ian was tangled in her sheets. Then, she headed to the kitchen for a quick snack, but as she reached the fridge, Ian stopped her.

  She gasped. “I thought you were asleep.”

  He nodded. The hair on the right side of his head was flat, and his light eyes were puffy. “Come to bed.”

  “I’m starving.”

  “I know.” He took her by the hand, and she followed behind. He let go of her long enough to take off his t-shirt and lay down on his back in the center of Celia’s bed.

  She eyed his slightly freckled chest with the smattering of dark hair.

  “Come on.” He pet the bed at his side. “It helps me sleep.”

  Celia took off her orange apron and crawled in next to him. They were used to feeding by now, so he didn’t tense under the tug of her teeth. He sighed and pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair. Ian tasted better than pizza, even New York style, with the thick crust and fresh garlic. She pulled out her fangs and licked a little. She knew he liked when she did that.

  His fingers were in her hair when he said, “My parents are coming Saturday.”

  Celia wiped a drop of blood from her chin. “What?”

  “For someone so intelligent, you sure have a hard time understanding what I say.”

  She chuckled and bit back into his pec.

  “Ow!”

  She licked the fresh wound, which made him hum.

  “So I’m meeting your parents Saturday night,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  She absentmindedly tongued his nipple. “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “Say what again,” she quoted.

  “They speak English in what?” Ian laughed. They’d watched Pulp Fiction the week before; Ian had picked it, and even though it wasn’t eighties, Celia actually enjoyed it.