Page 4 of Santa's Wish
"No, you're right. I lost a goldmine in the stock market crash in '29 and haven't really recovered."
"That was almost a century ago."
"Are you judging me by my job?" I asked. I had fucking had it with these American prudes and their views on sex work. Granted, I was also American, born and raised here thanks to British colonialism and Irish immigration, but I'd lived in Amsterdam with my sire long enough to pick up on a few Old-World views, the best of which was their view on the oldest profession.
He clung to the passenger door as I started the car and put her in gear, squealing the tires as I pulled out of the parking lot. He didn't speak, so I chose to educate him instead of tossing him out while we were moving.
"I own my apartment building. I don't need to work."
That got his attention. He loosened his grip on the door and sank into the passenger seat as I steered us into the line at Blood Drive. We were two cars back from the order window. Plenty of time.
"I do it to provide a service. Look at me. I have the perfect body for this." My sire had turned me for myperfect abs and long, flowing platinum blond hair. Around the time of Fabio, I'd cut it short, knowing it would take centuries for it to grow back. I didn't care. I was tired of looking like a romance novel cover when I wasn't romance novel material.
"Vampires don't get or spread human diseases, and I like sex. It's fun."
"Fun?" Boz looked at me like he couldn't believe it. "It's terrifying."
"How so?"
"All the pressure to be good, make it good for the other person, don't slobber on them, don't be gross…"
"Who were you trying to sleep with, a neat freak?"
He snorted. "Maybe?"
Now I felt bad for turning him away. I should have taken his friends' money and given him an experience so mind-blowing he would still talk about it in a decade.
I handed him my phone as I pulled up to the drive-through window. "Add yourself as a contact."
"What? Why?"
"You need a hookup. Not tonight, since we don't have time."
"We don't?"
The Blood Drive barista was waiting for my order, so I gave it to her and pulled ahead before I turned back to him. "You need to be wined, dined, and fuckedout of your little mind. I think I can arrange that on my next night off."
"Wow. Why?"
"Why not?" I studied him again, from his bushy curls to his slender nose, barely holding up his wire-rimmed glasses, to his thin and slightly furry arms. Did that thin coat of dark hair cover the rest of him? I longed to see his chest and legs. I loved twinks with a bit of hair on them.
"I'm not … a catch."
"You're attractive," I said. "You must be fucking brilliant to go to MIT, and you were smart enough to shut your damn mouth when I was ready to throw you out of a moving car. I wouldn't mind spending a night with you."
"One night." He seemed disappointed.
"One night, and then you won't be so nervous when you meet someone you want to fuck, or date, or whatever it is you do with these people who think sex is gross."
He laughed, and something in my gut stirred. I liked the sound. Even more disturbing, I enjoyed being the one to inspire him to laughter. So much so that I reverted to my inner poet, apparently. I hadn't thrown around phrases like "inspire to laughter" for over a century. Back when I'd believed in love and other fairy tales.
I inched forward in the line until it was my turn to pay for my cup of blood. I grabbed it from the cashier and took two hasty sips before setting it carefully between my legs. My beautiful '66 was many things, but practical wasn't one of them.
"I can hold that for you, if you'd like."
"It's safer with me," I said. I drove fast and had better reflexes than the human beside me.
He conceded with a sigh. "I get it. You think I'm worthless, too."
