Page 30 of Ouch! My Vampire Doms Keep Biting Me
I come to a pub, and pause.Bartleby’s, a sign over the door reads. Next to the door is a stapled piece of paper.Hiring dependable workers. Inquire within.
But I can’t inquire within, because I don’t have ID or a phone, nothing. Shit. Somehow, I need to get those things. How does someone start from the absolute bottom? I’ve had help already—so much help. From the kind woman in the bus station, and from the librarian, Izzie, allowing me to stay in the library and then leaving out food and other essentials.
Yet despite all of that help, I’m still nowhere near to getting on my own feet.
Do I go back to Dale? Pretend I didn’t see him kill Marcus Patrick? I could tell him I’ve been partying it up in San Esteban with a random guy and I have no recollection of the past week and a half.
Yeah, right. Dale doesn’t like loose ends. He doesn’t like uncertainty. I can only return to Altera if I want to end up like Marcus Patrick. If I want to end up like my mom.
Tiny hairs rise on the back of my neck, like someone’s watching me. All these thoughts about Dale, and paranoia starts sinking its claws into me. The street is intimidating, and I need shelter. I open the door to Bartleby’s and step inside. I don’t haveto inquire about work, but it wouldn’t hurt to check the place out, see if it has potential.
“Sit wherever,” a low voice drawls from the bar.
“Oh. Um, I was actually not going to—”
His glare causes me to shut my mouth and take a seat at the bar, a few feet away from where he’s standing. He has oily blond hair, or maybe there’s product in it, making it shine. It looks greasy to the touch, either way.
He ambles over. “What do you want?”
I don’t have money to be wasting on drinks, but this is the first place that looks like it might possibly hire me at some point, so I say, “A hard cider, please.”
He pours one from the tap and slides it over. “That’s six bucks.”
I find a ten-dollar bill in my wallet and try not to wince as I push it across the counter. “Keep the change.”
He nods, doesn’t even say thank you.
“I saw a sign that you’re hiring?” I say.
“Yep.”
“Do you like working here?”
He shrugs his skinny shoulders. “It’s a job.”
Well, he’s a real treat.
My cider is too sour, and I purse my lips after the first sip. “I thought I might introduce myself to the manager. Is he or she around?”
“You’re looking at him.”
“Oh, hey.” How didthis guyget to be a manager of anything? He can’t even manage his hair. “I’m new in town. Are you looking for a bartender, or a server, or…?”
He reaches under the counter and says, “Here,” before sliding an application form over the bar to me. He looks at me closely, and his gaze flicks down to my tits where it lingers justlong enough to be rude, not long enough for me to call him out on the rudeness. “Fill it out.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” I wait for him to walk away, then I get up. I fold the application neatly in half and tuck it into my bag, but I’m not planning on filling it out. The dude gave me bad vibes.
Evicting him from my brain is something I do with great pleasure. No more thoughts of him, I think, as I tug on the door and let myself out of the pub.
It’s getting dark, so I start the trek back to The Corbin.
It’ll be my last night there.
It’s fine, I tell myself. I don’t want to remain where I’m obviously not wanted.
Except, Will wants me. Why does he even stick around with Xander, anyway? They don’t seem to agree on anything except sexual positions.
I guess long-term relationships have been based on less.
