Page 36 of Ouch! My Vampire Doms Keep Biting Me
Souris. French for “mouse.”
12
Autumn
My feet have never hurt so damn much in my entire life. I didn’t know it was possible. But hours of trekking back and forth from the bar, to the food counter, to the tables in the dining room—they add up into a shoe-covered nightmare.
Also, I don’t think I’ll ever get the stench of fried food and beer out of my hair or clothes.
This is my second night working at Bartleby’s, and now that my shift is over, I’m sitting on a stool at the end of the bar, trying not to cry with relief that I’m finally off my feet.
Maybe I can just sleep here and never put weight on my feet again.
Something about that idea—sleeping somewhere forbidden—sparks the memory of…something. A dream, I guess. I must have dreamed of sleeping somewhere I shouldn’t. Unless Clarissa and I once slept somewhere odd? Maybe when we were in college. I want to say we stayed past hours in Shields Library. But no, that’s ridiculous.
I love the idea, though. Libraries are cool, calm. Safe, sexy.
Sexy?
Ha, libraries arenotsexy. Shields Library was the stodgy great-uncle of the university. Very proper, no nonsense, and definitely not sexy.
Shaking off the strange turn of my thoughts, I pull open my wallet and surreptitiously try to count my cash again. The hotel informed me that my room is paid through the end of May, which gives me another week there. After that, I need to find somewhere else to stay, because there’s no way I can afford the hotel on my server’s tips.
The tips aren’t bad, although they seem to vary wildly. There’s no advice to be had on that point, unfortunately.
But the manager, Nicholas? Douche. Super douche. He’s spent more time ogling my chest than he has spent managing anything. I had to work with the cook to get some meals remade because of a customer error, and Nicholas spent the entire time holed up in the office. Nicholas behaves better when the owner, Kevin, is here, but it still sucks.
The vibe of Bartleby’s is okay otherwise, I guess. When I lived at home with Dale, I never came to places like this. It was all about appearances, and Dale Smith’s stepdaughter couldn’t be seen anywhere shady. I had to date the “nicest” guys and wear the best clothes. I couldn’t get drunk in public, and the only adventurous sex I ever had was between the pages of smutty romance novels.
“Abigail!” Nicholas barks.
I jerk to attention and push my wallet back into my purse. “Yeah?”
“Where did you say you were from?”
The way he’s looking at me gives me the ick.
“I don’t think you asked,” I say, because I’m pretty sure he didn’t, not even during my interview. I’m going to have to lie. Talking about Altera or Kinasey County would be another thingtying me to Dale and my old life. “But I lived in Clear Springs for a bit. Davis, before that.”
Davis isn’t a lie, at least.
Nicholas says, “Were you a student there?”
“Briefly. I didn’t graduate.” Another lie. I hop down from my stool, wincing at the soreness of my feet. If Nicholas is in interrogation mode, it’s best I remove myself from the pub. I don’t want to have to keep track of a ridiculous web of lies just to feel safe.
The head cook passes me a to-go box with a burger and fries. I accept it gratefully before heading outside to make the long walk back to the hotel.
It feels like someone is staring at me the whole way, so I walk faster and faster, despite my aching feet.
Will
“Where are you going?” Xander asks as I reach for the door.
“Out.”
It’s been four days since Autumn left. Four fucking days. I’ve spent most of them watching over her. It isn’t right that she’s working her ass off. I don’t like the way her manager stares at her and the other female servers.
I don’t like that she isn’t in my bed.
