Page 22 of My Road Trip with a Vampire: Season One
“Can vampires get you—”
She holds up a hand, stopping me.
“You shouldn’t fuck vampires. Trust me. That comes with way more drama than it’s worth.”
“Got it,” I say, but when I think about how strong Dennis' and Rune’s bodies felt against mine, their cool and sculpted muscles—I’m not sure I’m not up for the risk.
“Do you need any magic supplies?” she asks. “I’m not well-versed on witchy matters, but if you tell me what you need, I can figure out where to get it.”
“No, that’s alright. What I do isn’t magic really—”
“I don’t need details,” she says, interrupting me again. “Believe me, the less I know, the better.”
“Alright,” I say awkwardly.
“Please don’t take it as rudeness. I like you,” she says. “But discretion is everything in this world. We’ve got all the casual stuff, now let’s get some formalwear. The spirits you seek lurk in old opera houses and mansions as well as dusty old graveyards.”
I haven’t dealt with ghosts in those sorts of places, but that sounds exciting.
We check out, and she takes some of the bags, leading me toward an upscale dress shop I wouldn’t step foot in if I was alone. I can tell by looking at the mannequins that I can’t afford anything. Or I couldn’t a few days ago.
She picks out a couple dresses for me. One is gray and looks drab on the hanger, but when I try it on it has a Victorian appeal that’s very romantic. The other is more dramatic, a sleek swath of black silk cut on a bias so it hugs my waist and skims my thighs. My collarbones are on full display. When I show Barb she gives her approval.
“You look like a feast for the vamps,” she whispers. “It’s perfect.”
There’s some heat in her stare, but she blinks and looks over her shoulder as soon as our eyes meet.
I love how the fabric feels when I slip it off in the dressing room. I stare in the mirror for a moment, thinking about how the two vampires I’ve met so far might react to seeing me actually dressed up, or undressed for that matter. I sweep my hand over my nipples and skim down my hips, lifting the hemline to run a finger over my folds. I’m slick wet where I touch myself, thinking of cool fingers against my bare skin.
“You need help in there?” Barb asks, pulling me from the thoughts I probably shouldn't be having right now.
“Uh. No, I’m ok.”
I get dressed in my old clothes again, and when I’m adjusting myself my hand catches on something in my pocket.
Rune’s card.
There’s no number on it, just a symbol that looks like some encircled triangle with flowers scrawled through it. It doesn't make any sense. I should toss it, but I feel like hanging on to it.
“I know I’m not supposed to ask questions, so ignore me if this is too much, but do you know a guy named Rune? He’s got an accent, is about this tall.” I push out of the stall and stretch my arm over my head.
Barb rolls her eyes.
“There’s only one way to describe him: blood-sucking fuckboy. The advice I gave you earlier counts double for him,” she says.
“I see. And Dennis?”
“Careful,” she cautions. “He’s sweet and sticks to human rules. But don’t ever mess with someone he cares about. And Bea, don’t ever sign contracts without looking them over.”
Her warning leaves me with more questions than answers. I can see real pain behind her big blue eyes, but she combs her manicured nails through my messy hair.
“One more trip. To the salon,” she says, her pumps already clicking away.
Hours later, I’m sitting in the chair in my hotel room, watching the city below through the window as I sip my tea. Another text comes in.
Dennis: Is it ok if I come over?
“Come on in,” I say and get up, anticipating his knock on the door. When I open it, Dennis is dressed in a fitted black shirt and jeans. We almost match with my tight black sweater and fresh Doc Martens. He leans against the doorframe, looking me over.
