Page 59 of My Road Trip with a Vampire: Season One
“Thanks, Barb,” Dennis says and hangs up.
His stance becomes colder, but there’s still a hint of softness on his face when he looks at me.
“Beatrice, is there any place your mother wants to visit?”
“Does the bingo hall count? I think the furthest she’s ever traveled from home was for a trip to Atlantic City when she was younger.”
“Yes, but where would she go if she didn’t have to worry about the cost?”
I want to make some biting comment about how she thinks travel is only for people who aren’t content at home, but she’s in danger and I don't feel like being petty.
“Italy,” I blurt out. “I think she’d have fun in Italy.”
“Does Diane have a taste for romance and history?”
“No, but she really likes beautiful Catholic churches. I’m not sure we can convince her to go, though.”
He presses his mouth into a straight line, then he pulls up one of the chairs and takes a seat.
“Remember I told you I have a way with words, lovely,” he says, crooking a finger in invitation. Part of me wants to refuse him and hisway with words, but damn, I can't resist him when he's biting his lip like that. I sit down on his lap, letting him pull me to him. “Let’s video chat with your mom together. We’ll keep her out of danger.”
21
HUNTINGDON'S LADY IN RED: PART 1
If there was ever a time when Dennis’ compulsion talents would come in handy, it would be to get us through the never-ending TSA line. But no, I’m just shuffling along at a snail’s pace, waiting to get patted down while he carries our single carry-on bag over his shoulder. The long wait does nothing to squash the ball of anxiety in my stomach.
Dennis places a hand on my shoulder as we step forward.
“You’re nervous.”
“What gave you that idea?”
I don’t mean to sound so irritated, but sarcasm is my coping mechanism when my nerves are frayed. If it bothers Dennis, his face doesn’t show it. He slips his hand down further, pulling me to his side, and whispers in my ear.
“I’d forgotten what that felt like—butterflies, but you’re making me remember.”
That’s not exactly how I would describe the pukey feeling I’m getting over my first time flying, but he saysbutterfliesso softly that it sends a fresh swarm of the insects fluttering through me. He laughs.
“It’ll be ok. Flying is probably the safest thing we’ve done together.”
He flashes our new IDs and gets us through the line. I don’t say anything when he wraps an arm around me again when we take our seats. There’s no point in protesting when he knows I feel calmer when he’s close. His emotions don’t turn over nearly as many times a day as mine do. For the most part, he’s steady—bored even, aside from the brief flares of horniness, and those burning flashes of hunger that leave my mouth parched. It’s easy to forget the images of him looking so tortured in my dreams when his face is usually still and stoic.
“Shouldn’t be a long flight,” he says, bracing me tightly when we hit turbulence. “We left early enough that there should be plenty of time to explore the campus once we land. What should we check out first?”
He moves away to reach for the bag, pulling out my notepad. I’m happy to have my mind on a topic that doesn’t have anything to do with hurtling through the air. I point to the bulleted list.
“There’s the ghost on the green who will grab your ankles when you walk by. Supposedly a student committed suicide on the lawn after a bad breakup, but I couldn’t find any evidence.”
“How about this one?”
He taps the ghost I doodled next to the nameFrank.
“Apparently there’s a ghost named Frank who dwells in the library.”
“What’s the backstory?”
“That’s the thing; there isn’t one. Students have reported hearing a random dude’s voice and doors closing mysteriously while they’re studying. Nothing particularly scary. There’s an interview with the librarian in this book calledHaunted Montgomery, Alabama. But even he seemed relaxed about it. ”
