Page 3 of Trick or Treat Nurse at My Feet
Sylas is sprawled across my bed, his lanky frame taking up most of the space. He flips through one of my magazines, nose scrunched in disapproval, before tossing it aside.
"This is garbage," he mutters, taking a long sip from his Vampire's Kiss cocktail. The blood orange garnish leaves a red stain on his lips that perfectly complements his glamorous but frightening makeup.
"Ethan, darling," he drawls, "when will you realize that The Human Hemorrhoid is not worth your time?"
Catching my reflection next to Sylas in the mirror. My reddish-blonde hair and pale skin against his dark brownhair and lightly tanned complexion, we've always been a study in contrasts, both twenty-one but moving through the world differently. He walks around like he’s ready to take on the world and me… not so much.
Sylas catches me watching as he sits up to apply another layer of glitter to his cheekbones. His dark brown eyes are focused with the precision of an artist. He carries himself with the confidence of someone who's lived several fabulous lifetimes.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing. Just wondering how someone your height manages to take up so much space in a room."
He flicks his dark hair out of his eyes with practiced nonchalance, striking a pose. "Average height is the perfect height, darling. Tall enough to reach the top shelf, short enough to wear heels without intimidating the fragile men. It's elite height, Ethan."
The summer sun has left his skin with a light tan that makes the white of his Hedwig makeup stand out even more dramatically against his face. Meanwhile, even with all my outdoor runs, I'm still as pale as ever.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I lean against the dresser we'd found on the side of the road and painted. I reach for my own drink, a glowing green Witch's Brew that Sylas mixed up as "pre-gaming" for our Halloween party crawl tonight.
"Sylas, it's not that simple."
"What's not simple?" He raises an eyebrow. "Dumping Captain Small-Dick Energy? Because from where I'm sitting, it's the simplest decision in the world."
"Ryan and I have history?—"
He snorts, tossing the makeup brush aside and fixing me with a serious look. "Babe, it isthat simple. You deserve someone proud to be seen with you, not someone who treats you like a dirty little secret."
Pain flashes across my face at his words, knowing he's right but not wanting to admit it. Ryan and I have been sneaking around for over eight months now, stealing kisses in dark corners and whispering on the phone late at night. But Sylas is right; I deserve more than that.
"We have three Halloween parties to hit tonight," Sylas reminds me, pointedly swirling his drink. "I didn't spend forty minutes painting Hedwig on my face so you could mope over the Micro-peen devil when you should be showing off those legs in your sexy nurse costume."
"I think he slept with other people over the summer," I blurt out, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
Sylas raises an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. "What makes you say that?"
A soft 'hmph' escapes as my shoulders rise and fall. "Just a feeling. We were kind of on a pause, I think. He was always so vague about what he did and who he saw. And he didn't want to talk about us at all."
"And yet here you are, still putting up with his bullshit." Sylas flops back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. "Babe, I love you, but your taste in men is fucking tragic."
"It's not that simple, Sy," I protest, grabbing my coffee mug and holding it against my chest like a shield. "You don't see how he is when we're alone. He's different, softer, you know? Like he needs me."
Sylas snorts. "He needs your mouth and your ass. Let's not confuse the two."
"Jesus, Sy!" My face burns, but I can't help laughing.
"Tell me I'm wrong." He sits up, fixing me with that look, the one that says he can see right through my bullshit.
I pick at a loose thread on my sweater. "We have history.He was there for me after that disaster with Professor Wilson's clinical rotation."
"Oh, you mean when he let you cry on his shoulder and then fucked you in his car but made you duck down when his friends walked by?" Sylas's voice drips with sarcasm.
"That's not fair. His family is super religious. They're paying for everything. If they found out?—"
"Girl, please," Sylas interrupts, standing up and grabbing my shoulders. "That excuse was tired freshman year. We're halfway through college, and he still won't even like your Instagram posts."
A hiss escapes through clenched teeth. "He says social media isn't real life."
"Mmm-hmm. But Mr. Mistake Lane sure had time to post thirst traps with Brad-fucking-Thompson at Laguna Beach all July." Sylas gives me a pointed look. "Next, you'll tell me they were just 'bros being bros' with their arms around each other's waists watching the sunset."
