Page 3 of My Vampire Plus-One

My building’s HVAC system rannonstop, but it was always chilly in the lobby during the winter on account of the giant floor-to-ceiling windows. That night was no exception. Even still, it looked much colder outside. On the other side of my building’s revolving glass doors, pedestrians were hunched slightly forward in the distinctive way of people trying to get to where they were going in unpleasant weather. The kind of early spring cold snap that always made me wonder why the hell my great-great-grandparents hadn’t settled in California instead of Chicago when they came to the United States had rolled throughtwo days earlier. A couple inches of snow had been packed down by foot traffic over the past few days into an icy crust on the sidewalks.

I pulled my black puffer jacket a little more tightly around my body and fished out the thin leather gloves I kept permanently stashed in its pockets. The El stop was only a few blocks away; even if it was as cold outside as it looked, I could handle it for a few blocks.

Bracing myself, I walked into the only revolving door still unlocked at that hour, and hurried outside into the brisk night air—

And was so preoccupied with guilty thoughts of the work I wasn’t finishing, and of how I’d probably be late for family dinner,again, and of how I’d have to make it up to Sophie for bringing me lo mein despite my being a totally absent friend the past few weeks, that I didn’t see the guy in the black fedora and bright blue trench coat literally sprinting down the sidewalk until he plowed into me.

“What—!”

The impact when we collided made me drop everything I’d been carrying. My briefcase, the gloves I’d been about to put on, the stress I’d been carrying all day like a lead ball in the pit of my stomach—it all fell to the icy sidewalk. The paperwork I’d stuffed into my briefcase just minutes ago spilled out of it on impact, landing in a puddle of icy slush.

I glared at the guy who’d just run into me.

“What the hell!” I snapped.

“Sorry.” The guy’s fedora was pulled down so low over his face, it covered most of it, and despite what he’d just said, he didn’tsoundsorry. He sounded distracted, and his body lookedcoiled for action, like he was milliseconds away from running off in the direction he’d been heading when he slammed into me.

“I doubt you’re sorry,” I muttered.

The guy glanced down at my feet where my things lay, and seemed to realize, for the first time, that he’d made me drop everything. The slush puddle had made quick work of the Wyatt financial reports; everything was wet now and would be impossible to read. I’d have to go back to the office and print it all out again, which I really did not have time for.

And—oh god, what if my laptop had cracked when it hit the ground? I quickly scooped up my bag and shuffled through it to make sure my MacBook was okay. Fortunately, it seemed fine.

“Iamsorry,” the guy said again. “But—look. Since you’ve kept me from where I was heading for nearly an entire minute now, can you do me a favor?”

The gall of this guy. He could have broken my computer! “You’reaskingmefor a favor?” I was about to tell him exactly where he could stick hisfavors—

But then he tilted his head to the right at the same time he pushed his fedora a little farther back on his head, and I got my first real look at him.

The words died in my throat.

Maybe the stress of too many consecutive late nights in the office was finally getting to me. That must have been it. Or maybe it was just because I hadn’t dated anyone casually in over a year, or anyone seriously in more than five. Whatever the reason for it, in that moment, he looked more attractive than he had any right to look, given the circumstances. He was fairly tall, probably about six foot two, but I was no slouch in the height department myself, and because of that—and because of the angle at which he’dbeen wearing his hat until this moment—it had initially been difficult to see much of his face. But now that Icouldsee it…

He had high, angular cheekbones. A strong chin that sported at least three days’ worth of dark blond stubble. Light-colored eyes that looked, given his fair complexion, as though they might be blue. Though most of his face was still bathed in shadow from his hat, even with its slight repositioning, so it was hard to tell.

I’d always had a thing for blond-haired, blue-eyed guys. A thing that sometimes ended up with me making decisions I’d regret later. Especially when said blond hair and blue eyes came in broad-shouldered, slim-waisted packages.

Like Mr. Fedora Asshole over here.

The fact that I could now see he was wearing a black T-shirt beneath his trench coat that saidBlame Bezosin bright red letters, as well as a pink gingham skirt that totally clashed with his coatandhis hat, didn’t do anything to dampen my attraction. If anything, it just enhanced the dirtbag Chris Pine look he had going for him.

I closed my eyes and shook my head a little as I tried to get a grip. God, I needed a vacation. The minute tax season was over, I was booking a flight to somewhere warm and sunny.

I tore my eyes from his face. This was ridiculous.Iwas ridiculous. “I amnotdoing you a favor,” I somehow managed.

“Please,” he implored. The distraction in his voice was gone; in its place was a raw urgency that stunned me. “It won’t take long. Please—can you start laughing? As though we are in regular conversation and I am in the process of telling you something very funny?”

I stared at him, reeling from the randomness of the request from this stranger. “I’m sorry, but…what?”

“I am trying to avoid some people.” His tone was pitched low,his words coming very quickly. As though he had limited time to get them out. “I was trying to avoid them when I…when we…” He gestured expansively between us, and then to the ruined papers at my feet.

“You nearly mowed me down because you’re trying to avoid some people?” This was absurd. Though that would explain his mad dash down an icy sidewalk at six-thirty on a Tuesday evening. Concern pricked at me despite my better judgment. Clearly, this guy was more than just passing strange. But what if he was also in some kind of trouble?

As if to validate my concern, he looked over his shoulder, the turn of his head frantic and jerky. When he faced me again, his eyes were bright with what looked like genuine fear. “I’m sorry, I can’t explain further. But can you just like…laugh? That way, maybe they’ll think you and I have been lost in a riveting conversation this whole time, that I am not the man they are looking for, and they will just…keep going.” He paused, then bit his lip, considering my stunned reaction. “Or I suppose you could kiss me instead.”

My jaw dropped. “Kissyou?” I was gobsmacked. I didn’t kiss strangers. Not ever. Or, okay, not since a particularly rowdy girls’ weekend back in 2015. But those had been very different circumstances. Circumstances involving colorful beads and a quantity of alcohol unbefitting a CPA on deadline.

A small part of me, though—probably the part of me that hadn’t kissed anyone in about a year and hadn’t had sex for what might as well have been an epoch—imagined what it would be like, kissing this bizarre stranger. He was hot, like burning, despite his odd mannerisms. The confident way he stood, his manner of speech, the bold smolder of those bright blue eyes…