7. I Didn't Realize they Were Vampires, but I could Sure as Shit Tell He Wanted to Put his Mouth on Me

“No bite marks. Huh. I thought Luscious had already taken himself a taste.” The stranger strokes his thumb over the pulsing vein in my neck. “Maybe he marked you somewhere under the clothing?” His eyes drift down my chest, all the way down to my crotch, and all I can do is stand there paralyzed, until Steve shoves him away.

“Man, what the fuck?”

That hand snaps over to Steve’s throat, lifting him clear off the ground. “I’m not interested in you. You smell like grease and mediocrity.”

I look desperately to the payphone beside the liquor store, bolting over there intent on calling 9-1-1. An iron vice of hands clamp down on my shoulders before I can make it more than a single step. “Just where do you think you’re going?” How did he get around behind me so fast? I never even saw him move, but his two massive friends are still looming over Steve – coughing for air, curled up on the pavement. There’s no way I can fight off all three of them. Just making the fist feels comically pointless. I wish I had a gun. That’s the only way I’d stand a real chance of scaring them off.

“Hey assholes!” Heather throws the vodka bottle right at the biggest guy’s head, but with lightning fast reflexes, he catches it.

“Now there’s a snack far more to my tastes.”

“I say we take them both,” the guy behind me croons, and I punch him in the balls.

He grunts in surprise, and I stagger away from him, stepping out in front of Heather and raising shaking fists.

The flash of police sirens pulls up around the corner, and the handsy gangster sighs. “Think that’s one of ours?”

“I think it’s not worth it anyway, dipping into a snack already claimed,” the third guy offers. “Master Luscious might be upset. You know how possessive he can get, especially with firsts.”

“Fine. I’ll see you at the club, precious.” The creep actually kisses my cheek. I try to hit him again, but he catches my wrist. “Save me a dance, and I’ll give you a tour of the bathrooms. Or maybe even down below.” He winks, and I pull away. I can’t break free of that crushing grip though, not until he willingly drops my hand, walking off.

“Pervert!” Heather yells after him, but he never turns his head, never slowing. His cronies follow right at his heels, vanishing from sight just as the policemen climb out of their cruiser.

“The fuck just happened?” Steve groans, shoving himself upright. “Who was that psycho?” He looks to the self-conscious hand I have pressed to my throat. “And why did he think you’d have a hickey from… what was that weird ass name? Luscious?”

Heather shoots me a look. “Luscious as in… the fancy long form of Luc?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know them, alright? Let’s just… go.”

Steve doesn’t agree. He walks right up to the pair of cops eyeing us and starts detailing the assault that just took place. He really did get the worst of it in the end with that near-strangling, and the lead detective asks if he’s looking to press charges. “Yeah, I’ll file a report,” he mutters, glancing over at me for some reason as he cements the decision. “Get those creeps off the streets.”

“Do we all have to go?” I mutter. “We’ve already given our statements.”

“No. We’ll be in touch over the next few days, but you two are free to go. Get home safe.”

“Thank you, officer.” Heather takes my arm, leading me over toward the bus stop.

Steve gets driven to the police station to file an official report, and me and Heather head back to her place. It’s a trudge of awkward silence for the most part, especially walking home in the dark from the bus-stop while checking over our shoulders every thirty seconds. This city is straight up eerie at night, even the relatively safe, higher end suburbs.

Heather pulls me inside, locking the door.

“Too bad those creeps stole our vodka, huh? Mad reflexes on that pervert, gotta say,” she jokes. “He caught that bottle like he was fucking Jackie Chan, and I gave it my best softball pitch and everything.”

“You played softball?” I distractedly murmur.

“Yeah, when I was a kid. Thought it’d make my dad happy, get him to pay me some actual attention. No dice there, but assholes like Brad still liked to tease me about it. And yeah, I know the cliché, but I have never done it with a girl. Not yet anyhow.” Uh… not sure what to say to that. “What about you?” she carries on glibly. “That liquor store thug was definitely groping you like he wanted to… you know. Not that that makes you… But, I mean, like… you said you’d never been with a girl, but you do want to have sex with me, right? You’re not actually spending your nights with… someone like Luc? Because those sketches in your notebook, the more I think about them…” I continue staring at her in tense, unhappy silence, until she finally looks away. “I should really shut up, huh?”

Silence seems damning for me, so I force out the vehement denial, “I am not gay.” My parents would disown me if I were. Mom might even try sending me to conversion therapy. “I don’t know why that guy thought…” I shiver, crossing my arms.

“Fuck, I am the worst,” Heather exhales, and I shake my head in weary disagreement. “You have had the world’s worst birthday, so just… forget I brought it up. I will think up like the best present for you. Promise.”

We watch a movie to unwind. The Devil’s Advocate is kind of a creepy, not at all comforting choice for the evening, but it was the only interesting thing on TV that night. Heather nuzzles up against me in cuddling position right near the start. I keep sitting straight with eyes on the TV, but she starts kissing my neck as Keanu starts fantasizing about the woman who turns out to be his sister at the big end plot twist. I do not feel at all up to doing anything sexual after that experience at the liquor store. Still, my mind is screaming at me that I need to prove to Heather exactly how I feel for her, so she’ll stop thinking I’m… I switch off the TV and put my hands on her waist. We start kissing, and she starts rubbing her hand up my thigh, right onto my crotch...

“Care to make this a three way?” That wicked smile intrudes into my thoughts. I’m hard in an instant, and I break away from Heather before things can escalate any further.

“It’s going to be really, uh, really hard to wait for prom night.” The first time she insisted she would want to go all the way with me. “But it’s getting late. I should probably head home. School tomorrow and… you know.”

“You don’t want to stay over?” She cocks her head. “We don’t have to do anything. But your mom thinks you’re at Steve’s until tomorrow anyway…”

“Right.” We head into her bedroom, and we keep fully clothed, but still share the bed that night. We’re not curled up in affectionate spooning. We’re lying flat on our backs on opposite sides of the mattress, but at least we're holding hands. I don't even want to be holding her hand, truth be told.

Heather drifts off pretty quick, but I stay up for hours, staring blankly up at the ceiling and running over every unsettling comment of that creep in the parking lot. “I thought Luscious had already taken himself a taste.”

“Save me a dance, and I’ll give you a tour of the bathrooms. Or maybe even down below.”

“I’ll see you at the club, precious.”

I hope I never see him again. I hope he does get arrested. Would I risk going back to Club Noctus then? It’s ridiculous how badly I want to, but I could never get in now anyway, with my cover blown and Luc believing I’m still underage…

I get up long before Heather and make us some coffee. Her kitchen is ridiculously fancy with granite counter-tops, a professional espresso machine, and so much space, it feels like an entire apartment all on its own. Heather wanders into the room with her smudged makeup from yesterday, looking equal parts sleepy, adorable, and trashy, though I’d never have admitted it to her.

“You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie.

“I had a hell of a sex dream.” She smiles, and I near choke on my latte, awkwardly spitting it back into the cup. She smiles all the broader. “You want to hear about it, right?”

I nod, blushing bright red and hoping desperately she does not ask me for details of my own dreams. They are almost never about just Heather but almost always about Luc, the older guy I’ve only talked to three times, but whose every word and expression just… hangs in my memory.

We hear a car pull up outside and Heather’s face instantly falls. “Shit. My dad’s home. Forgot he was getting home today.” She starts ushering me toward the back door, then slows. “Though I mean… I did meet your parents, so it’s only fair we finally introduce you two, right? He’s been asking about you.”

“I’m not really… ready,” I awkwardly supply. “What would I even say? Welcome home, sir. I spent the night at your home, sleeping with your daughter in her bed. It’s Julian by the way.” I blurt out the entire thought beneath my breath before I can think better of it.

Heather bites her lip. “Fuck. You’re right. Meeting him now is a terrible idea.” She pushes me out the back door, taking the half-full coffee mug right out of my hand. “It’s a way better idea if you stop by the country club next week.” The-- what? “Have a fancy ass dinner on his tab. That way, if he makes you feel bad with his military grade interrogation tactics, at least you still get a hundred dollar meal.”

A hundred dollar…?! She is joking, right?

She was being dead serious, and I showed up to that fancy golf club of LA millionaires in a borrowed suit and made an absolute fool of myself. That hardly mattered by the end of the night however. The shocking phone call I got at the restaurant followed by the gory scene on the 6 o’clock news made far more of an impression.