looking
in his direction, but I could hear his stupid grin through his words.
I shrugged, as indifferently as I could be.
“It’s not a lie. I like you. I loath attending those things.
Full of ritual and ceremony. Wall-to-wall arrogance and flamboyancy. All so
theatrical and unnecessary. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend
that miserable time with than you.”
“Oh, thanks, drag me to hell along with you. “
“Your cynicism was my saving grace. I wanted your crude
attitude to get me through without wanting to cut out my own tongue.” I
scoffed. “Your chunky ass is just a bonus.”
My head whipped to look at him. I’m sure the look on my face
was awful and full of shock, in a very unattractive manner. “Say what?”
“You heard me. I like your ass”
“A: where is this language coming from? And B: since when is
a big, fat ass attractive?”
“Since…always. I’m not sure why this century has shifted the
spectrum of beauty and disfigurement – atrociously skewed tastes if you ask
me.” He talked as if it was no big deal.
Sexy McSexyman had just proclaimed
his love for a nice, fat ass, which I had, and a cynical wit, which I also had.
He’d never actually straight out said, ‘I like you’ before, maybe if he had, I
might have been more willing to give it a shot. But in the back of my head, I
always wondered when the gag camera was going to pop out of a houseplant, and a
crowd of people were going to start laughing at the fatty and her gullible
sensibilities. If it weren’t for some horrid bitch trying to snatch my soul, or
my head, or whatever the fuck she was trying to do, I’d have him stripped to
nothing but those fancy panties he paraded around Los Angeles in by now. Just
for that, I was gonna kill her twice. You
know what I mean.
“Where the fuck did they manufacture you, and are there
anymore?” I asked, still astonished by his most recent disclosure. In the grand
scheme of things, Cyrus’s liking fat asses was not the biggest revelation on
the horizon of this conversation, but this fat girl could have her fifteen
minutes dammit.
He chuckled but cut it flat, “That’s not what you wanted to
know about really? Is it?” He paused long enough for my face to switch from
astonished to confused. “You want to know about vampires.”
Well, now that you mentioned it. It was the only fucking
thing that had driven my miniature obsession with these assholes for half a
year. I thought this loudly and with vigor, but I didn’t say it. I still wasn’t
completely comfortable admitting that I really did want to know. Because
wanting to know more implied that I thought for a second there were actually
real living, or not so living, breathing, or whatever they did, vampires
walking around like you and me.
Instead, I said, “Do you have something I might want to
know?” Spill it!
“Don’t pretend with me, Dylan Hart. I know your skin is
itching with anticipation.” The words slipped through his lips with a hint of
sexual tension.
I shrugged sheepishly and pursed my lips a bit to prove my
nonchalance.
Another deep chuckle rolled through his chest before he
continued, “You act as though your life over the last handful of months hasn’t
been consumed by vampires. Why else would you have agreed to attend Masque de
Sang? The last run-in with those types of people nearly cost you your freedom.
Hell, your life. But you didn’t stop, not even when it meant your life.”
“I had to help Tatum. Those blood-crazed asshats broke into her house and took her in the middle of the night. Don’t you
remember?” I defended quickly.
“That brings me to another point that’s been on my mind.
Something I don’t think you’ve put in that head space of yours yet.” He took a
breath. “Would she have risked her life to save you?” Low blow to the gut from
the sexy guy in the driver’s seat.
I didn’t answer. I opened my mouth to sass him more than
once, but nothing sounded
in his direction, but I could hear his stupid grin through his words.
I shrugged, as indifferently as I could be.
“It’s not a lie. I like you. I loath attending those things.
Full of ritual and ceremony. Wall-to-wall arrogance and flamboyancy. All so
theatrical and unnecessary. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend
that miserable time with than you.”
“Oh, thanks, drag me to hell along with you. “
“Your cynicism was my saving grace. I wanted your crude
attitude to get me through without wanting to cut out my own tongue.” I
scoffed. “Your chunky ass is just a bonus.”
My head whipped to look at him. I’m sure the look on my face
was awful and full of shock, in a very unattractive manner. “Say what?”
“You heard me. I like your ass”
“A: where is this language coming from? And B: since when is
a big, fat ass attractive?”
“Since…always. I’m not sure why this century has shifted the
spectrum of beauty and disfigurement – atrociously skewed tastes if you ask
me.” He talked as if it was no big deal.
Sexy McSexyman had just proclaimed
his love for a nice, fat ass, which I had, and a cynical wit, which I also had.
He’d never actually straight out said, ‘I like you’ before, maybe if he had, I
might have been more willing to give it a shot. But in the back of my head, I
always wondered when the gag camera was going to pop out of a houseplant, and a
crowd of people were going to start laughing at the fatty and her gullible
sensibilities. If it weren’t for some horrid bitch trying to snatch my soul, or
my head, or whatever the fuck she was trying to do, I’d have him stripped to
nothing but those fancy panties he paraded around Los Angeles in by now. Just
for that, I was gonna kill her twice. You
know what I mean.
“Where the fuck did they manufacture you, and are there
anymore?” I asked, still astonished by his most recent disclosure. In the grand
scheme of things, Cyrus’s liking fat asses was not the biggest revelation on
the horizon of this conversation, but this fat girl could have her fifteen
minutes dammit.
He chuckled but cut it flat, “That’s not what you wanted to
know about really? Is it?” He paused long enough for my face to switch from
astonished to confused. “You want to know about vampires.”
Well, now that you mentioned it. It was the only fucking
thing that had driven my miniature obsession with these assholes for half a
year. I thought this loudly and with vigor, but I didn’t say it. I still wasn’t
completely comfortable admitting that I really did want to know. Because
wanting to know more implied that I thought for a second there were actually
real living, or not so living, breathing, or whatever they did, vampires
walking around like you and me.
Instead, I said, “Do you have something I might want to
know?” Spill it!
“Don’t pretend with me, Dylan Hart. I know your skin is
itching with anticipation.” The words slipped through his lips with a hint of
sexual tension.
I shrugged sheepishly and pursed my lips a bit to prove my
nonchalance.
Another deep chuckle rolled through his chest before he
continued, “You act as though your life over the last handful of months hasn’t
been consumed by vampires. Why else would you have agreed to attend Masque de
Sang? The last run-in with those types of people nearly cost you your freedom.
Hell, your life. But you didn’t stop, not even when it meant your life.”
“I had to help Tatum. Those blood-crazed asshats broke into her house and took her in the middle of the night. Don’t you
remember?” I defended quickly.
“That brings me to another point that’s been on my mind.
Something I don’t think you’ve put in that head space of yours yet.” He took a
breath. “Would she have risked her life to save you?” Low blow to the gut from
the sexy guy in the driver’s seat.
I didn’t answer. I opened my mouth to sass him more than
once, but nothing sounded
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