Chapter Six
Austen’s Persuasion had twenty-four chapters.
There were five days until book club. Five-ish chapters a day.
“I can swing five chapters,” Nick told himself as he polished his fangs that night. “This is going to be easy.”
He went to bed early, turned on his lamp, and settled in with the leather-bound book, feeling very productive.
He opened it to the first page . . . and didn’t even make it to the end of the first sentence before he had to stop.
It was gibberish. Nineteenth century—eighteenth century?
—gibberish. He blinked hard and opened the book again.
. . . there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt . . .
He closed the book again. He still hadn’t finished the first goddamn sentence.
He felt like he was translating Latin. Now he remembered why he hadn’t finished Pride and Prejudice in high school—he’d spent most of the time trying to figure out what the hell each sentence meant.
If he wanted to do that, he would’ve actually done his French homework.
He tried again. By the third reread, he’d cleared the first sentence and had a vague understanding of what the author was trying to say.
Then he got so exhausted at the idea of making it through five chapters—at the rate he was going, it would take all night—he put the book down and started watching cooking ASMRs instead.
Ten chapters tomorrow, he told himself as his eyelids drooped in front of a video of a chimera slowly and quietly explaining how to correctly crack an egg, something Nick had learned from his mom before he could even reach the counter.
* * *
Nick didn’t read ten chapters the next day.
Or the next.
On the third day, he finally reached the end of chapter one. This was because he’d brought the book into work and hidden it inside a sports magazine to read on his break.
The night before his first book club, Nick was desperate.
He tried to read the CliffsNotes, but it just made him more stressed about how much work he had to do.
He tried to read the discussion topics, but he had no idea what they were talking about.
He thought about watching one of the movie adaptations, then imagined everyone finding out and looking at him like he was a bug on a windshield.
The grand total of his efforts was this: He’d finished one and a half chapters.
The love interests hadn’t even met. Remet.
Whatever. The point was Nick could stay up all night, call in sick to work, read all day, and still not finish this damn book. All hope was lost.
Luckily, Nick had a tried-and-true method for these situations: give up and do absolutely anything to distract himself.
At 9:00 p.m. the night before book club, Nick stood in his kitchen doorway, surveying the damage: a dozen trays of double-chocolate brownies, five trays of cinnamon rolls, three apple pies, three dozen donuts—not counting the failed batch he threw out in disgust—and a red velvet cake.
He’d only stopped when he ran out of table space and started stacking donut trays on the floor.
“Well,” he said. “Shit.”
* * *
At 10:00 p.m., he slid onto a barstool at Sour Claw. The bartender slid a beer in front of him before he could ask.
“Thanks,” Nick said.
The bartender, a thirtysomething former party girl fae, Gerri, nodded at him and fluttered back to rubbing a cloth around an already-clean glass.
Her work motto was “do the least amount you can possibly do without getting fired,” and only kept the job because it was a great place to collect gossip.
She’d slept with Nick at a Christmas party in their early twenties and seemed happily relieved when he admitted he didn’t want a relationship.
You’re not exactly relationship material, she’d told him. At the time, it hadn’t bothered him. They still slept together once every few years, and each time was less fulfilling than the last. The sex was good, but the after part made him feel weirdly empty.
“Saw you almost drive into the Open sign,” Gerri said flatly, pink wings humming behind her. “Thanks for swerving.”
“I aim to please.” Nick flashed her a thumbs-up and took a determined swallow of beer, fangs clinking on the glass.
It was going to be a long night. He wished he could get drunk, but it took so much effort.
And he hated the taste of spirits. If he wanted to get drunk from beer, he had to drink a truly inconvenient amount.
Or spike his drink with wolfsbane, but the resulting hangover was so bad, it was rarely worth it.
He waited for Gerri to fly over to the other side of the bar to eavesdrop, but she stayed a little while longer, rubbing that clean glass.
“Heard you helped Chester after he took a spill in the bookshop,” she said. “That was sweet of you.”
Vi’s distracted voice echoed through Nick’s mind. Thanks for not being all . . . you. He clenched his beer, condensation dripping down his fingers. It was an abnormally hot autumn night, hot enough he’d worried about the red velvet icing as he slid the container onto the trestle table.
“I’m trying out something new,” Nick muttered into his beer.
A hoot echoed across the quiet bar. Nick braced himself.
Jasper came charging over, pool cue still in hand, long hair bound up in a messy bun.
He was grinning in a way that made it impossible to hate him, even as he slung an arm around Nick’s shoulder and shook him.
He’d been using his vampire strength with Nick ever since sophomore year of high school, when Nick bet six-foot, beanpole-skinny Jasper couldn’t throw him into the pool.
It had ended with Nick wet and spluttering, Jasper cannonballing in after him.
“The prodigal son returns,” he crowed, beery breath washing over Nick’s ear.
But despite the sourness of his breath, his eyes were clear.
Jasper’s vampire nature meant that, like Nick, it was difficult to get drunk without wolfsbane.
But Sour Claw was Jasper’s main social outlet, so he was here several times a week, drinking beer until it gave him a light buzz.
“Been waiting for you, man. What took you so . . .” Jasper trailed off. “What’s that?”
Nick swiped at the spot on his chin Jasper was frowning at. His fingers came away streaked with buttercream.
“Nothing,” he said, wiping it on his jeans. He’d eaten a slice of red velvet cake while he loaded up the trestle table.
A dragon waved from the pool table. “Jasper! Give us the cue back, man!”
Jasper drew back his arm like he was going to javelin it over.
The dragon ducked. Jasper fell back against the bar, laughing, and Nick was overtaken with an annoying fondness.
He’d never been close with Jasper, but they’d had fun together over the years.
Mostly in this bar—or directly after it.
Jasper had been the one to sneak him in the first time, back in high school.
He’d ordered Nick a shot of whiskey and burst out laughing when Nick promptly spat it all over the bar, revealing them as underage, which got them kicked out.
Jasper ran over and slid the pool cue back onto the table. Then he jogged back, leaning against the bar next to Nick. “So! How’s book club going?”
“Can’t a guy have a quiet drink?” Nick asked, all too aware of Gerri fluttering in midair, halfway down the bar, polishing the beer taps and pretending not to pay attention.
Jasper shrugged. “Just excited for you, bud. Figured you’d be pumped for any excuse to spend time with—”
Nick laughed so loud, Gerri jumped, almost dropping her washcloth. “That’s so funny! You’re a funny guy. You know what else is funny? That time you lost that bet and had to get that ass-cheek tattoo of—”
Jasper covered Nick’s mouth and turned to Gerri.
“Gerri! Can you give the two of us a second?”
Gerri frowned. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Eavesdropping.” Jasper slid onto the seat next to Nick, pulling it close so their knees were touching. “Bye, Ger.”
Gerri flipped the washcloth over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go clean the bathrooms. Give me a yell if someone wants another.”
“We’ll miss you,” Nick called as she flew over the counter. He twisted his rings around his fingers, uncomfortable. This was what he’d come here for—a nice cold beer and somebody to talk to. And yet, every part of him wanted to run home and crawl into bed.
“I can say I was joking,” he told Jasper.
“Gerri might pretend to hate my guts. But I know she likes me, deep down. Very deep down. She won’t say anything.
” Jasper strained to grab a bottle of animal blood from the bar, pouring it into his drink and ignoring Nick’s incredulous look at the blatant thievery.
Animal blood wouldn’t help get him drunk, but it did add a flavor that vampires loved.
Also, Jasper didn’t eat enough on a good day, so he added blood to his alcohol when he could.
“So you’re being an even bigger dick than usual. What gives? Strike out with the girl who must not be named?”
“I’m not striking out,” Nick argued. “I’m not even hitting on her! I’m not that stupid! She’d rather kiss an anteater.”
Anteater, Jasper mouthed. “Look—”
“Nope.” Nick took a hasty swig of his beer. “This isn’t some you-and-Gerri shit where you antagonize each other and she sneaks looks at your chest. She hates me.”
Jasper blew a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. “Vi doesn’t hate anyone. Maybe you annoy her.”
“Maybe?”
“Who can tell? She’s always so . . .” Jasper straightened in his chair, his smile dripping with fake enthusiasm. “Good to see you! How are you! That’s great. I’m doing great! No clue what’s going through that woman’s head.”
Nick stared at him. His coworkers had said the same thing.
Couldn’t they see what she was hiding under all that customer-service fluff?
The minute pause before she spoke to him, the flicker of resignation in her eyes?
Every time he spoke to her, a little bit of his hope died.
Then he’d go away, and it would grow back enough for him to try again.
But he couldn’t keep that up forever. If she didn’t start liking him soon, he’d have to finally admit the truth: His mate had rejected him.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
“Don’t know why you’re so obsessed with her anyway,” Jasper continued. “You never get like this.”
“I’m not obsessed,” Nick scoffed.
Jasper narrowed his eyes.
Nick took a hasty sip of beer, sweating hard. There was no way Jasper could suspect she was his mate.
Before he could sweat through his shirt, Jasper slumped back into his seat. “Anyway. You never answered. How is book club going?”
Nick groaned as a wave of old stress washed over him. It felt like the day before a big exam he hadn’t studied for. “Oh god, please tell me you know what the hell happens in Persuasion by Jane Austen.”
Jasper’s face was less than hopeful. “Is that the one with the Bennets?”
“No, that’s Pride and Prejudice! Shit!” Nick stood up from his barstool, flinging out his arms. “SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENS IN AUSTEN’S PERSUASION OR I’M GOING TO LOSE MY SHIT!”
A scattered silence fell over the bar. All six occupants turned to give him a look, then went back to their conversations.
Gerri stuck her head out of the ladies’ bathroom. “Somebody gets persuaded,” she deadpanned.
Nick pointed at her with his beer glass. “Thank you, Ger. Super helpful.”
“I saw the movie once,” Jasper told him as he sat back down. “Can’t remember what happened.”
“You all suck,” Nick called.
That got him a few raised beers in response.
Nick slumped over the bar, dropping his forehead into the wood.
He should’ve stayed home and made another cake.
He’d been thinking about carrot cake lately, the satisfying moisture of it, how you could technically get away with saying it was healthy after you dumped a metric shit ton of vegetables into the batter.
Jasper clapped him on the back, his full vampire strength making Nick grunt. “You’ll be fine, man. Just read the CliffsNotes.”
Nick made a noise into the wood. Every time he opened the CliffsNotes, he got swarmed by guilt. He’d promised he would read the book. Actually read it. Not be a burnout piece of orc crap like he was in high school.
Jasper tugged at his shoulder. “Come on. Finish that beer and let’s go play some pool.”
Nick considered turning him down and going home.
Making that carrot cake and sneaking it onto the trestle table before anyone noticed.
But he was already here, and he’d come out to talk to people.
Wyatt and Duncan were always telling him he didn’t get out enough.
He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Vi he wanted to get out into the community.
He just . . . never knew how. Any attempts only made him feel lonelier.
Coming to Sour Claw only worked because it made him feel like he was part of something.
Tomorrow morning, he’d wake up stressed and most likely late for work, feeling stupid for trying to shove himself somewhere he didn’t belong.
Then he’d go and make an idiot of himself at book club and torpedo his chances with his one and only mate. Then he’d die alone.
But before that hit, he had beer and pool.
“Lead the way,” he told Jasper.
Jasper’s grin was so bright, it almost made Nick forget how screwed he was.