Chapter 10
LINDSAY
Once I’m back in Boston, days fade into more days, which fade into weeks.
It’s a slog. Board meetings and pitch meetings and marketing meetings fill my time, and my patience wears thinner with each one.
I knew it would be less thrilling, of course, because in Mapletown, there lives a zombie with a heart of gold and a dick tailor-made to give me the most mind-blowing sex of my life.
I just didn’t realize returning to my daily life would be this much of a bummer.
Since I got back, Nic and I still text throughout the day, and we FaceTime more nights than not.
It’s nice, but it’s not the same. I miss his minty, woodsy scent, and the way he held me so tightly against him.
I miss the way his body radiates warmth, even from a few feet away.
We haven’t discussed labels, and that’s how I want to keep it.
I don’t like missing him, let alone giving whatever it is between us a rigid designation that dictates every aspect of our lives when we don’t even live in the same state.
There’s no chance of him leaving the safety of Mapletown to move to Boston––a man walking around with green skin would not do well here––and it’s not like I’m about to pull Jules out of school and away from her grandparents to move to a monster town.
He’s a good friend and an excellent sex partner.
We should all be so lucky to find both in the same person.
When the physical part of this ends, which it will, I hope there’s a chance for us to remain friends.
I doubt it, though, since that hardly ever happens.
He seems like the kind of guy who could be friends with his exes, which I’ve never understood.
But when this thing falls apart, at least there won’t be a huge mess to clean up.
We have separate lives in separate cities and won’t need to worry about awkward run-ins down the road.
It’s on a snowy Wednesday night that I convince him to show me the inside of his trailer. “The anticipation is killing me,” I tell him. “And if you’re hiding decapitated heads in your freezer, I think I have a right to know.”
“You sweet city girl,” he says in that velvety rumble that I’ve grown addicted to. “They wouldn’t be entire heads. Just the brains.”
I let out a cackle that would make a swamp hag proud. “You’re right. My mistake.”
“Okay, this is the bedroom,” he says when he turns his camera around. Maroon sheets and a navy comforter. Do all men limit themselves to these colors for bedding? Why is it always navy and maroon? There’s one pillow in the middle of the bed, and one nightstand on the right side.
Then the camera turns one-hundred eighty degrees to the kitchen/living area/bathroom. I see a built-in dining nook that serves as a TV stand and mail collection area, and a black leather recliner facing it.
“Well, congrats,” I say when the tour ends. “Despite becoming a zombie, your taste suggests that you’re still a basic human dude.”
He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “Now you know why I prefer to take you to the apartment above the bar.” Plopping down in the recliner, he slings an arm behind his head. “Are you still up for a rom-com, or are you too tired?”
I yawn but insist I can power through. “Do I get to pick this time?”
“Absolutely. What are we watching?”
“Hmm.” I ponder my short list of favorites. “How about The Wedding Singer?”
“That’s a classic. Let’s do it.”
We start it at the same time to ensure the dialogue is synched.
Adam Sandler’s character gets left at the altar by the woman who Ross cheated on Rachel with, Drew’s boyfriend is a walking red flag right from the start, and my mind starts to wander down a familiar path.
“I’ve always wanted to be more like her. ”
“Drew? Why’s that?”
“She has this enviable softness to her. An easy smile. She has her own unique aura, of course, but no matter what she’s doing, there are no hard edges. She’s never too much, you know?”
“Mm,” is his only reply.
I’m not sure why I’m following this thread in my mind, but I keep going.
Maybe I’m just tired, or maybe it’s because my period is in two days.
I don’t know. “In reality, my sister is way more like her than I could ever be. The angel of the family. The one who naturally fits into the shapes society deems correct.” I sigh.
“Meanwhile, I’m over here stomping around with my big feet and my large body, being too loud and too angry.
A ball of sharp points. A middle-aged porcupine. ”
“I like your sharp points.” His voice is soft. Reverent. “That’s just the outermost layer anyway. You take that coat of knives off and the rest of you is butter. Anyone paying attention could see that.”
My heart swells, and I want more than anything to believe him.
“Hey, Linds?” he says, his brow furrowed as he stares at the phone. “Can I call you back?”
Clearly, he’s getting another call. At this late at night, I’d assume any call I’m getting is an emergency. “Sure. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just my friend, Gemma. I’ll talk to you later.”
The call ends as I’m saying goodbye.
Gemma. Who the hell is Gemma?
Nic
Gemma has either called me or shown up at the bar for three straight days. This is after not hearing a word from her for over a month. Vyla’s theory is that she sensed I’m seeing someone and hates not being the center of attention.
“Toxic exes can always tell when you’ve moved on,” she said. “Her favorite toy is being played with by somebody else, and because she’s a fucking brat, she’s trying to take it back.”
Vyla’s not a fan of Gemma. Her vitriol comes from a place of love, but it always makes me uncomfortable.
Gemma and I have known each other for years.
She’s the reason I’m here in Mapletown. I owe her a lot, and that includes not letting others talk shit about her, even though my relationship with her has been, at best, rocky.
I’m trying to look at her reappearance in my life as a good thing.
We’ve been on-and-off for as long as I’ve known her, and for the first time, I want to lock that off switch into place.
She needs to see me with someone else to fully understand that this dance we’ve been doing can no longer continue.
The only problem is that I’m not technically with anyone.
Lindsay and I are in our forties, so it’s silly for us to put stock in the label of boyfriend/girlfriend, and I know that for her, it’s a way to protect herself from getting hurt.
She doesn’t know me well enough to trust me with her heart, or with Jules, and this is how she chooses to protect her bubble.
That’s fine with me, because I’m patient, and she’s worth waiting for.
Even though we haven’t had a discussion about dating each other and no one else, I’m going to proceed as if we have.
There’s no one else I’m interested in anyway. I’m not sure how, but I want to build a future with Lindsay. It’ll likely take time, and there are logistics that need to be figured out, but I’m ready to have those discussions.
I’m not about to let Gemma or anyone else get in the way.
That night I ended our call to see if Gemma was okay—she was, and it was nothing more than a booty call––I immediately called Lindsay back.
She asked about my connection to Gemma, and while I didn’t lay my heart on the table and reveal my plan to build a future with her, I made it clear to Lindsay there was nothing for her to worry about.
“I have no lingering feelings for Gemma. Not attracted to her at all,” I told her. “We’re friends. That’s it.”
Gemma doesn’t seem to be getting the hint, unfortunately, with the way she keeps propping her heavy breasts onto the bar when I approach.
“Need a refill?” I ask, keeping my gaze on the wet pint glass I’m drying.
“Not a refill, but I would like a minute of your time,” she purrs. Her red tipped nails trace the edge of her V-neck shirt in an attempt to draw my attention to her considerable cleavage. “Or wait, what was our record? Three minutes?”
“Can’t recall,” I reply. “You can have a minute, but you should probably refrain from the sexual innuendos. As I said the other night on the phone, I’m not playing this game anymore.”
She rolls her eyes and props her elbows on the bar. “All for some boring human? You can’t be serious.”
The muscles in my jaw tighten at the slight to Lindsay. “She’s not boring, and she’s not a full human, either. She’s part witch.”
Gemma throws her head back with laughter.
“Please. That’s like saying she’s the assistant regional manager, not assistant to the regional manager.
Just because they have a few cute party tricks doesn’t mean they’re anything like us.
They don’t understand what it’s like to be us, and they never will. ”
What a backward opinion about the majority of residents in all of our nation’s monster towns.
“Cute party tricks? The only reason we get to live in a town that’s safe for monsters and protected from those who would persecute us is because of witches.
” I gesture at her tall black horns and shimmering purple skin.
“Without the enchantments lining the borders, you’d never be able to walk down the street. ”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Witches aren’t the only ones who cast spells, Dom. You know that. Anyone could do it.”
“Huh. Are you saying you’re a better wielder of magic than our current mayor?
” Vyla pipes in with a menacing smile. “I bet she’d be very interested in hearing how unimpressive you find her and her entire ancestral line.
” She tosses her towel over her shoulder and puts her large hands on her hips.
“Or would you like to tell her yourself? She usually comes in around this time.”
Gemma drops two twenty-dollar bills next to her empty glass and gets to her feet.
“I have better ways of passing the time.” She keeps her gaze on me, never acknowledging Vyla’s presence.
Then she says over her shoulder, “Call me when you’re ready to accept that a human couldn’t handle you, Dom. Especially during your ruts.”
Vyla growls. “If there’s ever an appropriate person to call the c-word, it’s her.”
“Easy,” I reply reflexively. Vyla continues her rant about Gemma, but I don’t hear much of it. I’m too busy thinking about what Gemma said.
My ruts occur once a month and last for about forty-eight hours.
During that time, there’s no higher priority than sexual release.
I have to leave notes for myself to remember to eat––that’s how laser-focused I am on coming.
Gemma hasn’t been with me during my last two ruts, during which I relied on my hand, porn, and lots of lube. It’s not the same, but it’s manageable.
With Lindsay, though, it could be downright dangerous.
I didn’t have to hold back with Gemma, meaning I could be as rough as I wanted.
Not only that, but Gemma preferred my roughness.
There was even a time when I sunk my teeth into her thigh until she bled.
The wound scarred over, and she got a tattoo of my teeth marks as a memento.
That’s not something I could ever do with Lindsay.
A zombie can’t turn a demon, but a bite that breaks the skin even a little could easily turn Lindsay, no matter how much magic she has in her blood.
Her biology is that of a human, which makes her susceptible to the virus that’s currently dormant, but one I still carry.
Why haven’t I considered this before? Am I putting a single mother in danger simply because I enjoy her company? If I’m this willing to put my own happiness over her safety, then I haven’t changed at all. I’m still just as evil as I was back then.