Chapter 10
That night, I arrive for my shift at Pete’s, and—surprise, surprise!—Nick is already working the bar, not running late for a change. And Heather— my Heather—is perched on a stool down at Nick’s end, engaged with him in animated conversation.
I have to say, I don’t like it. I don’t like seeing the two of them together this way. I mean, Nick is a vampire, Heather is human, and as a slayer—I can’t help it—I’m hardwired to disapprove. Oh sure, maybe Nick hasn’t hurt anybody yet. And okay, maybe it doesn’t look like he means my friend any harm at the moment. But try telling that to my new alter ego.
Also, as silly as it is, I guess I feel a little bit betrayed. Even though I don’t doubt Heather’s friendship for a minute, I’m not big on her becoming the newest member of the Nick Stokes fan club.
Heather spots me and gives me a big smile. I just nod, frowning, and head into the back area to stow my stuff and clock in.
When I return, my bestie has relocated and is now occupying the corner stool at my end of the bar.
“ Bloody Mary?” I ask, skeptically eyeing the telltale concoction of tomato juice and garnish in her tall, condensation-beaded glass.
She shrugs and grins. “I thought it was funny.”
“Hmph.”
“Sorry,” she says. “Just trying to lighten things up.” Her expression gets serious. “I talked to Liv. And if I had a lethal band of vampires after my ass, I’d be grumpy too.”
“I’m not grumpy,” I say, a little defensive.
Heather scrutinizes me, raising her perfectly groomed eyebrows. “Jealous then?” she asks.
“Jealous?” I ask. “Why would I be jealous?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says in a mildly teasing tone. “Maybe because I was talking to your boyfriend?”
I’m about to respond when a guy in a Dodgers cap steps up to the bar and signals to me. I just shoot Heather a dirty look and cross over to him. “What’ll it be?” I ask.
“Let me get two Bud Lights and a chardonnay.”
I get the drinks and ring up the sale. Then I go back to my friend. “For the record, I am not jealous,” I tell her. “And Nick is not my boyfriend.”
“Oh. Okay. Good to know,” she says. She sips her Bloody Mary. “So where are you and Nick going tonight on your date?”
I gasp in outrage. “What exactly did Liv tell you? Because Nick and I do not have a date tonight. We have a…a…a training session .”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard all about the training sessions ,” she says. “But if you ask me, it’s pretty clear why Nick came up with that particular plan to save your slayer butt. He wants to spend time with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “Why would he want to spend time with me?”
“Get a clue, Sherlock Holmes,” says Heather. “The dude likes you.”
For a moment, I’m totally speechless.
“Uh, excuse me?” says a female voice.
I turn and see that a couple of women have grabbed stools at the bar a few seats over from Heather. Thursdays are usually busy nights, and it looks like tonight will be no exception. So I put my conversation with my friend on pause again while I go over to take their order.
As I fix their drinks, I try to sort through my own complex cocktail of emotions. But trying to separate my human feelings about Nick from my supernatural impulses is like trying to separate the vodka from the vermouth in my shaker. I simply can’t do it.
I can, however, distinguish truth from straight-up fantasy.
“You’re wrong, you know,” I tell Heather after I serve the women their martinis. “Nick doesn’t like me. He’s only helping me because he feels responsible for my situation. He told me as much.”
“If you say so,” she says. But she sounds as if she’s just humoring me.
And now for some reason, I’m the one who can’t drop the subject of Nick.
“I mean, if the guy likes me,” I say, “then why would he go out of his way to annoy me every chance he gets?”
“Since you don’t wear pigtails,” says Heather, “he can’t pull them.” She shrugs. “He has to get your attention somehow.”
I shake my head. “It’s not a date,” I insist.
“Fine,” says Heather. “It’s not a date. But when it is, do me a favor and consult me on what to wear. Because that ’fit you’re rocking right now is seriously fugly.”
I look down, and okay, I really can’t disagree with her on that. But my wardrobe options have become pretty limited. Once I eliminated the clothes that don’t fit me anymore and the clothes that would expose my new muscles to prying vampire eyes, there wasn’t a lot left to choose from. I landed on black yoga pants topped with an old denim button-down of my ex’s that I found at the back of my closet. Admittedly, not my best look.
“Point taken,” I say. “But I have things I need to keep under wraps. You know?”
“No excuse,” says Heather. “I’m keeping Bella Drake’s pregnancy under wraps at work, and she doesn’t look like a walking fashion don’t.”
“Bella Drake is pregnant?” I ask. The popular star plays the tough but idealistic ADA Helen Moore on Robbery-Homicide Division .
Heather nods. “It’s all very hush-hush for now, but she’s planning to leave the show at the end of the season.” My friend does a quick scan of the room. Then, leaning in closer across the bar, she motions for me to do the same. I duck my head. “That means they’re looking to cast a new ADA,” she says quietly. “And they’ll be introducing her on the season finale.”
“Really?” I whisper back, my interest piqued.
“Really,” says Heather. “And they haven’t filled the part yet. They’re not sure what they’re looking for, so they’ve been seeing all types.”
“ Really ?” I repeat.
The gears in my head start to spin. A role like that—a regular on an established hit series—would be the gig of a lifetime for an aspiring actor like me. And having grown up around lawyers, I just know I could play the part.
But Bella Drake is a stunning redhead with legs for days. She absolutely exudes star quality. Not girl-next-door quality. Or third-lead quality. Or background-player quality. Or whatever quality it is that I’m projecting these days.
But if they’re really seeing all types …
“I’m not even supposed to know she’s leaving,” says Heather, “so I can’t recommend you for the role. But you could get your agent to submit you.”
And that’s when I realize she still hasn’t called me back.
***
It’s last call at the bar. A few diehards order one more for the road, but most of the patrons settle up and head out. As long as the place was packed with customers, my inner slayer was content to sit back and let me do my job, but now that the crowd has dispersed, I’m much more aware of my supernatural side. And we’re both more aware of Nick.
As I catch his eye, I realize we’ve barely had any contact tonight. Consciously or not, I guess we’ve both been tiptoeing around each other, careful not to incite a confrontation.
But now, I walk toward the center of the bar. He meets me halfway, by the register. Eye level with his chest, I notice that tonight’s band tee has a Grateful Dead graphic on it. I wonder if it’s another inside joke…or just a shirt that happened to be clean.
“Are we still on for tonight?” I ask.
He nods, shrugs. “Sure.”
But I’m picking up on some weird energy. Not so much weird vampire energy. Weird Nick energy.
“Did you change your mind?” I ask.
“Why would I change my mind?” he shoots back.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you change your mind?” he asks.
“Why would I change my mind?”
“You tell me.”
There’s a palpable tension between us, but it’s not coming from our preternatural rivalry. It’s coming from… us . But what else is new?
“I’m in,” I say. “But can you maybe quit trying to pick a fight with me until the rest of the customers leave?”
“Fine,” he says.
“Fine,” I return.
“Fine,” he repeats.
And I’m tempted to give the last call bell another ring as we both turn and go back to our respective corners.
Heather was wrong. This is definitely not a date.