Page 31 of Born into Blood

Perfect! Send it my way.

As humiliating as this might be, it’ll make parting ways easier. All he’ll have to do is look back at this photo and then at all the model-like women who probably surround him on a nightly basis and realize it’s for the best. We’re two different people from two different worlds. We were never meant to collide, and soon he’ll float out of my orbit, and there won’t be anything left but graffiti in my stairwell and an adorable cat and the memories from the night we rescued him.

Holding up my phone, I stand next to the Grim Reaper and snap a quick selfie. I don’t know how to use any of the neat filters, so it’s just me looking a bit too pale and my hair looking a bit too wild. I sigh and send it off before I can do the smart thing and delete it.

Too nervous to stand still, I speed walk my ass out of the parking garage and onto the sidewalk. Even with the noise of honking horns and the general bustle of the city, I still manage to hear the ding of an incoming message. My ears were straining for it, and I’m equal parts terrified and curious to read what he’s written me.

Hustling to the same corner that I’ll be meeting him at later, I slip my phone out of my pocket and stare at the message that’s waiting for me.

You’re so beautiful, Lara Swan.

How am I supposed to break this off when he’s so damn sweet? I read his text over and over again, smiling to myself while people walk around me to cross the street when the light turns green. I don’t know what to say to something that sweet, so I settle on humor. Deflection—my second go-to strategy in life, right behind invisibility.

Are you a day drinker, Luka?

No, I rarely drink. I don’t like the loss of control. Drunk, sober, it wouldn’t matter. You’re fucking breathtaking, and I can’t wait to see you tonight.

I can’t wait to see you, Luka.

I shove my phone in my pocket, because the blooming spark in my chest needs to be snuffed out. I can’t allow this to grow. It’s just going to hurt me all the more when I have to let him go. I’ll have two days with him, two days with the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and that has to be enough. I’ll make it be enough because there’s no future for us, and that unwavering truth hurts way more than it should.

After I’ve done the grocery shopping, I spend the rest of the afternoon with Pip, and then I put together a casserole for my mom. While that’s cooking, I gently break the news that I’ve been called in to work an extra shift at Ria’s. I don’t feel good lying to my mom, but there’s no other way. She’s made it impossible for me to talk to her rationally, so I do what I need to do.

Pushing aside the guilt, I start my shower and work on getting myself ready for what will probably end up being my one and only date in life. The scars on my arms look especially gruesome under the bathroom’s fluorescent lights, and the thought of Luka ever seeing them almost has me reaching for my phone to text him an excuse about why I can’t go out tonight or any other night.

This is a very bad idea. The warning becomes a mantra in my head that plays on a loop and doesn’t give me any peace—not when I’m shaving my legs, not when I’m styling my hair and doing my makeup, and certainly not when I’m putting on yet another long-sleeved shirt. I have to make it look like I’m going to work, but I can’t bring myself to wear the exact same outfit I wore last night, so I compromise. I end up with another black skirt, but I choose a white shirt instead of my usual black one. I do opt for a sexy lace bra and matching panties and ditch the spandex shorts that I always wear under my skirts, and then force myself to not question why I’m going through the trouble when I’m fairly certain he’s not going to see any of it.

“Yeah, that really spruces things up,” I mutter to my reflection. I despise my legs, but I can’t get away with jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. On top of everything else, I don’t want to be sweating my ass off. Talk about sexy overload. It’s not until it’s almost time for me to go that I remember the motorcycle.

I send a quick text.

Are you on the bike again?

His response is immediate.

No, not tonight. Are you wearing a skirt?

Yes.

Good.

I don’t know how he always manages to pull a smile from me, but he does it so damn effortlessly. Wiping the huge grin from my face, because no one would be smiling like this on their way out to a waitressing shift, I school my features into something more appropriate before leaving my room.

“I hate that you have to cover a shift tonight,” my mom says from the couch. She’s on her laptop, and I hope it’s because she’s been trying to find some freelance work and not because she’s going down the rabbit hole with some new conspiracy theory. Apparently there are groups devoted to outing secret societies and underground syndicates. You read enough of those ramblings and it’s easy to start believing that nothing is as it seems and everyone you encounter is out to get you. It doesn’t put her in a good mental state to surround herself with people who fuel her delusions instead of steering her towards reality.

Without trying to make it obvious, I give her a hug and read her screen. I let out the breath I’ve been holding when I see it’s an application for a receptionist job that she could do from home.

“That looks like it might be good,” I tell her.

She gives me one of her sad smiles. “Maybe, but I really doubt they’re going to want me. I don’t have an impressive resume, and it’s not like my old boss is going to give me a good recommendation.”

“Well, you never know,” I tell her, but that’s not true. Sometimes you do know, and that’s why I’ll be working at Dominic’s club until the day they fire me for being too old.

Trying to not get too depressed about our life situation, I give her a hug and then pet Pip. He’s on the couch next to her, pawing at one of his toy balls.

“I’m not sure what time I’ll be back. I may need to stay and help clean up again.”

“Okay, honey. Be careful, and make sure you take a different route home. You don’t want to be predictable.”

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