Page 62 of My Roommate Is a Vampire

But I didn’t.

The shirt he was wearing was nice enough. But that wasn’t what kept me rooted to the spot, what kept my hands on his body long beyond what he’d probably imagined when he asked me to do this. I’d known he was muscular, but now that I was actually touching him I realized he was all butmadeof muscle. Had he been this physically fit when he was still human, I wondered? Or was being built like a professional athlete a physiological peculiarity unique to vampires? Either way, I could feel his pectorals bunch and flex beneath my palms as I touched him, could feel his sharp intake of breath when I grew bolder and started gently tracing his collarbones with my thumb.

His eyes were still trained on me, but growing glazed and unfocused.

“How...” He stopped, his eyes drifting closed. When he opened them again there was a heat in his gaze that made the department store, the rest of the world, fall away. He inclined his head towards me, his mouth scant inches away from mine. I could feel each one of his breaths against my lips, cool and sweet. My heart raced. My knees wobbled. “How does it feel?”

“Wow! Your boyfriend looks great in everything, doesn’t he?”

We flew apart at the sound of the salesperson’s voice, coming from right behind me. Frederick—now standing at least a foot away—stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, eyes downcast. He wasn’t blushing—couldvampires blush? I wasn’t sure—but I sure was.

I was too shell-shocked to respond.

Fortunately, Frederick seemed to recover his wits faster than I did. Or maybe he had never lost them in the first place. Though he didn’t correct her, either.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice strained. His eyes never left my face. “Cassie likes this shirt. I will take one in every color.”

TWELVE

Letter from Mr. Frederick J. Fitzwilliam to Miss Esmeralda Jameson, dated November 7

Dear Esmeralda,

I am in receipt of your most recent correspondence. As a rule, I am loath to repeat myself, as doing so is generally a waste of time. However, your latest missive shows me I have no choice.

As I have said multiple times before, to both you and my mother: I do not believe a marriage in which one partner is an unwilling participant would be a happy one. Additionally, since my last letter to you, I have developed feelings for someone else. I doubt anything will come of them for a variety of reasons I will not bore you with. Either way, you deserve far more than marriage to a man who pines for someone else. I will not sentence you to a life of that kind of misery.

It has been over one hundred years since we last spokein person, but I remember you not only as a reasonable woman but also as an admirably independent one. You cannot possibly want an arranged marriage to a man who doesn’t love you. Please help me convince our parents this plot of theirs is the mother of all bad ideas.

With kind regards,

Frederick J. Fitzwilliam

ART TEACHER WANTED FOR UPPER SCHOOL—HARMONY ACADEMY

Harmony Academy, a K–12 coeducational private school located in Evanston, Illinois, dedicated to fostering moral integrity, intellectual vitality, and compassion among our diverse student body, seeks an art teacher for its Upper School. Position to begin in the fall semester. Qualified applicants will have a BA in an art discipline from an accredited university, 1–3 years of experience teaching fine arts in an educational setting, and excellent references. MFA strongly preferred. Working artists are especially encouraged to apply.

The ideal candidate will, through their professional history and art portfolio, demonstrate sincere commitment to Harmony Academy’s above-stated values. For consideration, please email your CV, cover letter, and portfolio to Cressida Marks, Harmony Academy Head of School.

I stared at the Harmony Academy job description, trying to decide what to do with it.

Ordinarily, I would just delete it—the way I deleted all emailsfrom my alma mater’s career office. A one hundred percent rejection rate from all Younker-referred jobs I’d applied for my first two years post-MFA had taught me that continuing to beat my head against that particular wall wasn’t worth my time.

But I was feeling good. I’d spent most of the day in the studio working on my project for the art exhibition. It was exciting how quickly it started coming together once I realized the found object materials needed for it were wrinkled cellophane and Christmas-colored tinsel glued together with epoxy. The piece’s working title wasManor House on a Lake, and though I was seldom satisfied with my oil paintings I felt this project represented some of the best work I’d done in years. The cellophane-and-tinsel mixture emerging from the canvas made the water look like a three-dimensional neon-colored fever dream—and in a good way.

Overall, I thoughtManor House on a Lake—by marrying traditional paints and modern synthetic materials—was at once classic and postmodern. It was the perfect subversion of the exhibition’s Contemporary Society theme.

It had been a while since I could truthfully say Ilikedwhat I was creating.

So, yes. In general, I was feeling optimistic.

Optimistic enough that I decided I might as well apply for this Harmony Academy job. I couldn’t see a downside. The worst thing that could happen would be I wouldn’t get the job—but I was basically a professional at not getting jobs. Given everything else that was happening, that near-constant voice in the back of my head that told me I was doomed to fail was easier than usual to ignore.

A good old-fashioned rejection letter might be just the thing to get me to stop ruminating on what had happened withFrederick at Nordstrom the other day. To stop thinking about the feel of his solid, broad chest beneath my fingertips. To stop reliving his raveling composure as I touched him.

Yeah. Maybe applying to Harmony Academy was exactly what I needed.

Determined, I pulled up the last cover letter I’d written for a teaching position and gave it a quick once-over. My job situation hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d applied to a job like this one, so updating it took less than ten minutes.

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