Page 65 of By the Pint

Dima reached forward and pulled the chain free from under my shirt. He thumbed the key. The locker key from my old Bordalis changing room.

“I will take any time with you that you are willing to offer me,” he said. “Whatever you want to do. If you want to fuck, cool, if you want to practice closing off your mind, also cool, though a lot less fun. I’ll be here as long as you remember me.”

It shouldn’t have, but that was the moment my heart began to splinter. Or maybe it had always had these hairline cracks running through it, and Dima’s words had forced them to open a little wider.

I’ll be here as long as you remember me.

I took one huge shaky inhalation and nodded. Dima’s soft smile slipped over his face.

“Do you want to watch the end of the game with me?” I asked. I’d spent the past month thinking almost exclusively about that night at Dreadmourne, and Dima, and how I might get him naked again. But right then, when faced with the actual possibility of fucking him, I didn’t seize the opportunity. Something stopped me. Felt wrong. Like one of us would be taking advantage of the other. I couldn’t work out which one of us that would be though.

His smile grew. He opened the mini fridge with his telekinesis, floated a can of Mai Tai and a can of Blooze towards us, and shuffled over to me until he was nestled between my armpit and my chest. “You’ll have to explain the rules.”

I switched the TV on. Remy Rockets in their black jerseys and St. Clouds Cavaliers in their orange ones filled the screen. “Right, so you see that guy there in the middle?”

“Number twenty-three?” he said, almost sleepily.

“That’s the fly forward. They’re the most important players on the court. All the plays go through them. They usually score most of the points, and almost all the assists. That’s what I play—played.”

“Mmhmm,” he murmured, evidently only half-listening. His fingers snaked up underneath the fabric of my polo shirt and came to rest on my chest.

“Uh … And to score points, they have to get the ball in the goal. But if the other team can touch the wings of the person with the ball, they take possession of it. Does that make sense?” I pressed on, ignoring the way my heart slammed itself against my ribs, like it was trying to crash through to fit itself neatly inside Dima’s palm.

“But they’re not real wings, they’re just stickers, no?”

“Sure. Okay, let me explain about the defence.”

Halfway through my mini lecture on strategies, and with Dima’s fingers tracing cool, electrifying circles in my chest hair, I realised it wasn’t only his words that were cracking me open.

I’ll be here as long as you remember me.

It was him.

21.

Dima

Casey was a fast learner. An upsettingly fast learner. I wanted him—no needed him—to slow down. We were racing towards him being able to completely block me from his thoughts. Towards fulfilling his end of the bargain. Which would mean, fulfilling my end, and letting him into my thoughts. And watching him trot back to Killian with every piece of info he’d promised he would bring home.

And then Killian would take Casey to the turning facility. And Casey, my beautiful moonflower, would cease to be.

The irony was too much for me to bear. He’d spent his entire life making himself unlovable, and now he would stop being himself — stop being Casey — the moment he’d found someone who loved him.

Because I hadn’t been lying when I said I gave my whole heart or nothing at all.

I loved Casey ‘The Temper’ Freckleman.

Was in love with him.

And everything about him.

He cared about me too. Even if it wasn’t love. Even if he didn’t consciously realise it yet. It was the little things. Like bringing cans of positive blood. The smile that transformed his entire face when he saw me. The way I popped up in his thoughts, outside of his mind-bag, seemingly too often.

Although we’d—he’d—decided to be fuck buddies we hadn’t fucked in the three days since agreeing to it. Had done nothing except hold each other while we slept during the day — in his room, because Jean was in the process of getting an actual bed delivered to mine — and knocked our knees together as we practiced blocking his mind. I wanted to do more. Boy, did I want to, but I was letting him take the lead, and I also got the feeling there was something he wasn’t quite telling me. A reason for not fucking me that he was keeping tucked inside his mind-bag. I realised this was what it must be like for two normal, non-mind-reading people. Constantly second guessing if it would be inappropriate to ask for a shag.

He was becoming so skilful at hiding his spur of the moment involuntary thoughts, I could no longer tell if he was thinking about fucking me. Which was good, because it was less distracting, but bad because I’d lost those clues that told me he wanted me. And I liked being wanted.

So, I decided I would let him lead the way, and fuck him when he initiated it. Since I was already in line for heartbreak the moment he went back to Killian, since once he went back and got turned into a vampire, he would no longer remember me, I might as well make the most of it. Right?

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