Page 78 of By the Pint

Dima

There was a reason vampires didn’t play competitive sport, or follow it, or spectate it.

Nothing in the Remy Paragon Stadium had been designed with my kind in mind. The main entrance doors were all automated. The ticket barriers were automated. Though, it wasn’t like we needed tickets, apparently.This is my ticket,Casey had said into my head while circling his face with his finger, causing me to snort with laughter. There was no blood in the snack kiosks or vending machines. The fluorescent lighting was devastating for my already deathly pallid complexion. Also, sports people smelled like hell. On fire. And nobody was even playing yet. Those were just the patrons.

The thought noise was cacophonous, and between the famous Casey ‘The Temper’ Freckleman, and me, a vampire, we garnered a lot of attention.

Casey didn’t seem bothered. He looked super scrumptious in his Barracudas blue suit and tie, and white shirt straining across those incredible pectorals. He ignored all the fuss, refused to take selfies, and only occasionally acknowledged people with the briefest flick of his chin. The only exception seemed to be kids. When a child came up and asked for an autograph, he would smilingly oblige, ruffle their hair, and send them on their way. He had it worked out to an art form.

But I watched as woman after woman approached him, beautiful ones too, in insubstantial air-conditioner-inappropriate attire. Casey would perform this manoeuvre, which I could only describe as pure fucking devastation. A quick sweep from the top of their head to the tips of their shoes, back up to their eyes, and a look away. That was it. No other form of acknowledgement. No shit-smelling expression. In fact, his gorgeous face remained deadpan the entire time. Simple. Kind of callous. But fucking effective.

Absolute savagery, I said to him, after he sent another two women, in what appeared to be flesh-coloured yoga gear, packing. He knelt down to sign a child’s wingball board,

Casey permitted himself one tiny smile in my direction.They only want bragging rights. Fuck me. Go tell the internet about it. If it’s depraved enough, maybe they’ll get instantly famous. They’re already composing their social media captions.

He wasn’t exaggerating. I’d seen their intentions, too.

After Casey signed a few more kids’ jerseys, we made our way deeper inside the stadium. It felt as though we’d been walking for hours, but we were still in some sort of lobby area.

“Freckleman, Freckleman, over here,” said one guy, a human with aPRESSlanyard hanging around his neck, and a microphone clasped in his hand like a fluffy ice-cream.

Ah, here we fucking go, Casey said. He turned to the reporter.

Suddenly, a cameraman — also human — shoved a camera into his face. Casey, ever the professional, didn’t let his discomfort register on his features.

“Freckleman, it’s been so long since you’ve deigned an appearance. Are you excited for the game? Barracudas verses Rockets. We all know who you’ll be cheering for.”

Does this guy even hear himself?I said.

Casey’s mouth quirked into the briefest smile.

“We’re all missing you,” the reporter pressed on. “Have you ever thought about making your big comeback?”

“I’ve been banned for life,” Casey said, his face so passively dismissive I had to turn away and smother my laughter with my palm.

“Sure … and who’s this? A boyfriend perhaps?” the reporter said, changing tactics.

The cameraman whirred on the spot, pointing it at me now. “Uh, Dez, we’re not picking him up on camera.”

“Because he’s a fucking vampire,” the reporter hissed in a volume he thought too quiet for anyone else to hear. He raised his voice. “Is this your boyfriend, Casey?”

The camera spun back.

Casey turned to me, ignoring the reporter and the cameraman, ignoring the growing crowd of onlookers.Do you want to leave? I’m sorry, I thought this might be fun. Didn’t think it through properly. I sort of forgot about all … this.

I did. I wanted to leave. I wanted to pick Casey up in my arms and float out of the fucking building and take him to the roof, or somewhere far away from the crowds, and ask him thatquestion myself.Am I your boyfriend, Casey? Am I? What can I do to change your mind? What do I need to do to get you to stay with me?

No, we’ll stay,I said instead.

He gave me the smallest nod. Which could have meantthank you, but his barriers were pulled up tight.

“So, Casey, care to introduce the world?” The word ‘scoop’ flashed through the reporter’s mind.

“Yeah, sure. World, meet the best sex I’ve ever had,” Casey said, and then he grabbed my hand and marched me farther down the corridors, leaving the reporter too stunned to say anything.

“Dez, I didn’t get that last bit. Dez?” whispered the cameraman, as we left.

Casey paused before a roped-off turning, and pushed me into an alcove, wedging the length of his body against mine. His hands pinned my shoulders to the wall.I’m sorry. About what just happened.

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