Page 30 of The Baritone's Rival

Trent raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“He’s not my type,” Oscar said. “When he came back to the covenhouse, he was quiet and skittish. I think he was more scarred by his time with Rick than he’s willing to share. He’s finally more relaxed now, more like his old self. But that self is very…perky.”

“Ah.”

They sat for a few more minutes in silence, letting the queen of jazz lull them into contentment. But even as they sat, Trent felt a pull to engage with Oscar. It annoyed the hell out of him. He’d cultivated an image of aloof ambition, and he didn’t want the illusion broken. But he couldn’t help himself.

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“What?” Oscar asked. “What do you mean?”

“We don’t know each other. Hell, every interaction we’ve ever had has been unpleasant. It can’t just be guilt at getting me involved. I said I could handle it on my own. But you weren’t willing to let it be.”

“I..it’s my fault you’re in danger.”

“It’s not your fault that your ex sent a bunch of asshole vampires to attack you, and it’s not your fault I decided to step in. I could have left it alone. You probably would have figured it out.” Oscarwouldn’thave figured it out, but Trent didn’t bring that up.

“Still…” Oscar scratched the back of his neck. Was he flustered?

“You could have holed up in the covenhouse,” Trent said. “You’re only doing this because I’m human and fragile and unwilling to sleep in a house full of unknown bloodsuckingvampires. I’m the reason you have to get out before your ex sends more people after us. Afterme, because if they catch me, I’m more likely to end up dead. Why do you give a shit?”

Oscar shrugged. Trent couldn’t shake the feeling that Oscar was hiding something. But also, it wasn’t his business. None of this was, not really. He didn’t deal with vampires anymore. He’d left that behind in Wisconsin. Now he had his career.

“If I’m being honest,” Trent continued, “I did have a moment that day. A quick one. The thought flashed through my head that if something happened to you, I wouldn’t have to worry about competing with you for the Lyric program.”

The car swerved as Oscar lost grip of the wheel for a second, drifting a few feet out of the lane and then back again as he regained control. “Are you serious?”

“It was just a moment. No time at all. And then I jumped in to fight.” Trent slapped his hand against his thigh. “I know that you don’t care that much about your career?—”

“That’s not true!” Oscar’s voice cracked a little as his volume increased. He glanced back at Justin, still fast asleep, and lowered his voice to an intense whisper. “I care very much about my career. Opera is my life. Just because I’m a vampire?—”

“Not just that. You’re also a trust fund kid, and?—”

“What are you talking about?” Oscar gave Trent an incredulous look.

Trent was confused. “You’re not? You dress like you’re a fashion model but also somehow from Victorian times. You speak like you’re in a Jane Austen novel. You fuck everything that moves. You’re every rich kid I grew up with. You’re either from a wealthy family, or you are a much older vampire than I thought you were, and you were actually alive during the early 1800s.”

“You knownothingabout me.”

“I…” Trent stopped speaking for a moment, taking in Oscar’s words. He really didn’t have any information beyond his assumptions. But he’d thought they were safe ones, considering Oscar’s whole persona. Maybe he was wrong.

“Trent, I…” Oscar shook his head, keeping his eyes forward on the road. Trent could sense he had hit a nerve.

“Sorry, I just assumed?—”

“I was a foster kid,” Oscar said. “I never knew my parents, don’t have any memory of them. I bounced around the system for a long time, a few months with one family, maybe a year at the most.”

“Oh.” Guilt spiked in Trent’s chest. He hadn’t tried to get to know Oscar. After all, Trent hadn’t wanted to be known himself. He preferred the distance, especially from handsome party monsters like Oscar.

Handsome? He needed to have a serious conversation with his brain and figure out what was going on up there.

“First off, having a decent vocabulary doesn’t mean I’m the reincarnation of Elizabeth Bennett. And the reason that I speak like I do, my elocution, as it were, and the reason that I dress like it’s ‘the 1800s,’ as you said, is because when I was fourteen a retired English professor became my foster parent. Alexander. He was older, in his early seventies, and gay. He was the only real role model I’d ever had. He made me feel comfortable in my skin for the first time in my life.”

“Wow,” Trent said softly. “He sounds amazing.”

“He was.” Oscar’s voice cracked just a little, and his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. “He was kind beyond measure. He broke down my walls after a lifetime of…well, regardless, he was a gay of a certain age, from a certain era and class, and I loved how he spoke and dressed. It was a monumental departure from the hand-me-down hoodies and jeans that made up my apparel to that point.”

“So you…”

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