Page 18 of Soulmates
We’re lucky that all the Walgreens shoppers are busy tonight. I get the car unlocked, and we transfer our luggage to the CRV as quickly as possible. I pop the license plate off my SUV and stick it in the CRV’s back window, leaving the Honda’s behind. In less than fifteen minutes, we’re back on the road, this time with me behind the wheel.
“Well, damn, Tony. Who knew you were a pirate of the highway?” David’s smile has more life to it, as if the rush of stealing a car restored his spark.
I don’t want to get into how that makesme feel.
“It’s not fancy”—between the sand,the dog hair, and the old In-n-Out Burger bags, it reallyisn’t—“but it’ll get us out of town. You got a new phone, right?”
He busies himself looking for hotels in Thousand Oaks. In a couple of blocks, I pull over at a Bank of America and withdraw the maximum amount the cash machine will give me, then ask David to do the same.I want to pay cash for as long as possible so we don’t leave a trail of credit card receipts.
“So we’ve got a few hours till sunrise.” David slides a smile my way. “How do you think we should fill the time?” He gives his own cock a blatant rub. “Looks like my dick thinks stealing cars is hot.”
This grubby old CRV is about a thousand degrees all of a sudden. “I’m thinking,” I barked a laugh, “I’m thinking it’ll take at least an hour to get where we’re going, and then we need to make sure you’re going to be secure during the day, and—”
He leans across the seat divider, stopping my words with a nip on the ear. “We almost died. What better reason is there to fuck?”
I don’t answer him.The main reason not tofuck just tooka shot at me.
OXO
By the time we get checked in to La Manzanilla, a run-down three-story walk-up with a glorious view of the freeway, it’s nearly sunrise. We hit the mini-mart at the gas station next door so David can stock up on cigarettes, semi-perishable baked products, and a lifetime supply of Mountain Dew. Our rooms are adjoining, and before I head into mine, I make him promise he won’t leave the room or call room service or do anything else that might draw attention to himself.
And before he lets me go, he all but begs me for a hand-job. “Later, puppy.” I’ve got some blood to drink, and not the warm kind. David complains about my refusal, but the shadows around his eyes tell a different story. We both need rest.
The last man I fed from was Connor, who is apparently not really dead.Don’t know how that makes me feel.Oh, wait. Yeah I do.I’m angry.
Because it’s easier to be furious than wallow in confusion or sadness or any other phony-baloney emotion.
I fish one of the units of blood out of the cooler. Stale. Cold. I poke the plastic with my thumbnail and suck hard. The stuff is so foul, it makes me gag. Tastes even worse knowing I could be drinking sweet, salty werewolf blood.
Though werewolf blood has strings attached, and I’m feeling pretty burned.
I double-check the door to make sure it’s locked and sink down on the bed. The windowless room takes the coffin vibe a little too seriously, but it’s a place for me torest.I stretch out, eyes already drifting shut. I have to trust no one can get in, and I have to trust David will be here when I get up.
He is. I can hear him as soon as my body kicks back on. Well, it’s not him I hear, but music, heaving grunge chords beating against the door separating our rooms. I finally pull off the ruined Mickey Mouse shirt and shower. My overnight case is full of denim and black crewneck shirts.
Black doesn’t show the blood.
I toss some product through my hair and slick it down, and then it’s time to face the werewolf. There’s no point in knocking on the door to his room—the music is so loud, he’d never hear me. I let myself in, squinting against the onslaught of sound. He’s draped across the bed, an arm over his eyes, and not a stitch of clothing on his body.
His tight, golden body.
I don’t slam the door or shout over the music. He must sense me because his cock stirs, swelling against his thigh. Mine wants to answer, but I ignore it.Just because David’s turned himself into a damned open invitation doesn’t mean I have to accept.
Who the hell am I kidding?
“What’s going on?” I speak without raising my voice.
David stirs, keeping one arm over his eyes and running his other hand over his chest, up and down, each stroke going lower and lower.
“Knock it off.”
He shiftshis arm far enough to squint at me with one eye. “You knock it off.”His hand driftslower, brushing the edge of his neatly trimmed bush. “Knock that chip right off your shoulder andsuck me.”
I allowmy silence to answer him.
“Fuck you, then.”He flops over on his belly, treatingme to a look at his gorgeous ass.
With grim determination, I dragmy gaze away. “How was your day?”
