Page 6 of Don't Bite the Boy Next Door
The boy behind the counter tallies up my purchases with the grace and speed of a sloth, as I switch my weight from one foot to the other in agitation. Usually, I chat with the young cashiers, but tonight I’m holding my breath, so talking is impossible. I don’t need to breathe, but it is uncomfortable to hold your breath for any length of time, it feels unnatural. Still, it blocks my neighbour’s scent – the only thing that might save his life, if I can just get out of here.
Nodding as the cashier tells me the amount, I flash my credit card across the scanner. Hearing the welcome beep, I shove it back into my coat pocket, not worrying about securing it in my purse, since I’m so desperate to get out of here. But my hurry is my downfall, as my card flutters to the floor.
I bend down quickly, but straighten sharply, as the card is scooped up by a pair of long, artistic fingers.
“Here you go,” he says, standing impossibly close to me, his brilliant blue eyes taking in the name on the card before he meets my gaze, “Tess.”
I frown, still refusing to take a breath and, taking the proffered card without thanking him, shove it firmly in my pocket.
His expression bemused, he opens his mouth to speak, but even though I’m aware of how rude I must seem, I grab my bag of goods and, spinning for the door, rush outside.
When I reach the car park, I take a deep, rasping breath of cold, night air and lean on the car for a minute in an attempt to compose myself. I feel my fangs running out, the saliva pooling at the back of my mouth, as I war with baser instincts and fight to remain here, rather than running back inside and devouring him.
‘He looks so good. His eyes, his body, that whiff I had of him, oh I want to bite him so badly. Oh, God!’
At some point it had started snowing, and my vehicle is now covered in a thin, light dusting of white. Normally I would jump for joy at the season’s first flurry, I love the snow. But tonight, I’m too rattled to notice its magic. Instead, moving like a robot, my muscles almost refusing to do what my brain is instructing, I manage to force myself into the car.
It’s only a short drive home, twenty minutes perhaps, but all the while I replay our interaction and recall his lovely eyes, how graceful his hands were, how tall he was, how my body had reacted to his nearness.
I’m still shaking when I get out and make my way inside, to Pru.
