Page 40 of Road Trip with a Vampire
He…thought I was pretty?
No. It had to be the Diet Coke.
“Um…well, a lot of vampires aren’t good people,” I said. “Vampires need to drink human blood to survive. It’s kind of hard to do that without doing bad things at least occasionally.”
I tried, and failed, to ignore the way he was still staring at me. Then I took his glass from him to cut him off, watching his full lips form the most adorable pout I’d ever seen when I set it beside my plate.
He shook his head as if to clear it. “Not like that,” he said, sounding more sober now. “Even for a vampire, I worry I may have been…bad.”
I opened my mouth to tell him it was okay if he hadn’t been a good person. Or at least it would be. That self-forgiveness and new starts were both possible. That I was living proof of it. But the words wouldn’t come. He hadn’t asked for my story when we’d set out on this trip. If I was being honest, I wasn’t ready to share it.
“You sure you still want to go through with this trip?” I asked. “Sometimes the past just holds us back.”
“I can’t know who I am without knowing who Iwas.” He must have misinterpreted my blank look for confusion, because he added, “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to understand.”
If only he knew that I understood perfectly.
After the chickens cluck-sang theworst rendition of Elvis’sDon’t Be CruelI’d ever heard, our server—Sharon, according to her name tag—approached with our bill in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other.
“A refill for the road?” she asked.
The coffee here was garbage, but I didn’t care. We still hadn’t found a hotel for the night. I needed caffeine to stay awake until we did.
“Please,” I said, pushing my mug towards her.
Peter frowned. “You shouldn’t drink so much coffee.”
I bristled at his paternalistic tone. “Why not?”
“You have trouble sleeping,” he said. “Caffeine this late in the evening won’t help.”
I stared at him. I vaguely remembered telling him about my insomnia issues the morning after he’d spent the night at my place. Had I mentioned it since then?
I didn’t think I had.
His eyes were full of a knowing concern I didn’t know what to do with. I looked down at the remaining dregs of my dinner, ignoring the way my cheeks flushed.
“Caffeine doesn’t affect me as much as other people,” I said honestly. “It’ll help me stay awake until we find a hotel.”
“I’m driving tonight. Remember?” Then he added in a quieter voice, “So you can skip the caffeine.”
Sharon chuckled as she poured my refill. “You’ll have trouble finding a hotel near here either way.”
“Why’s that?” I asked. I sipped my coffee, ignoring Peter’s disapproval. It tasted like they’d made it that morning and left it on a burner all day, which was probably exactly what hadhappened. But I wasn’t about to give Peter the satisfaction ofnotdrinking it.
“Rodeo,” Sharon said, as if that explained everything.
Peter looked at me blankly, then back at our server. “Rodeo?”
“Yep.” Sharon set a handful of creamers on the table. “For the past thirty years, every second weekend of October we have a big rodeo down at the county fairgrounds. Thousands of people come in from all over for it.” She gestured to the dining area, still packed despite it being past nine in the evening. “At this hour we’re normally empty. Not during rodeo week, though.”
My stomach sank. “You really think everything will be booked?”
“There’s a half dozen motels within about twenty miles of here,” she said. “None of them have got vacancies tonight. Next time you drive through this time of year, book in advance.”
There was no way I’d be through here again if I could help it, though there was no need to tell her that.
Before she turned to leave, Sharon added, “Check out the rodeo before you leave town if you can. Buffalo Bruce is making his first appearance in five years. He’s great.” She leaned closer to me and, in a conspiratorial whisper, added, “He’shot, too.”
