Page 79 of Road Trip with a Vampire
Peter made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, then started coughing violently into his hand. I gave him a sympathetic look and started rubbing his back—the way any girlfriend concerned over her boyfriend’s sudden coughing fit might do.
I knew calling him my boyfriend was an impulsive thing to do. But instinct told me that if Jonathan thought we were dating, he’d be less likely to assume the worst about Peter. It was a gamble, but one that seemed to be paying off, if Jonathan’s slightly more relaxed stance was any guide.
His gaze shifted from Peter to me. “You’re dating this guy?”
Peter opened his mouth to speak, but I elbowed him in the ribs as discreetly as I could to keep him quiet.
“Yep!” I chirped. “Six months next week. In fact”—I gave Peter a syrupy-sweet smile—“we’re here tonight to celebrate our anniversary.”
Gods, I would have to do so much explaining later.
Jonathan smiled a little at that. “Um. Congratulations, I guess?”
“Thanks,” I said, beaming. I rested my palm on Peter’s chest,above where his heart had once beat. He went as rigid as a tree trunk at my touch. “We’re very happy.”
“Uh, right,” Jonathan said, clearly uncomfortable now. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. It’s just that you”—he jerked his head towards Peter—“are the spitting image of this guy who was here about six months ago. But that guy wouldn’t have a girlfriend.” He snorted. “Or even set foot in a place like this if he weren’t being paid to do it. Total shithead.”
Suddenly the crappy music and the noisy kids from the birthday party all fell away.
Jonathan had interacted with Peter before he’d lost his memory. He was someone who could answer questions about his past.
“Oh?” I asked, sliding my hand a little farther up Peter’s chest. Hopefully Jonathan couldn’t hear how hard my heart was pounding. What was Peter thinking right now? I didn’t dare look at his face. “Why wouldn’t he have a girlfriend?”
“Too busy traveling, I’d imagine.” He turned his back on us for a moment and returned with two pairs of bowling shoes. He pushed them across the counter towards us. “And like I said—a total dick. Given what he does for a living, I can’t imagine anyone would evenwantto date him.”
Peter slowly slid our shoes from the counter with one hand. “This person…he traveled a lot?”
The man shrugged. “I think so. But he was only here once. I didn’t ask questions.”
“Why was he here?” I asked.
But now that Jonathan had been reassured that Peter was not, in fact, the asshole he’d thought he was, he’d lost interest in talking with us. He turned his attention back to his phone.
“Nothing good,” he said without looking up. “Lane eight’s ready. Have a nice, uh…anniversary celebration or whatever.”
“You, too,” I said absently. Then cringed when I realized what I’d said.
I took Peter’s hand and quickly guided him towards our lane. He seemed shell-shocked, not even protesting when I sat him down in one of its cracked plastic chairs.
“You okay?” I asked, pitching my voice low.
“No,” he admitted. “This is the second place from my journal where someone took one look at me and panicked.” He stared at the floor. “I remember that Jonathan guy from the last time I was here. I didn’t at first, but after he started talking about that mystery asshole who’d visited six months ago, some things came back to me. Someone paid me a lot of money to crack a safe they keep in the back office and steal what was inside.” He closed his eyes and slumped back in his seat. “Zelda, I’m telling you. I don’t think the person I used to be was someone you’d want to know.”
I took our shoes from him and set them on the floor. “Youaresomeone I want to know,” I insisted.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough,” I said. “Whoever you used to be, you don’t have to be that person anymore if you don’t want to be. All I care about is who you are now, with me. Besides, I’m in no place to judge, am I?”
He shook his head. “It’s not the same thing.” I couldn’t have disagreed more. Whohadn’tengaged in a little safecracking and burglary at one point or another? It wasn’t like he’d just remembered killing someone. Or that he’d remembered endangering an entire rec center full of people with his wanton use of magic like I had.
But Peter didn’t seem to be in a place to hear this, so I didn’t push.
He looked over his shoulder, back in the direction of the shoe counter. “Maybe we should ask him more questions.”
All my instincts told me that would lead to nothing good. “Forget him,” I suggested. “You and I have a bet, remember? You owe me an hour of bowling.”
Peter stared at me. “You still want to do that?”
