Page 49 of How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager
“It isn’t fine,” Vincent whispered. He stood up, an accidental burst of his vampiric speed turning the motion so fast that Wesley stumbled back. Vincent’s legs wobbled under him. A lingering tingle of sun-pain made him flinch, and he grabbed the arm of the couch.
“What’s wrong?” Wesley looked so confused—so stupidly, ignorantly confused.
It was like he hadn’t noticed the change a single shower could make in Vincent. Or how hungry Vincent had been since his busy work schedule had suddenly and mysteriously opened up since last week. Or how Vincent had carefully made sure that all their ridiculous bets were never for money, even though he knew Wes’s wagers with other people were a mile-long history of monetary transactions.
Just like he hadn’t considered that standing for hours in the sun to experience a parade wasn’t an option for Vincent. Just like he couldn’t tell that the privilege he had from living in this wonderful little house with no job and no worries hadn’t been slowly eating its way into Vincent’s soul. Because it had. And Vincent didn’t want to dwell on that, didn’t want to risk looking at Wesley with anything but respect and affection, because Wesley didn’t deserve his jealousy.
Wes had a dead mother. He’d grown up with just her and lost her too young. But he’dhada mother who loved him, who’d given him a house instead of kicking him out of one. Right now, with the most expensive thing Vincent owned falling apart under his fingers and Wesley staring at him like he was being turned a little monstrous by it, Vincent couldn’t keep bottling it all up. Something had to slip.
“I lost my job, you know.”
Wes kept staring at him. “I… shit, dude, I’m sorry.” He held out a hand like he was going to pat Vincent’s shoulder, but pulled it back before he could. He pasted on a weak smile instead. “That sucks, but it’ll be okay. There are other jobs out there. I’ve filled out so many applications this week, I can help you. It’s really not that bad.”
“If you’re not a vampire, maybe.” Vincent raised his voice and the sound drew a flash of panic across Wesley’s face but he still couldn’t stop himself.
“Night shifts.” Wesley spread out his arms and gave something almost like a laugh. “We’ll find you someplace with good night shifts.”
“Night shifts have day interviews. They stick them in courtyards and rooms with big windows on purpose.” Vincent’s whole body ached again, sharp, spearing pain working its way through his joints. The blood had been meant to help with this, he thought, distantly. Stupid vampire body making everything harder on everyone.
“There has to be something out there. A freelance gig? Or you could work for that taxi app?”
“I don’t have a car.”
“There’s still plenty of random stuff that you can do from home, right?”
“That’s not really an option for me.” Vincent could feel the tremble in his words and it turned them meaner somehow.
A knot formed in Wes’s brow. “But you have a place? Most vampires don’t actually live in crypts and gothic castles, right?”
“I have… something. But it’s not exactly set up with a home office.” Vincent couldn’t look at Wesley long enough to form the words.
“Well, fine.” Wesley sounded almost as shaky as Vincent felt, his gaze leaping from Vincent to the window to the wall and back. “I have a house and a car. You can use mine. You can work from here.”
It should have been a considerate, thoughtful offer—wasa considerate, thoughtful offer—from a man who had no idea how quickly and thoroughly he would get sick of offering his space to Vincent and receiving nothing in return. “So we just pretend I live here, then? How is that supposed to work? Do I come over every night and eat your food and use your shower? Do I put you as all three of my references and my emergency contact? Do I address my taxes from here?”
“I don’t know? Maybe. If you have to.”
“Then say we do all that. Maybe it’s fine at first, but what if I lose whatever gig I’ve found because they realize I’m a vampire or because sometimes—sometimes I just can’t make myself do the work—and then what if I can’t get another one, or maybe I do but people know I’m here and they start treating you differently because of me, and I’m miserable and you’re miserable, and you just want things to go back to the way they were.” The words seemed so easy suddenly, bursting out of their cages and ravaging through his chest in the process. “You’ve been so fucking nice about everything, but no one can give that much and not get anything out of it.”
Wes flinched like he’d been hit. “I haven’t been…” He swallowed. “I won’t hurt you like that. I promise, I won’t.”
“Why won’t you? You only wanted my friendship because I fascinated you: Vinny the Vampire with the intoxicating bite.” It felt like a fire burning him from the inside out. But he had to say it. “Your life is all about having fun and being wild and spontaneous, and getting whatever the fuck you want, and I won’t fit with that forever.”
Wesley’s face crumpled. He made a sound that could have been a laugh at any other time, in any other context, and turned himself in a bouncing, energetic circle too choppy and frazzled to be happy. “God. Fuck,” he whispered.
Vincent cracked. “I’m sorry; that was shitty. I shouldn’t have…”
“You’re half right though.” Wes laughed again. “You’re right that I’m a disaster and kind of a junkie for anything that makes me feel good. I’m—” He closed his eyes, his head tipping back. “Fuck.” He drew in a breath, then another, and looked at Vincent pleadingly. “But I care about you. Not your bite, but you. Just you. And I am trying to help. I know I’ve been a fucking mess at it, but doesn’t that still count for something?”
Wesley cared. Vincent wanted to hold onto that and to all the things Wesley had done for him. He’d offered his blood, his home, his food, he’d even tried to take Vincent to a hospital when he’d passed out. He’d seen Vincent’s scars, and he’d looked terrified by them. But he hadn’t run. He hadn’t demanded to know that there would never be more of them. That was something.
It had to be something.
“I hope it counts,” Vincent admitted. “And I care about you, too, so fucking much. Maybe that’s enough. I just don’t know.”
All the fire drained out of him, leaving only the shakes behind. He lowered himself, slowly, sloppily, back onto the couch. Wes kept watching him, his thick brow tight and his beautiful lips bunched together. Vincent’s heart ached.
And that was another problem with Vincent spending all his time here, with betting his life on Wesley’s good will: Vincent Barnes was fairly sure that he was madly in love with Wesley. Between his jealousy and his fear, that love had been clouded over, but it was still there, bright and hot and consuming in a way that made him doubt whether he could be in the same room with Wes for another minute without the unsaid weight of it burning him up.
