Page 67 of How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager
“What are you going to do now that you’re giving him your house?” Kendall made a sound like a cat about to pounce. “You’re not running away are you? Wesley Smith Garcia, don’t you dare—”
“I’m not running!” Wes cut her off, holding the phone a bit away from his face to stop her shouting from hurting his ear. “I’m stepping back. I’ll still be in the city, if he wants me. But I hurt him, Kendall. And he’s right, I need a shit ton of therapy for this. When he wants me—if he wants me—I need to be someone worthy of him.”
Kendall sighed. “Just don’t set the bar for yourself higher than anyone can jump.”
“That’s a terrible metaphor.”
“I’m serious. No one is perfect. Go do your thing, take care of yourself, personal growth and all that. I’m proud of you. But be proud of yourself, too, asshole. You’re a good person, at least when your head’s not up your own butt-crack.”
“Trying not to visualize that here,” Wes grumbled, but he felt himself genuinely smile for what felt like the first time in ages. “Thanks, Kendall. You know at some point you have to seriously fuck up so I can give you pep talks.”
“You really mean that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then put Leoni’s damned staff in the mail already. If I don’t have a present for her becausesomeonegot distracted and forgot to ship it until the last minute I’m blaming you for everything bad that happens to me until the end of time.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll do it later today. I mean a problem I can help with emotionally. Or spiritually. Metaphysically? Something like that.”
“Okay, actually if you could give me your honest advice on this one thing?” Kendall took the kind of deep breath that Wesley could hear even over the phone. “So Leoni and I decided to try out this new position from a werewolf porno we were watching, and she’s naked already, and I—”
Wesley tipped his cell’s microphone toward his mouth as he shouted, “I hate you, Kendall.”
“Pingly!” Kendall shouted back.
Wesley hung up.
5
Vincent was still asleep when Wes returned the van to the garage.
Wes sat on the floor in the living room, watching the vampire’s chest quietly rise and fall. His long lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he dreamed, and his face held a pinch more color than it had before. He was so beautiful. Wes couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it their first meeting: from the soft lines of Vincent’s thin lips to the slightly crooked angle of his nose to his wonderfully knobby cheekbones. The top two buttons of his shirt had come undone, revealing a sliver of his chest.
Wesley wanted to run his fingers over the skin, to tug open the next button and the one after that. He wondered if Vincent grew much hair on his chest. If he trimmed the stubble on his cheeks or if that was just as far in as his beard grew. If he sang in the shower. If he made that desperate little whiney growl of his when he came. He wondered those, and a thousand other things too, things he knew he might never get the chance to find out.
It was hard to pull himself away, but he was already pushing the limits froma bit creepytodownright stalkerishconsidering they weren’t technically dating anymore. But then, Vincent had lurked over Wes’s sleeping body plenty of times in the night prior to their first real meeting. Maybe Wes was being too harsh on himself.
And maybe this wasn’t the end for them, just an intermediary period where they could realign. He could hope, at least, that the little glimpses of affection and trust he’d seen in Vincent during their infiltration of Vitalis-Barron had been real, and given enough time, they could grow into something stable again. But if he stayed long enough to ask Vincent if that was an option, Wes was afraid he’d never be able to force himself to leave.
He wrote across the notepad he and Vincent had left each other messages on in the past, not giving himself enough time to over-analyze his own words and freak himself out of finishing. If Vincent wanted him after everything he’d done, he wouldn’t be scared off by a few sloppily chosen sentences.
Hey Vinny,
One of my old high school friends from the queer men’s group is putting me up until I find my own place. I took everything I think I need, but let me know if you want me to collect more of the stuff left in my mom’s room. It’s time I sold what’s there anyway. If you’re up for doing that for me, then whatever money you can make of it is yours.
I used the files I’d stolen from you-know-who to blackmail them into leaving us alone. I’m sorry we didn’t get to take them down. Thank you for helping me try, though. Whatever your reasons for agreeing, it meant a lot to me to finally have confirmation of my mom’s death.
Before I go, I have to say that I still want to be with you. I know you aren’t ready for that, and maybe you won’t ever be, and that’s okay. But if you ever think you’d like to try again, start over or whatever, I’m here.
Wes
(Also I owe you blood, if you want it.)
He had to tear off new sticky notes five times, and it still felt incomplete. After an unhealthy number of rereads, he figured the thing it still needed was probably an answer. And that, he’d only get by waiting. By providing Vincent space. By not forcing him into anything, even so much as a physical conversation that might make him, with his overly kind nature, feel like he needed to offer Wesley more than he was ready for. Wes wanted an answer. But he wanted it to be on Vincent’s terms.
So he left the note, and the house, and waited.
He spent the rest of the night unpacking at his friend’s place and nibbling on their takeout, jumping whenever his phone pinged. Nothing came from Vincent. That was okay. The vampire must have needed space, after all—that was why Wes had given it to him.
