SHIVER: 13 Sexy Tales of Humor and Horror (5 page)

I’m confused. “Does your family know?”

He smiles. “Yeah, Em. They’re like me too.” His smile turns to a grin. “We all got turned on the same night.”

My mouth gapes. “No
way
. They all look so nor-” I spot the ginormous grin on his face and fade out. “What I mean to say is that I never would’ve been able to te-”

His rough chuckle slides over me. “Go on, you can say it. We all look so
normal
.” He nods, “We know. That’s kind of the point.”

Holy shit.

Holy
shit
!

This is real. I have a real live vampire in my house.

Oh my God. I’ve been having sex with a vampire!

Is that why it’s been so good?

I have to dig further. “Whoa, wait! Do you have some sexual voodoo going on? Is that why the sex is so good? Because, if so, I’m not complaining.”

He tips his head back and laughs. “No, Em. That’s just you and me. Believe me, I wish I could take credit. It’s just what you do to me.”

A smile plays at my lips. “So what of the stories? Are they fact or myth? Super speed is obviously a tick but what about the other stuff. I didn’t know you could do the
Spider-Man
thing.”

He sighs softly. “A lot of the stories aren’t true. In fact, it’s been rumoured that vampires started the stories to throw people off. As you know, I have a reflection. Holy water is just water to me. Hell, I’m catholic. I’m not evil. I eat and drink but don’t actually go to the toilet. I-”

I cut him off in protest, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a minute! What the heck do you do in the bathroom when you go in there? Sometimes you take forever!”

He grins sheepishly. “Um.
Candy Crush
.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “Oh my God, that is funny!” I chuckle to myself and prompt him. “Okay, sorry. Tell me more.”

“Yes, we have super speed. I can walk up walls but that is a trait only I have. Mom can move things with her mind. Dad can fly.”
Holy cow!
“We have extremely sensitive hearing and-”

My stomach coils as my eyes almost pop out of my head. I jump up off the sofa and cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh no.”

A look of alarm crosses Bastien’s face. “What is it, Em?”

“Have you-” Oh God, I don’t want to ask but I have to know. I just have to! I whisper in horror, “Have you ever heard me fart?”

He winces.

I gasp as my face heats. “Oh my God, you
have
. This isn’t happening!”

Bastien has the gall the smile. “Honey, you just found out I’m a vampire. And
this
is your main concern?”

I sit on the edge of the sofa, face drawn. I talk to myself. “I’m no longer the perfect wife. Perfect wives don’t fart.”

He takes my hand in his. “You are, Em. You are perfect to me.”

I am so sad right now.

This is my life, people.

Bastien suddenly stands. “You want me to fart? ‘Cause I’ll do it. Right here, right now. I’ll tear a goddamn hole in my slacks if you want me to, princess!”

I mumble a flat, “I’ve never heard you fart.” A thoughtful look crosses my face. “
Can
you fart?”

He tilts his head in thought. “I don’t even know. I think dust might come out of me.”

Damn him. Damn him to heck for his funniness.

I try to hide my smile but fail miserably. “You’re a dork.”

I don’t even see him move but I’m suddenly lifted high in the air. Geez, he’s strong. He smiles up at me. “So, we’re okay?”

My smile is soft and loving. “I love you, Bastien. It’ll take a little more than you being a vampire to change that.”

He lowers me back to my feet. His lips come down on mine, feather soft. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m going to love you till forever.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “I love you. We were meant to be. Forever and always.”

He pulls me to him, his arms wrapping me tight. Warmth spreads through me and I realise something.

Everything was going to be fine.

A single mom. A single dad. A common enemy. Will their feelings come to light on Halloween?

eBook edition

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Jodie Beau

First Digital Edition October 2014

Friday, October 31, 2014

7:03 A.M.

“Would you like
to come in for some coffee?” he asks, waving an open hand toward his front door in a welcoming gesture.

If coffee is a euphemism for being fucked until I can’t remember my own name, then yes, I’d love some. Thank you.

As if reading my mind, he wastes no time on awkward, neighborly small talk. He pushes me through the front door of his home, and has his lips on mine before the door closes behind us. He tastes like cherry Kool-Aid, just the way I remember.

Without taking his lips off mine, he waves his arm behind us, and sweeps the contents of his dining room table onto the floor. I hear glass break as a candle holder hits the hardwood. Pieces of mail flutter to the floor behind it.

I’ve never seen that move done in real life – definitely not in
my
life. No one has ever wanted me enough to make a huge mess in his own house. I can’t help but wonder who is going to clean it up. Maybe he hires a maid service.

He gets a good grip on my ass, lifts me up, and nearly slams me onto the table.

I stop thinking about the mess.

“I like this aggression,” I say, trying out my best sexy voice and hoping I pull it off. It’s been a long time.

With his hands on my shoulders, he pushes me down onto the table. It’s a heavy wooden table, the kind I imagine Beauty and The Beast having in their castle.

In another act I’ve never seen outside of internet porn, he grabs hold of my white button-up shirt at my chest, pulls it up until my back arches, and then rips it open. The pearlescent white buttons sound like raindrops as they hit the table around us.

It’s okay. I can live without the shirt. It was just a boring button-up from Target. It wasn’t even that white anymore. I have the worst time keeping my whites bright.

He leans over me and bites my neck – not vampire style, just a tiny bite – as his hands creep up my black pencil skirt.

He stands up again and raises my legs straight up in the air until my ankles rest on his shoulder. I feel the stretch burn behind my knees, but I don’t mind the pain. He digs his fingers under the waistband of my pink lace panties and starts to remove them. For a moment I wonder if he’s taking the aggression a little too far for our first time. But then I realize I don’t care. I just want him. I’ve been waiting for this since I was fifteen-years-old. If my body has to take a little beating, I’m okay with it – as long as my G-spot gets one, too.

He has a dark, intense stare in his eyes as he slides my panties over my thighs, across my knees, and past my calves. He twists them around his wrist as he tugs, tighter and tighter. Without breaking eye contact, he twists until his wrist, and the knot of pink lace, rests at my ankles.

I look up at him, at his dark eyes and hair, and the neatly-trimmed beard he’s been sporting this fall. He looks more like a man than I’ve ever seen him. He’s not the teenager I remember – which is good, or I’d end up on Nancy Grace. He’s grown up and sexier than ever.

I take in the sight of my stiletto-ed feet on his shoulder and I’m glad I decided to walk Lucie to school this morning in heels. There’s something seriously hot about lace panties and stilettos. This image wouldn’t be nearly as nice if I’d worn my Skechers today.

He closes his eyes before he runs his panty-covered wrist under his nose and inhales. I think he just smelled my underwear. Is that creepy or sexy? I decide on sexy because creepy would be a mood killer, and I’m not letting anything ruin this moment for me. Not even that Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed toy on the couch. I swear that thing is staring at me.

I don’t have time to worry about Winnie because the man who just tied my legs together gives me a cocky grin. Without breaking his stare, he slowly unwinds the panties from his wrist. When he pulls his hand free, he places the lace between his teeth to keep my ankles tightly together. Then he unbuttons his pants.

***

“
Go-od morn-ing
,” I heard, in a woman’s singsong voice.

“I hate you,” I muttered, as I leaned over and grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand. I hurried to swipe my finger across the snooze button before the annoying troll could say another word. What a rude awakening.

I set my phone back on the nightstand, closed my eyes, and snuggled closer into my pillow. I wanted that dream back. I wanted to see him again. I had nine more minutes to finally see what he had in his pants. We could get a lot done in nine minutes.

I didn’t usually snooze on Friday mornings. Don’t get me wrong. I was a devoted snoozer. On Mondays through Thursdays I hit snooze at least three times before I dragged myself out of bed to get Lucie ready for school. I then walked her there in the same yoga pants and t-shirt I slept in the night before, my face greasy with night cream, and my hair looking like it hadn’t seen a comb since Prince was referred to by a symbol. And I was totally okay being a mess – on Mondays through Thursdays.

Today was Friday. Fridays were different. Fridays were the days Ben Ogea walked his daughter to school. Ben Ogea was the reason I didn’t snooze on Fridays. He was also the reason I’d woken up with my panties in a twist this morning.

Oh shit
. I sat up in bed when I remembered. This wasn’t an ordinary Friday. It was Halloween. I needed extra time to get Lucie into her
Frozen
costume and braid her hair like a princess. There was no chance of finishing that dream this morning.

I sighed and reached into the drawer of my nightstand for my bullet. Thanks to a brand new set of batteries in my boy-toy, I was ready to start my day in approximately twenty seconds.

***

7:32 A.M.

I had spent
the last five nights watching blog tutorials and playing with Lucie’s American Girl doll trying to master the princess crown braid. I wanted to surprise her with my newfound hair skills, and maybe earn the Best Mom of the Week award. Turned out this wasn’t my week. (Last week wasn’t either.)

After a few failed attempts and tangles, we ran out of time. Lucie had to settle for an ordinary French braid pulled across her shoulder. Sometimes, when I thought too much about it, I felt like Lucie had to settle for a lot.

I realized that most of the girls in Lucie’s class would be dressed as Elsa from
Frozen
. I’d tried to talk her out of the costume. I’d tried to get her to choose something more unique. One thing I should note about my six-year-old is that she didn’t mind being like everyone else. Another thing I should note is that she didn’t mind being different either, when she wanted to be. She hadn’t yet learned to care what other people thought, and that made me feel like I’d gotten at least one thing right with her. Me, I was still trying to
un
learn this – a revelation that grew clearer to me every day.

There was a competition that took place every morning outside Lucie’s elementary school by a group of moms I’d dubbed The Fucker Mothers. You’ve seen the movie
Mean Girls
, right? Imagine those girls growing up, having children, and spending a little too much time on Pinterest. Then imagine their kids going to school with yours.

Here, let me introduce you: There’s Shauna— blonde, shapely, goes to (insert some kind of exercise class) four times a week, married to a (insert occupation of a person who works a lot), drives a (insert designer car), and is the mother of the smartest, brightest, most athletic student in the school, who also happens to be a (insert word for a child who has been raised to believe he/she can do no wrong).

I’d introduce you to Melissa, Tabitha, and Vanessa, too, but I’d only be repeating myself. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Just fill in the blanks with an appropriate word, and you’ve got the picture.

Last year, on Lucie’s first day of kindergarten, they’d tried to befriend me with their morning chitchat. It went something like this:
Omigod! She’s got that baby forward-facing already? Doesn’t she know the dangers? I heard she uses a leash on her kid. Where’d she get that skirt? The Family Dollar? You know her son had to have a cavity filled. A cavity at five years old? And don’t even get me started on that kid’s name. I feel like we’re living in a trailer park every time I hear it. And did you hear her husband finally got a new job after being laid off? He’s only making five figures. She might have to get a job herself, though I don’t know how she will. I mean, she clearly has no skills of any kind. Is that little girl really wearing that shirt again? What is this? The third time this week? You know, I heard she uses boxed hair color. NO! Yes! And guess what her daughter brought for snack time yesterday – Goldfish crackers. How can anyone let their child eat such poison? Doesn’t she read anything she sees on the internet? Doesn’t she pay attention in her Weight Watchers class? I mean, assuming she
is
in Weight Watchers. If she’s not, she should be. So … who wants to get a margarita for breakfast? It’s noon somewhere, right, girls? (Insert evil giggle.)