Sucker for Love (20 page)

“That you were pregnant.”

She shook her head. “That I was pregnant and that I loved Rob. See, I wasn’t freaked out about the baby. When I saw that first pink plus sign, I actually felt happy.”

“That’s great!”

“No, it’s not. It’s the worst thing ever. I can’t be happy about this baby and I can’t be in love with its father. Rob and I are over.”

“Not if you tell him you’re sorry. He’ll tell you he’s sorry. The two of you will get back together. You’ll have a nice commitment ceremony complete with a champagne reception at the Waldorf and an ice sculpture shaped liked Count Chocula. You’ll honeymoon in Maui. Then you’ll come back and I’ll give you a nice big baby shower with one of those fab diaper cakes. You’ll have the baby and, bam, you’ll live happily ever after.” I squelched my own sudden pang of longing and focused on Nina.

She actually looked hopeful, but then her face fell. “That’s impossible.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. If I tell Rob I’m sorry, he’ll think it’s because of the baby.”

“It is because of the baby.”

“Yes, but it isn’t
because
of the baby. The baby just helped me realize my feelings for him. I don’t love him just because I’m having his baby.”

“So tell him that.”

“He won’t believe me.”

“He might.”

“And he might spend the next eternity wondering if I didn’t just hook up with him because I needed a father for my child. I have to have this baby on my own.” Her gaze met mine again. “My dad is going to shit a brick.”

I thought of Nina’s strict, conservative father (much like my own) and my heart went out to her.

In the born vamp society, procreation was all about family mergers and propagating the species. Love didn’t figure in, and so Nina’s father would never understand why she refused to name the father.

Unfortunately, the sucker for love that I am, I got it loud and clear.

To make matters worse, Nina’s eyes grew bright, and before I knew it, she started to bawl.

What?

Nina was a superficial born vamp who shed a tear only when her bank account slipped below an acceptable level or she missed out on one of the shows during Fashion Week.

Stunned, I stared at her for a few fast, furious heartbeats while my brain raced for something—anything—to make her feel better.

“Look on the bright side. Now you have an excuse to buy a new wardrobe.”

“I don’t need an excuse for that.”

“Oh, yeah.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say so I kept my mouth shut and did the only thing that felt right. I slid my arms around her.

She stiffened at first because born vampires, even
BFFs, didn’t usually get touchy-feely. My arms tightened and she melted against me. The tears came harder and if I weren’t such a badass vamp, I might have cried too.

For a reason other than the soap residue still burning my eyes, of course.

“What am I going to do?” she finally asked several huge sobs (me) and a couple of hiccups (her) later. She pulled away and stared at me as if I had all the answers.

I had zero, but she was my BFF and she needed a guiding hand.

“First off”—I sniffled and wiped at my own cheeks—“you’re going to stop crying. This can’t be good for the baby.” I steered her toward the bed. “You’re going to lie down and get some rest. Where’s your luggage?”

“I don’t have any. I was so upset and anxious last night that I left home without even an overnight bag.”

Which explained the rumpled sweats and zero makeup.

“I took the red-eye and flew into Austin, but it was too early to buy anything. I just checked myself into the nearest five star hotel and slept until sundown. Then I caught a cab here. I figured we could do some shopping later.”

I shook my head. “There are exactly two boutiques in town. One specializes in children’s clothes and the other is a resale shop.”

The color drained from her face. “I think I need to lie down.”

“That’s a great idea.” I steered her toward the bed. “I’ve got a few errands to run, but I’ll be back soon. You can nap until then.”

“Resale?” she asked as if trying to digest the information.

“You can borrow something of mine until tomorrow night. Then we’ll do a little shopping in Austin before everything closes. I’m sure they have a mall.”

“A
mall?
Now I know I’m going to be sick.”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to calm down, close your eyes and forget about everything but getting some rest.”

“But I don’t even have a toothbrush.”

“I’ll pick one up while I’m out. Now in.” I motioned her under the covers. “And lie on your left side. That helps the circulation to the baby.”

“Since when did you become an expert on pregnant women?”

“Since I spent most of my life living with Jacqueline Marchette.” Aka the Queen of Guilt. I’d heard my mother’s war stories so many times that I now knew more than I ever wanted to know about bloating and fat ankles and raging hormones.

See, having a baby vamp was pretty much like having a baby human. Same restrictions—no feeding on an alcoholic or a chain smoker or a Starbucks addict. Same recommendations—plenty of rest and exercise
and extra nutrition. The only difference? The source of the nutrition. “Did you eat?”

“A half a bottle of AB+ before I left the hotel in Austin.” She sniffled. “Maybe I should have a snack.”

I grabbed the coffeepot and poured her what was left of my own dinner. “Drink up, lay down and close your eyes.”

She nodded, drank every drop from the mug I handed her and then snuggled down under the covers.

“Lil?”

“Yes?”

“Promise you won’t tell Rob about the baby.”

“I won’t tell Rob about the baby.” About the fact that she loved him? That little tidbit was fair game.

“Scout’s honor?” she asked.

“I was never a Girl Scout.”

“You wanted to be.”

“Au contraire.
I wanted to be a Princess Brigitte Little Lady in Waiting (the English translation of a snotty, pretentious French game played by all the servants’ daughters back in the old country). I’d been nine and desperate to bond with the other little girls that lived at my family’s castle. My mother had been strict about no fraternizing with the humans and so I’d had to content myself with watching from afar.

“I sat in on one tea party, but my mother caught
me and threatened to feed the other little girls to our groundskeeper—he was a werewolf—if they let me join the group.” Did my ma have a way with children or what? “She banned them from using the kitchen and they blamed me.”

“The bitches,” Nina said, closing her eyes and snuggling down into the pillow. “I wanted to be a Little Lady, too,” she murmured as she drifted off. A few minutes later, she was sound asleep.

I tucked the covers around Nina (we’re talking the mother of my niece/nephew/excuse to throw a super-hot baby shower) and headed into the bathroom to pull myself together. Drying my hair, I pinned it back with a pink rhinestone clip. After a little mascara and some lip plumper, I wiggled my way into a pair of skinny black jeans, pulled on a Cake tie-dye silk cardigan and tank and pushed my feet into a pair of purple Cheyenne satin flats.

By the time I walked out of the hotel room, I rocked physically. It was the mental I was having trouble with.

Everything was just too weird. Esther was missing. Nina was pregnant and she’d forgotten her luggage and she was blubbering worse than me when I watched
The Notebook
on DVD. On top of that, I was staying in a room straight out of an
Austin Powers
movie.
And
I was wearing a ponytail.

While I knew I looked trendy cool, I still couldn’t remember the last time I’d just pulled it all back, to hell with hair products or a flatiron. But forty-five
minutes on hair seemed so unimportant compared to everything that was happening in my afterlife.

That, or I was suffering from some serious sleep deprivation.

After a few seconds of consideration, I latched onto number two. I already had two strikes against me when it came to unbecoming vamp character (working class and a romantic). No need to add a third (compassionate).

My ma would disown me for sure.

Locking the hotel door behind me, I headed for the back alley. I dodged a few suspicious piles (the animals were gone, but the evidence remained) and found a small secluded spot where I could concentrate.

I tuned out the steady buzz of crickets and the voices from Elmer’s TV and tuned into the steady thump of my own heart, from the sound echoing in my ears to the pulse in my chest.

My body began to tingle. The sensation started in my toes, sweeping upward until I felt as if it were vibrating in time to the steady
ba-bom ba-bom.
My arms and legs grew weightless and my vision sharpened. I added a mental
All aboard!
so I didn’t forget anything (namely the flats, which had cost me two retainers) and then I hopped on the Batgirl Express.

A few seconds later, I flapped my way over the top of The Grande and headed for Austin.

“T
hat’s Tara Hanover over there,” said the old man who’d met me at the front door of Golden Acres.

Bernie MacDougal. An ancient little man with snow white hair and a hunched back that would have made Quasimodo envious. He wore his pants too short and his glasses too thick. He was this close to breaking the Golden Acres’ chess record of 863 straight wins.
If
he won this next game about to take place in five minutes and fifty-three seconds—just as soon as the Bridge Club finished and vacated his lucky table—he was going to win a year’s supply of Metamucil. With the way the cafeteria served up mac and cheese every other night, he needed all the help he could get. “She’s the one on the right.”

My gaze shifted to a large woman wearing an orange muumuu and a pair of black cat’s-eye glasses. “The redhead?”

“Your other right,” Bernie told me.

My gaze bounced to the other side of the table. Same muumuu, different color. This one was pink and wrapped around a chubby woman with pasty white skin and dyed black hair. She wore a ton of foundation, most of which had settled into her wrinkles, making her look even older than her seventy-eight years. Bright red lipstick rimmed her thin lips and bled slightly at the corners. Red rouge splotched her cheeks and blue shadow hovered over her eyes. Crimson-painted nails gripped a handful of cards. She looked deep in thought.

That, or asleep.

I noted the steady rise and fall of her chest. A faint
grrrrrrr
crossed the distance and slid into my ear.

“Are we gonna finish this or what?” Orange muumuu demanded, and Tara jumped.

“Don’t get your girdle twisted, Laverne,” she growled. “I’m just concentrating.”

Yeah. Sure.

I moved to step forward, but Bernie caught my arm. “No sirree, bub. She gets cranky if anyone bothers her during Bridge. They’ll finish up soon enough.” He eyed the clock. “It’s almost time. I need to run back to my room and get my lucky rabbit’s foot. Just
have a seat over there.” He pointed to a group of chairs. “That, or there’s refreshments out in the lobby. You can talk to her when she’s done.”

“Thanks.” I sank onto a nearby folding chair. Pulling out my iPhone, I was about to check the two new voice mails I’d received when Katy started singing.

Every head at the Bridge table swiveled in my direction. A dozen pairs of eyes drilled into me and their owners’ thoughts rolled through my brain.

What the hell is her problem?

We don’t allow phones in here.

Shut that bitch up, will ya?

And a few more that I really didn’t want to think about. Who knew old people could be so violent?

I gave them an apologetic smile and sent a mental
You are not mad. You love me and you love Katy Perry and you don’t mind the interruption.

Unfortunately, the men were well past their sexual prime and so my seductive vamp influence was totally wasted. They scowled and one of them gave me the universal peace symbol. I pushed to my feet and headed for the lobby before someone lit a torch and yelled
Death to the Vampire!

“I need to ask you something,” Rob’s voice echoed over the line once I hit
TALK.
My heartbeat kicked up a notch.

Asking meant he suspected and suspected meant he practically knew. Which meant I wouldn’t be
telling
him. No, I would merely be answering—truthfully—whatever question he might pose.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Where’s the cat food?”

“Yes, she does love—Excuse me?”

“I can’t find any more cans in the cabinet.”

“Well, let’s think about this. Maybe you can’t find any more cans because I’m out. If you want cat food, you’ll have to go to the store.”

“But there’s a rerun of the Dolphins playing Pittsburgh.”

“Pause it.”

“I can’t do that. Pittsburgh is about to score.”

“Then make Killer suffer until the touchdown.”

“Okay.”

“I was being sarcastic. Get off your ass and go get cat food. And while you’re at it, pick up some more bottles of blood to replace all the ones you’ve drank. And a new coffee table. And a pair of lamps. And a Swarovski crystal hair clip.”