My Roommate Is a Vampire(91)

The rational part of my mind was telling me that we shouldn’t do this now. The circles he still had under his eyes belied his claim that he was fine, and I wasn’t certain he was telling me the truth about those angry red marks on his wrists.

We also needed to talk about what we would be to each other now that there was no fiancée anymore, and nothing standing between us but my own mortality.

But Frederick was kissing me with so much urgency—his hands cradling my face, tangling in my hair; the evidence of how badly he wanted me already pressing hot and urgent against my hip—that I decided these conversations could wait for later.

“I thought about you endlessly while I was away,” he murmured, kissing the words into my cheeks. “Your passion for what you do, your gentle spirit. Your beauty. Your kindness.” His hands were growing restless, roving up and down my back as his lips found the underside of my jaw, when they latched onto the sweet, sensitive spot where neck met shoulder. I threw my own arms around him, pulling him closer, not even realizing he was backing me up against the wall until I felt it, firm and solid, behind me.

“I thought about you, too,” I confessed, relishing in the way he was lavishing my body with attention. We were still fully clothed, but the touch of his hands at either side of my waist seared through my shirt as though I were wearing nothing at all. “I thought about you the whole time.”

“Please tell me that you will stay with me.” His words were barely above a whisper, breathed into my shoulder as he kissed me there. “With your convictions and your talents, it is only a matter of time before your financial situation improves and you no longer need to partake of our original arrangement. But—”

His mentioning what led me to move in with him in the first place broke me out of the moment, reminding me I hadn’t told him about my interview with Harmony yet. Suddenly, it was important to me that he know.

“You may be right about my financial situation improving.”

Frederick paused, right in the middle of doing something absolutely delicious with my earlobe.

“Hm?”

“While you were gone, I interviewed with that school.” I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice. “I think it went well. Nothing’s settled yet, of course. But I’m hopeful.”

He buried his face in the crook of my neck and pulled me closer. “Of course it went well. Darling Cassie—I never doubted that you would charm them utterly. The way you charm everyone.” He paused. “The way you’ve charmed me.”

I lost track of how long we stood there in the living room, holding each other. My mind spun. Maybe he’d been right about me all this time. Perhaps if I believed in myself even half as much as he believed in me, I wouldn’t need a living situation with strings attached for much longer.

But that wouldn’t change how I felt.

Or the fact that I would want to stay with him even if paychecks eventually became a more regular part of my life.

“I don’t dare hope that someone like you would choose to stay with someone like me,” he eventually continued. “But that doesn’t change how badly I want you to stay with me here, all the same.”

I swallowed. “Are you sure about that? I’m going to get old one day. I won’t look like this forever.”

“I don’t care,” he said, flatly. And then, with a twinkle in his eye, he added, “Besides—I will always be older than you.”

I laughed in spite of myself, then put my fingers beneath his chin so he’d have to look me in the eyes. His expression was full of such painful vulnerability it stole the breath from my lungs.

I nodded. “I want to stay.”

When he kissed me again, I decided that knowing exactly what came next could wait.





EPILOGUE




ONE YEAR LATER


I was just packing up my bag to go home at the end of the day when my phone buzzed several times, letting me know I had new texts.

It took me a minute to find my purse in my art bag. Now that I was teaching full time and needed to bring supplies with me on the El every day, the bag I carried around with me was the biggest one I’d ever had. It seemed like the thing had at least a dozen interior pockets—pockets my keys and my cell phone were constantly disappearing into.

By the time I managed to locate my phone, Frederick had sent nearly a dozen texts.

    I am waiting for you outside the entrance to the Fine Arts building.

I am wearing an outfit I selected myself this afternoon.

That green Henley you like, paired with black trousers.

I think you would approve.

Or I hope you will approve, anyway.

But I suppose only time will tell.

I miss you.



A laugh bubbled up inside of me.

Frederick J. Fitzwilliam, age three hundred and fifty-one, was texting using emojis.

It was nearly impossible to believe.

    I have to put a few things away before I’m ready to leave

We’ve been working on plastics this week

So my room’s a mess

Give me 15 minutes

I miss you too



I found him where he said he’d be, in a shady spot right outside Harmony Academy’s fine arts building. He was leaning against the brick wall of the building, legs crossed at the ankle, engrossed with something on his phone.