“I get it.” Jay nods, cupping my waist and pulling me close. “Though I’d keep you here forever if I could.”
I melt against him, sinking into the comfort of another kiss. Then, fingers interlaced, we walk together through the maze to a side exit.
All the lights along the drive are on, illuminating every bump and dent on my poor car.
Jay traces one of the scratches with his knuckle. “Drive safe.”
“I will.”
“Daisy, I mean it.”
Impulsively I rise on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. “Don’t worry about me.”
He holds the car door open for me, but before I duck inside he says, “You’ll come tomorrow night? To the party?”
“Of course. I have to check on our pet glutton, anyway.”
He leans over the car door, and my lips meet his halfway. After a few seconds I pull back, panting, my insides quivering and molten. How am I this aroused again? Geez.
“I should go.”
“You said that already.” Jay kisses me once more, harder this time, his hand cupping the back of my skull. There’s a vibrating intensity to his kiss, a suppressed urgency that’s not completely sexual, and when I pull back for air, I notice the milky white swirls in his eyes again.
My heart jumps.
Jay backs away a step, shaking himself like he’s trying to dispel the hunger. His cheeks are flushed, his brown hair messy from my fingers raking through it. But his fangs are sliding out again, sharp and feral. His control is slipping.
“You should go,” he says hoarsely.
Maybe I should offer to let him drink from me. But after everything I’ve been through today, and giving some of my blood to Cody, I just can’t. It’s too much, and I’m exhausted.
“Tomorrow,” I promise.
“Go,” he grits out, and I slam the door, pressing the button to start the car.
I guess, when your boyfriend’s a vampire, you’ve gotta know when it’s time to say good night.
19
When I walk into my house, it’s darker and quieter than I expected. Usually Mom and Dad are still up at ten thirty, half working and half relaxing either in the kitchen or on the couch, with the TV running in the background. But tonight there’s only one light on—the cold, stark ray over the sink.
I toss my keys into the basket, slip off my shoes, and drop my bag on a chair. First I swing by my room to pull on comfy pajamas, and then I shuffle back out to the kitchen. Not that I need a snack. If Tom were here, he’d tell me to skip the calories and go to bed. Maybe I should, but I want something warm, something comforting—something that feels like Jay.
“Hey, Sunshine.” Dad’s voice startles me, and I gasp, clutching my chest.
“Sorry,” he says, wincing. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You’re back! How was the trip?”
“Long lectures, but I met some interesting people. It was good.”
“Where’s Mom? Everything okay?”
“She had a migraine. Went to bed early. I was reading, but I got peckish.”
“Peckish, Dad? You guys watching British TV again?”
“Hey, it’s a good word.”
“I want something too,” I mutter, peering into the fridge. “Something hot. But I’m not really hungry.”
“How about some tea?”
“Ugh, you’re totally going British.”
“Fine. How about some hot chocolate?”
I snap my fingers. “That’s it. That sounds perfect.”
“I’ll make it,” Dad says. “You sit. I want to hear about Jay. Your mom said you two, um, spent the night last night?”
“Dad.”
“No judgment here,” Dad says, his head buried safely in the fridge as he pretends to look for the milk that’s right in front of his face. “As long as you used protection, and he was good to you.”
“We’re way past the age when I needed that talk, Dad. But yes—he’s good to me.”
“So you really like him then.” Dad withdraws from the fridge but keeps his back to me. This is how he handles tough or embarrassing conversations. When I was a kid, we’d always have them in the car, with me in the back seat. Or, these day, in the kitchen while he’s fixing something or other at the stove. No eye contact.
