Page 30 of Nosfer-Meet You

I flinch, and instantly regret it.

He pulls his hand away and winces, and I shuffle away in the grass. “Sorry,” I mutter.

Scotty rubs the back of his neck and looks down at the grass. “Don’t be sorry. Why should you be sorry? I’m the one who fucked up, touching you without⁠—”

“It’s fine, Scotty,” I interject quickly. My fingers fiddle with the ends of the hoodie sleeves. My throat tightens, and all I want to do is … what do I want to do? Hug him? That would be strange, non? I barely know this vampire. He barely knows me. We’ve certainly shared much of ourselves so far, however. More than I would ever share with a stranger. “I did not hate it. I was just surprised, is all.”

Scotty stares at me blankly for a moment, then asks, “In that case, would you mind if I held your hand, Juliette?”

After a few moments, I slide back over to him in the grass and offer him my hand. He rests his hand in my palm, then curls his fingers around it for a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for entertaining my nonsense all night.”

I can’t help but smile at him. “It’s fine, Scotty. I’ve enjoyed the distraction. But again, why are we here?”

Scotty shrugs and looks back at the screen. The lagoon monster is still wreaking havoc. What an odd thing for the humans to watch. Why do they enjoy witnessing such violence? I’ll never understand it. They have countless atrocities in the real world they can look at instead of this … whatever it is. I enjoy a good classic film, but horror is not to my taste.

“It’s your death day,” he says with another shrug, as though it were obvious. “And I wanted to take the prettiest girl in the city out to see a movie. Then hopefully get some dinner after. Like a date?”

If I had a pulse, it would be hammering in my ears right now. And if I had a pulse, not even the cloak of night could obfuscate the blush on my cheeks. Scotty allows his gaze to linger on me for just a little too long, and he picks up my hand to bring it to his face. When his lips brush against my knuckles, I shiver. His lips are cold and coarse but also perfect in every sense of the word. I need to feel them on my … on my everything. My neck, my mouth, my⁠—

“Is this okay?” he asks. “Just let me know if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

I nod. “Non. This is fine, thank you.”

The sound of the woman shrieking bloody murder in the movie makes me jerk my head toward the screen. Scotty lets out a soft chuckle, and I allow myself to dissolve into a fit of giggles in the grass. I pull my hand from his grasp and cover my face with my palms as I roll around.

What is happening to me? Non, what is wrong with me? I am acting like some sort of besotted girl when I am hundreds of years old. Putain, I am stupid.

“So she can laugh,” Scotty says, bringing me back to reality. A couple people in their convertible cars in front of us turn around to shush me. Scotty glares at them, offering them a glimpse of his fangs. The woman in the car lets out a soft squeak before turning back around.

“Only sometimes,” I say, brushing the grass off my hoodie. “Do not expect it to happen again.”

Scotty nudges me in the side and grins like a fool. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

“Merde,” I mutter.

“I’ll get you to laugh and smile like that again. It’s a promise.” Scotty looms closer, still grinning like the giant idiot that he is. “I want to put my arm around you.”

I shrug. “Fine. Do it.”

Without hesitation, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me against his body. My body feels like it’s on fire. How is this even possible when my heart hasn’t taken a single beat in centuries?

A gangly teenaged boy walks past holding a tray of popcorn boxes in his arms.

“Psst, ’ey! Over here,” Scotty calls to the boy. The boy turns around and ambles over to us. He clearly doesn’t want to be here. “Got a popcorn ticket.” Scotty waves the ticket in the air. He and the teen trade the tickets for popcorn, and then the boy disappears into the crowd of cars.

“Why are you eating more food? Do you truly wish to vomit again this evening?” I ask. “Listen, I do not normally judge others for their hobbies. But if you actually enjoy throwing up, I have to wonder about your mental state.”

Scotty holds the box of popcorn up to his nose and sucks in a deep breath.

I tilt my head at him. “Merde. You are weird.”

He looks down at me and laughs. “No worries, love. Not gonna scarf and barf again. Just like to remember the good old days, is all.”

“The good old days of being alive, you mean?” I ask.

He nods. “I liked going to the movies by myself after work and eating as much popcorn as I could.”

Yes. He is young. Not even a century old, yet. Of course he still yearns for his human life. After his first century, that desire will die.