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“It’s the saucy little hats, isn’t it? Everybody loves a saucy hat.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I am reconsidering my previous statement.”
“Fine,” I grumbled. “You don’t see anything bad happening?”
“No, but that’s no guarantee with you around.”
“If you have to stop for gas, wake me up,” I told him sternly as I pulled the car onto the shoulder.
“I will,” he promised.
I slipped into the passenger seat as he jogged around the car to the driver’s side. My photo journal was propped open in the console. Collin had shamelessly leafed through it again, despite my protests of privacy. I shoved it between the passenger seat and the console and told myself that it was rude to gripe about it when he’d been so complimentary about my photos. While I’d gassed up the car earlier in the evening, he’d subtly worked in questions about when I would be returning to photography. I’d told him I had no such plans and mentioned Jason’s suggestion of taking Christmas photos at Sears for the diapered set. He was suitably horrified and dropped the subject.
“This is surprisingly comfortable,” I told him, settling into the new front-seat perspective.
He clicked his seatbelt and slid his jacket over me. “Close your eyes and get some rest.”
I smiled, nuzzling my nose into the collar. “Talk to me,” I said. “Your voice helps me fall asleep.”
“I don’t know how to take that.”
“It’s a compliment,” I assured him.
“OK, have you ever wanted to be turned?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I would do more damage as an immortal. I’m not afraid of dying … I just want some dignity when it happens. But I think we both know it’s probably going to involve a falling piano or an exotic tropical disease.”
“I think the world would be a lot less interesting without you in it,” he said. “I rather like having you around. Yes, it’s frustrating. But it’s also an incredible relief. The weight is off my shoulders. I don’t feel responsible for the safety of the people around me … except for you, of course. That’s enough to keep me busy, but it’s nice to have some focus.”
I smirked as Collin started describing his childhood in England, his mother, his brother, in a rolling baritone that had my eyelids drooping. My head sank back against the seat. My sleep was deep and untroubled.
I was standing in the middle of a crowded, smoky concert venue, one of those run-down old taverns that try to draw in the younger crowds with watered-down beer and concentrated bad ’80s rock. A mosh pit had formed around me like a sea storm of bodies, twitching and bashing against one another because the occupants were so bored with the band that being knocked unconscious seemed like a better entertainment alternative. I was battered by the waves of unwashed bodies, tempted to drop to my knees and crawl to the nearest fire exit. But that would mean touching the floor, and even in my dreams, I wasn’t going to do that.
A squeal of guitar feedback caught my attention. Collin was standing onstage, the veins and tendons standing stark under his pale skin as he sang, “ ’Cause I’m a LIAR!”
The sight of straight-laced, polished Collin, shirtless and sweaty—and with a pulse, if that angry red flush to his cheeks was any indication—was enough of a shock that I froze. And I was whacked in the face with a flying combat boot for my troubles. Still, it didn’t break the spell of Collin’s stage presence, especially when he looked right at me, blue eyes blazing, and screamed, “Yeah, I’m a LIAR!”
Jerking awake, I sat up slowly, my mouth dry and my head fuzzy. A bit of drool had dried against my cheek, and I swiped at it vigorously. “What the hell?”
My cell phone was blaring Jason’s ringtone from the center console. Fumbling for it, I pressed my thumb to what I thought was the “ignore” button. But my fingertip slid across the screen, and I hit “speakerphone.”
“Oh, shoot,” I hissed, cursing my ineffectual thumbs.
There was a weird thumping noise on the other end of the line and the tumbling crash of furniture being knocked over. I huffed, rolling my eyes. Jason must have ass-dialed me again. I’d almost hit “end” when I heard her.
“Jason!” a high-pitched female voice squealed from the phone. “No tickles! You promised!”
“I’m going to get you,” Jason sing-songed in the stupid voice he sometimes used as “Playful Sex Jason.”
My jaw dropped as I stared at the phone in my hand, transfixed by the source of the obscene giggling.
“No!” the woman squealed, clearly delighted with Playful Sex Jason. More delighted than I can remember being in months. “No, Jason, not the knees!”
“Yes, the knees,” Jason insisted, and I could hear sloppy kissing noises smacking through the receiver. There was a weird muffled thumping sound and more squeals. Jason groaned, and the girl sighed happily. There was another clear, hard thump. And another … and another … and another.
I guessed the “emotional affair” had taken a turn for the naked.
“Lisa!” Jason moaned. “Oh, Lisa, baby, I love you so much.”
