Page 63 of Only Fangs

“I bought you tea about twenty minutes ago.”

“Did you?”

He points at a mug on the other bedside table.

“Oh. Thanks.”

He shakes his head slightly, even though this feels very much like he’s the one who crept up on me and didn’t actually announce his arrival. He sometimes forgets that he’s basically a ninja in terms of stealth. I’ve joked a number of times about putting a bell round his neck like we did to our childhood cat who was otherwise prone to stalking small birds and leaving little gifts on my desk. Just one of the many reasons why I prefer dogs.

“Anyway. Let’s sort this packing out. Give me a rundown of the itinerary for the weekend.” He finds himself a perch on the edge of the bed, the pile of doom tottering dangerously as he shifts his weight.

“Right. So we get there tomorrow evening. It’s a bit casual apparently, some kind of buffet spread and a few drinks.”

“So vampire casual or normie casual?” he asks as he picks up a shirt from the pile.

“Definitely vampire casual.”

“So, dark jeans, white shirt. That one you bought last month that’s that thick fabric. Nothing says cheap shirt like the outline of your man-tits.”

“I don’t have man-tits.”

He stares at me, just for a second, but it’s long enough for the message to be loud and clear. “Perhaps I need to start hitting the gym again.”

“Yeah. Like three months ago,” he says under his breath. I think he’s joking, I’m really not in bad shape. Things haven’t gone that badly wrong recently, but perhaps I should start making more of an effort. He rips me from my reverie. “You’ll want to wear a nice pair of leather brogues.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Brogues?”

“All the vampires wear brogues.” He shrugs. “You need to remember that most vampires are fucking ancient and therefore have shit taste.”

“Ari has excellent fashion sense,” I counter.

“She’s a girl, it’s different. There are only two types of male vampire in the fashion stakes.” He raises his index finger. “First are the experimentals.”

“Like Ivan?”

“Exactly like Ivan. These are the vampires who do not give a fuck and will wear whatever they like, no matter what other vampires, or normies for that matter, think about what they’re dressed in. I’m going to be one of them,” he says with an almost wistful tone. But I’m glad to see he’s starting to think about his vampire identity. He needs to. He clears his throat and continues to talk, this time raising his middle finger to meet the other. “Second are the die-hard traditionalists. These guys are all good suit, perfect half inch of cuff shown under the jacket, impeccable hair, shoes shone to within an inch of their lives.”

I make a face. Sharp dressing has never exactly been my forte. I much prefer a pair of joggers and a hoodie; the cosier the better.

“Everyone at this weekend will be a traditionalist. They are friends of Andrei Hele after all.”

He has a good point. “So I need to wear a full suit tomorrow?”

“No. White shirt, jeans, brogues. And a suit jacket to complete the look. That screams newbie who wants to fit in with them, and that’s the closest to fitting in you’re going to achieve.”

I dig though the pile until I find my darkest jeans and the shirt he was talking about. “I don’t suppose you have any brogues? Or a jacket?” I smile hopefully.

“Fuck’s sake, Brody. Let’s just go and raid my wardrobe instead, shall we?”

“Good plan,” I say and we head to Matt’s room.

“What about the formal dinner?” he asks, as we stand shoulder to shoulder staring into his wardrobe.

I shrug and he turns to look at me.

“You’re not exactly giving me a lot to work with here.” He turns back to stare into the abyss of black suits and shirts lined up.

“I didn’t want Ari to think I was an idiot who didn’t understand these things,” I say softly. I feel myself blush.