«As you’ve probably figured out, I’m not the type who likes being in debt to soone; so tomorrow afternoon I’ll return the drink you offered last week.»
That’s what Brianne told yesterday after school.
And as if that weren’t enough...
«...since I haven’t decided where to go yet, I’ll give you my number so we can arrange it for tomorrow.»
Getting a girl’s phone number isn’t exactly a huge achievent, but when it cos to soone like Brianne, it’s a real victory—a small, yet significant step toward the final goal.
At this point, I just hope it’s worth it.
Sure, she’s hands down the most beautiful girl in school, but I’m certain she’s still a virgin, so the first ti will probably be a ss—but I hope at least she’s a fast learner.
One thing’s for sure: she’s not the type for a quick fling and then "friends as before".
She’s definitely one of those who expects a serious relationship, dating, family dinners, the whole deal... and honestly, introducing her to Isabelle would be the dumbest thing I could ever do.
Still, if I could sohow keep this possible relationship a secret from Isabelle and hide all my other flings from Brianne... it might be doable.
Whatever. No point stressing over it now.
As expected, we arranged to et at Gantry Plaza State Park in Long Island City, just steps from the Church of the God of Light where Elaine and I had tailed her a few weeks ago—definitely far from her usual luxurious (and expensive) Midtown.
A bar that calling such would be generous, but in the end, what matters is the company, right? And right now, I couldn’t ask for better company—even though we’ve never even brushed hands.
Crazy, right? I could call dozens of girls and won to spend a quiet afternoon having sex, yet I don’t care about them at all.
Maybe it’s the thrill of the challenge?
So here we are, sitting at the outside tables of this dump... uh, I an, this bar.
Around us, shady-looking types.
After years spent roaming New York’s roughest neighborhoods in search of food, I can spot scum instantly—and this place is full of it.
A herd of unemployed thugs spending their days drinking and harassing people—and what kind of place has she brought to?!
And the worst part is that Brianne is drawing plenty of unwanted attention.
She probably can’t hear those comnts:
«Did you see that hottie over there? I’m gonna make her suck off right here in front of everyone!»
«With that rat face of yours? Leave it to , or you’ll just scare her off.»
That’s the tone of the whispered remarks coming from the tables around us.
She’s not showing the slightest sign of discomfort or embarrassnt—probably because she can’t hear them—but with my sharpened vampire hearing, I catch every word all too clearly.
God, it pisses off. I’d kill them one by one, but... yeah, not the right mont.
«So, Brianne, are you excited? Just two days until the big day—the promotional show.»
It was ant to be an innocent icebreaker. I never imagined it would trigger panic.
Brianne starts clearly fidgeting at the question, tapping her foot nervously on the ground and letting out a few groans.
«No, I’m not! I’m dying of fear! There’ll be journalists, photographers, special guests, professional models, even so national TV, and so many... so many spectators! If I ssed sothing up, if I tripped, or if I made a fool of myself... the whole world would know! It’d be so embarrassing...»
Well, I can’t bla her.
Brianne isn’t used to the spotlight—she even looks uneasy in class when called to the blackboard in front of everyone, let alone at a national event where she’ll be the star everyone’s waiting for.
«But wait... aren’t they making you practice for the event?»
«Yes, but... it’s basically just and Katerina there... The problem isn’t the steps on the runway—they’re easy—but the tricks my nerves might play...» she mutters, clearly panicking.
«Well, if it makes you feel better, I don’t mind coming to watch. Maybe seeing a familiar face could calm you down...»
Not that I care about attending a fashion show, but the thought of seeing her again in that low-cut, high-slit dress is definitely appealing.
She, however, looks at in surprise.
«What do you an...? I assud you’d be coming even without asking! Of course you have to be there too! You’ll be in trouble if I don’t see you in the front row! And with all the money you’ve got, it shouldn’t be hard to get a ticket right by the runway—if there are still any left...»
It wasn’t obvious at all, but good to know—apparently, for so reason, I make her feel safe, and that’s key when trying to win over a particularly reserved girl.
«Don’t worry, I’ll be in the front row, cheering for you.»
And she smiles at .
That sa sweet, shy smile capable of lting even the coldest hearts—a smile so innocent it takes my breath away for a mont and makes feel guilty at the sa ti.
It’s clear she’s into , but if she knew this all started because of a stupid bet, which then beca just a personal challenge—to sleep with the most beautiful yet inhibited girl I’ve ever t... but is that really the only reason for all these dates with her?
Honestly, I’m not even sure myself, but one thing I know: we’ve spent three out of three outings talking for hours, and even though I’d be ready to jump her at the slightest opportunity, when the mont cos... I’m not getting bored at all.
In fact, I’m surprised at how quickly ti passes when I’m with her.
But the calm of this quiet afternoon doesn’t last long.
One of the bastards sitting at the bar’s tables decides to go beyond just making inappropriate comnts.
«Hey, baby doll. You’re really beautiful, you know? I saw your picture in the window of a boutique on Fifth Avenue. So you’re a model? And what’s a model doing out with a punk like him? Co with , I’ll show you how a real man treats a woman.»
Ugly, short, chubby, and... damn, he reeks like a sewer.
From the way he talks, he’s clearly dead drunk... the kind of prey I used to prefer during my nightly hunts in New York’s outskirts.
Unfortunately, it’s still dayti and we’re not alone—otherwise, I wouldn’t have thought twice about making his fat, ugly face roll across the pavent.
And him, a real man? I’d bet my soul that at fifteen I already had twice his experience. What a loser...
Brianne pretends not to notice him, doesn’t even look his way, though it’s obvious she’s uncomfortable.
I just shake my head and smile.
But the guy doesn’t take it well, and two other thugs suddenly get up from another table to join him.
He reaches for Brianne—in fact, he practically throws himself at her—but thanks to my sharp reflexes, I manage to land a quick punch to his jaw before he can even touch her.
The man ends up flat on his back, jaw shattered and blood gushing from his mouth.
I tried to hold back as much as possible—if I’d hit him with full force, his head would’ve flown for several blocks, and his body would’ve crashed far down the street.
All those training sessions with John Hawkley must have boosted not just my magic skills but my physical strength as well.
The other two, however, don’t just stand there.
This ti they charge at , but fortunately, a tily intervention by a police patrol stops the tragedy before it starts (a tragedy for them, of course).
On instinct, I grab Brianne’s hand.
«Next ti, I’m choosing the place,» I comnt, pulling her away from that den of thugs.
She just nods—she’s definitely in shock from the danger we almost faced.
Of course, she can’t possibly know we were never in any real danger.
In fact, those three were the ones saved by the police showing up.
After a few minutes of fast walking, still holding her hand in mine, Brianne finally starts to calm down—but unfortunately, it’s not over yet.
Brianne may not have noticed, but those three are following us from a distance.
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