Page 82 of Fangs with Benefits

Kenneth: (and then you’ll tell meeeee?)

Devi: (probably not )

Chapter 28

Molly

It’s a sunny Saturday, and Elijah stayed over last night, so we drew all the curtains and I snuck out for bagels and coffee. It was sunny last weekend too, and the quiet days sheltering inside delighted me even more than outings about the city. We watched movies, I tried to teach Elijah how to play Mario Kart, and even cracked out a couple board games. It felt like a weekend outside of time, stolen moments tucked under a quilt my grandma made, kisses on my neck, Gemma marching around the apartment and snuggling between us.

All the while I told myself we’re not at risk of crossing any lines, of getting too close.

Dangerous games we’re playing, I know. It’s too domestic, too much time together, but as I told Hailey, this can’t last. We’re not compatible long term, not even really compatible short term, he’s a fucking vampire.

I’m not at risk of falling into feelings too big for my heart to handle, because we’re bound for an inevitable end.

So, then, what’s another stolen weekend?

The barista calls my name and I thank her twice before taking the cup. I stopped at the bookstore down the street and picked up the first romance novel I could find to give to Elijah in lieu of a bagel and coffee. I’m already anticipating the way his laugh will fill the apartment when I hand it to him, the kiss he’ll put on my temple in thanks.

‘Molly?’

I turn at my name, not sure who I’m expecting to see, but it’s certainly not James Johnson in the flesh, as if I manifested him from reading and rereading his email so many times.

‘James? I–wow, good to see you, hi.’ I give him a one-armed hug as both of us are holding to-go cups. He looks the same as he did four years ago, though his hairline has travelled backwards some since. He was my thesis advisor, and my writing owes much to his years of thoughtful feedback and instruction.

His eyes go straight to the novel in my hand, a paperback with a mostly naked, four-armed alien embracing a human woman titled All the Way With the Alien. I blush immediately.

It’s not that I don’t stand by my choices to enjoy well-written alien smut with my hot not-boyfriend, but James is a Literary writer, heavy emphasis on the capital L. This… well, I think the debate about what makes a book Literary is stupid as hell, but he’s not putting All the Way With the Alien on his syllabus any time soon.

‘Tom loves these,’ James says of his husband with a chuckle, and it feels like a lifeline.

I laugh, too, and give a mock-solemn nod. ‘Because Tom has taste.’

James’s eyes light up, and I really am so thrilled to see him, even if I am going on two weeks of not having answered his email in my inbox.

‘Want to sit? I have a while, if you’re free?’ James asks, and even though Elijah is waiting, I agree immediately and follow him to a table in the corner.

‘So, what’ve you been up to, Molly? Seems you’re still in the city and still writing, which makes me happy.’

‘Yep, I live nearby actually. Working an IT job, writing sometimes. That story you read was the first I’ve had published in a while,’ I say. He wants to know if I’m still publishing, submitting my little stories to contests, working on one of the novels I’d told him about in years past. I know he wouldn’t call my daily scribbling of stories in a journal that are fated to rot in my credenza a thriving writing practice.

‘And do you like the IT gig?’ he asks. There’s no judgement in his voice, but I’ve always felt like James could see straight through my bullshit. I think it’s what made him such a good mentor.

‘Not particularly, no. Pays the bills, though. Health insurance.’

‘Fair enough,’ he says, and we lapse into quiet while both of us drink from our paper cups.

I’m about to ask him what he’s been up to when he speaks again, this time getting straight to it: ‘Did you see my email?’ he asks.

I debate lying; I would in fact love to be good at lying right now. But alas, I’m not.

‘I did. I’ve been—’

What? Busy hooking up with a four-hundred-year-old vampire? Hiding from my abandoned dreams by chasing the meaningless carrot dangling from the end of a corporate stick? Terrified to try and to fail?

‘Thinking about it,’ I decide.

James smiles and tilts his head, studying me for a beat before taking another swig of coffee. ‘Molly, you’re a talented writer and a great instructor. If you want to interview, I have your recommendation ready.’