Page 12 of Only Fangs

He breaks me from my reverie. “So, the office?”

“Right. Yes. Well. You see. Umm.” I scratch around in my brain for a solution I know doesn’t exist. I don’t have an office and I can’t afford to rent one. I can just about stretch to a cup of coffee in the local cafe but I don’t think that will cut it. It leaves me with only one option. “I was thinking we could just use my flat.” I say it almost like it’s a question, just in case he has a better idea. But alas he doesn’t.

“Great. That’ll be perfect. What’s the address?”

I scan the room as I reply. It’s probably a good thing I don’t need much sleep, it’s going to take me hours to get this place into some semblance of order. No one ever comes here. Why would they? Clara has that gorgeous house so we tend to congregate there. Ivan has an apartment – it’s far too fancy to call a flat – overlooking the canal, but it’s always a bit like running the gauntlet of whatever bodily fluids his “friends” have deposited around the place.

At least my flat is small. Really really small. There’s an open plan kitchen/living/dining room, a tiny shower room and my bedroom which just about fitted a double bed, but I still have to be careful I don’t hit my head on the eaves when I sit up in the morning. But less space means less to clean and organise. So, you know, perhaps there’s a silver lining to being broke.

Brody looks disappointed when he arrives the next morning. “I thought you all lived in those fancy houses in St Leonard’s?”

“No character,” I tell him, trying to keep my tone blasé. Like I chose to live here. And not in the gorgeous Georgian house I used to own on Victoria Park Road. When I thought that perhaps I’d finally made it, reached vampire adulthood and I could relax with some sense of security around me. But it was just an illusion and eventually it all crumbled to dust once more. “Besides, the neighbours here are awesome.” I’m lying. My neighbours are an absolute nightmare, they come and go at all hours and are constantly fighting and slamming doors and stomping around as if they’re wearing steel toecaps inside. All. The. Time. But beggars can’t be choosers. And besides, Brody and I are going to launch Only Fangs and make a fortune and then I can move back to St. Leonard’s and live with normal people. Well, other vampires. But you know what I mean.

“Tea?” I ask him, determined to at least be a passable host.

“Please,” he replies.

“Or I can make coffee if you’d rather?”

“Honestly, whichever. I’m easy.” He grins as he says it and I wonder if he realises just how attractive he is. He doesn’t have that arrogance that normally accompanies such perfect cheekbones, but perhaps he’s just learned to hide it well.

I motion to the seating area and cross my fingers he takes the sofa. There’s a curious mark on the chair which I couldn’t scrub out last night and I don’t want him to think too badly of me. I think it’s glue – I ill-advisedly tried to brighten the place up when I moved in with a feature wall, but the paper wouldn’t stick and it all got a bit messy.

I put the mugs of tea down and then I realise I’m displaying the disaster of my nails in all their glory. I tuck my hand into my pocket.

Brody cocks his head and looks at me from under that floppy fringe of his. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

“Fine. Fine. Fine.” If I say it three times he has to believe me.

“Do you have something in your pocket?” he asks with a hint of suspicion, like I might be hiding a weapon in the pouch of my hoodie. Like I’d need a weapon if I wanted to hurt him. Which I don’t. And I definitely don’t want to sink my teeth into that pretty neck of his. Let’s just be really clear about that.

“No.” But I can hear the way the word sounds weird, hanging in the air between us, laughing at me and my inability to act like a normal vampire despite the one hundred and seventy-two years of practise. You’d think anxiety would wear off eventually but if anything it’s worse now than ever before.

He raises an eyebrow, but his casual act is belied by the nervous flick of his tongue across his lips.

“Fine.” I acquiesce and pull my hands out. “I made a total pig’s ear of my manicure, OK?”

He smirks. “Pig’s ear?”

“It’s something my dad says.”

“Is he?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yep. He lives in Scotland though so I don’t see him much.” He’s happier on his own, whiling away his days in the freezing cold of the Aberdeenshire wilderness. He moved up there after Mum. Said he needed to be away from all the people telling him to start dating and that life was far too long to mope around pining for a human. Vampires can be cruel and I can’t blame Dad for wanting to get away from them.

“I could help you,” he says softly and for a moment I think he’s meaning he could help me visit Dad. But then I realise he’s looking at my nails.

“You want to help me do my nails?”

He shrugs and turns pink. It does something to me but I tamp the reaction down. “I’m pretty good,” he tells me with a hint of pride.

“Sisters?”

He nods. “Three.”

“They’re gels. Or at least they were meant to be.” I add ruefully, inspecting my fingers once more.

“You’ve got one of those lamp thingies?” he asks.