The Vampire Always Bites Twice | Wattys 2022 Grand Prize Winner

66

Greg, Darling

Two fluffy black cats—completely free of mange—greeted Isla at her door. She threw herself over the threshold and dropped to her knees to fuss over them, cooing and awing fervently. Beasts purred loud enough to wake the dead (pun intended) as they wove between her feet.

"Grumpkin!" Isla lifted one of the cats and nuzzled its black nose (something about that tied my stomach in knots), "Mommy's home! Yes! Yes, I'm home for you!"

The second cat bumped against one of her knees. She walloped him with back strokes. "Boo- Boo! Baby boy, I love you too! Yes, I do!"

"Boo-Boo?"

"Short for Grumpkin Part Deux Electric Boogaloo."

I snorted. Wild how her brain worked. Just wild. "How can you tell them apart?"

One of the cats swatted the other on the nose. Second cat hissed. Together, they chirped and pranced deeper into her apartment. By the sounds of it they were getting themselves into one hell of a tussle. Isla stood, ignoring them, and shrugged.

And that... that was that.

She stood there. Just beyond the threshold of her door. Inside her own home. And I was out here, the mope in the stuffy hall, shuffling stupidly on his own two feet. Show was over. Curtin's closed. Madame Margarita's limited engagement in my... thoughts was at the end of its intimate run. Come tomorrow evening, we squarely knew each other on a professional basis. That's all folks.

Wasn't awkward one bit.

Isla and I, at the same time, sucked in deep breaths.

"Oh."

"Ah."

"I..."

"You first."

"Okay," she swept her hair away from her bruised up face. Missed a piece. I clenched my fists in my pockets. "Thank you. Again. For everything. You're... you're a good guy, Greg."

My peacoat swallowed Isla. Her apartment was warm. Drafty, but warm. I could feel the heat wafting out. She had to be sweltering in that coat. Yet still, she hugged it snuggly around herself. Under all those layers her pulse beat steady, but she caught my eye and shivered as it quickened. My own jumped up to meet hers.

Fanging hell she was pretty. Under all the blood and dirt and bruises she was still a knockout fluttering her eyelashes at me.

I nodded. Mouth had gone too fuzzy with that wine taste of hers just then to say anything else.

Isla licked her lips. "Guess this is... goodnight?"

She leaned in. Just a touch.

I stepped back.

"The office opens at six in the evening," good job, old boy, still cocking it up like a champ, "be there, on time, weeknights, got it? I wasn't fooling with the job thing. You're on my books now, meaning my license is on the line if you fuss this up."

She cocked a brow. "Greg, darling, I strike you as the kind of lady who shows up late to her first day at a new job?"

Greg. Darling.

"Yes."

"Yeah, okay, six sharp, got it," Isla sighed. "Do I get worker's comp benefits? You know, for all the times I should be expecting to get hit in the face while on the job."

"Hmm, we'll discuss benefits after your ninety-day probationary period."

"Fab. According to Phoebe's handiwork, that's in two weeks."