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  “Stop it.” I pulled away from his touch, feeling my cheeks heat with more than sunburn.

  “Stop what? Telling you the truth?”

  “Stop trying to…I don’t know.” I shook my head. “We just…we can’t be doing this. I can’t let myself feel…”

  “That’s the problem. You can’t let yourself feel, can you?” Michael looked at me and his eyes were drowning deep. “You know, you told me you were interested in me the first time I asked you out,” he said.

  I looked down at my hands. “That was before.”

  “Before I was… what do you call it? Turned?”

  “Look, it’s nothing personal,” I said. “I just don’t…do vampires.”

  “Then why did you turn me down when I was still human?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” I looked out the window where it was beginning to get dark. “I guess because everyone human I get close to gets killed by the vamps.”

  “So you don’t do vampires and you don’t do humans either. What do you do, Kate?” He sounded slightly bitter.

  “I do the best I can,” I said, staring him straight in the eyes. “That’s all I’ve ever done, Michael. And if that’s not good enough for you then it’s too goddamn bad.”

  He sighed. “Fine.” Then he reached out and dabbed a last bit of gel on the bridge of my nose. “There, all done.”

  “I feel all done—well done like a steak,” I muttered, but I had the feeling of a conflict avoided and that was good. I’ll fight vamps and monsters all night long, no problem, but please don’t ask me to discuss my emotions. Guns and blades are something I understand. The human heart is an uncharted wilderness that scares the ever-living crap out of me.

  I picked up a menu of my own and looked at it without seeing a thing. I had been kind of hungry having only eaten a pack of crackers and two cups of black coffee all day—one of which I didn’t get to keep. But the touchy-feely conversation with Michael seemed to have killed my appetite.

  “You know what you want?” Michael asked, putting his own menu down. “I think we’re supposed to order and pay at the window and they bring it out to you.”

  “French fries,” I said, even though I hadn’t seen any on the menu.

  He frowned. “Not exactly a well-rounded meal.”

  “Have you seen their bathrooms?” I asked. “In place of the sign that says, ‘Employees must wash hands,’ it ought to read, ‘Why bother?’ Anything deep-fried is also disinfected. And see if they have ketchup in the little packets. I don’t want to touch the bottles.” I gave a sidelong glance at the bottle of ketchup sitting by the metal napkin holder. It had dried maroon streaks running down its sides and the paper label was brown and peeling.

  “French fries and ketchup in packets. Gotcha.” Michael slid out of the booth and went to place our order at the metal service window at the back of the restaurant. I wondered what he was ordering for himself. Tomato soup? Steak Tartar? Or maybe just a really rare T-bone.

  He seemed to take a long time and when he finally got back, I noticed that his face was unusually pale.

  “Hope you don’t mind eating hush puppies instead of French fries,” he said, trying to smile at me. “That’s all they had that was deep fried besides chicken. Didn’t even have onion rings.”

  “Hush puppies are fine,” I said, even though I think hush puppies taste like deep fried pieces of shit. I leaned across the table. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded. “Fine. It just…doesn’t smell so great back there.”

  “So what did you order?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Uh, just some soup. Chicken noodle. Probably comes out of a can so I figured it had to be safe.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I was going to be very surprised if he could eat a single bite of that chicken soup, canned or not.

  Just then a waitress that looked to be about nineteen sashayed over to our table. She had curly red hair and a skirt so short it made my sundress look like a ball gown. On one shoulder she carried a tray that had more than just hush puppies and soup on it. Much more.

  “Here ya’ll are.” She lowered the tray and started plunking the chipped china dishes down on our table. I saw ribs, chicken, coleslaw, pulled pork, and garlic toast arrive in quick succession along with my hush puppies and one small cup of chicken noodle soup.

  “Uh, I think there’s been a mistake.” Michael tried to smile at her even though he was looking really green by now. “I only ordered the soup and the hush puppies. I didn’t pay for all this.”

  “On the house, Sugar.” The redheaded waitress grinned and winked at him. “Big strappin’ boy like you can’t get by on a little ol’ cup of soup.”

  Suddenly I realized what had taken him so long—she had probably been flirting with him. Or else he had been flirting with her. For a moment I felt like my eyes might turn as green as Michael’s, but then I reminded myself that he could do anything he wanted. It wasn’t like we were dating. And it wasn’t like I wanted us to be, either.

  Michael was looking at the full platters of food in front of him like a man who had just been asked to climb a huge mountain on a sprained ankle.

  “I just don’t know—” he began.

  “Go on, Sug. Take a big bite of that pulled pork. Made it m’self.” The waitress patted him on the back, her blood-red fingernails playing around the longish hair that curled over his collar.

  Michael looked at me appealingly but if he though I was getting him out of this, he was dead wrong. Okay, bad choice of words—he was just wrong. As far as I was concerned he had made his bed by flirting with Miss Southern Home Cooking here and he could damn well lie in it and wallow in the barbeque sauce while he was at it.

  “Looks…delicious,” he said in a strangled tone. Picking up his fork, he stabbed it into the mountain of meat that was covered in bright red sauce. At least they got the color right.

  As I said, I’m not much of a barbeque fan but aside from the lurid color, it didn’t smell half bad. Michael, however, looked like a contestant on one of those reality shows where they compete to see who can eat the most disgusting thing. Still, he got the first mouthful down, chewing and swallowing manfully to my great surprise. He ate another huge forkful and another. Except for the look on his face, I would have thought he was enjoying it the way he was putting it away.

  He looked so sick as he put the fourth forkful to his mouth that I had to have pity on him.

  “Michael,” I said. “You don’t have to—”

  “Sorry!” He bolted up from the table and ran from the restaurant, almost knocking the red-haired waitress over in his hurry.

  “Well!” She put her hands on her hips and frowned after him. “What was that all about?”

  “Don’t know, hon,” I said, as I slid out of the booth and followed him. “Maybe you’re just a shitty cook.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Michael was around the side of the Barbeque Shack losing his lunch in a big way. It looked pretty much the same coming up as it had going down and I wondered if it had even gotten to his stomach before his body rejected it.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned, sinking to his knees with one hand gripping the brick outer wall.

  “Here.” I handed him the bottle of water I’d snagged on the way out and watched him rinse out his mouth, then gulp it thirstily.

  “Thanks.” He finished it off in no time and crumpled the empty plastic container in his fist. Then he tossed it in a near-by dumpster. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  I sighed. “Michael, it’s time you faced facts. You’re a vampire. There’s only one thing you can live on.”

  “What, blood?” He glanced up at me, his eyes still streaming from the violent upheaval his body had just gone through.

  I shrugged. “Sorry—vampire physiology 101—sleep during the day, allergic to silver, live on blood. I guess two out of three isn’t bad. In fact,” I leaned against the brick wall and crossed my arms over my chest. “When most vampires wake up for the firs