Chapter 88
Chapter 88
“Hey, Ma, I’m heading out now p>
Chloe’s mother twisted around to look at her from her spot on the couch. The living room lights were all off, her tired face lit only by the glow of the TV. Her mom was only in her mid–fifties, but over the past year since Dad had passed away, she’d aged immeasurably. Her hair had gone from mostly black to mostly gray. The lines face had become deeply set, dragging her mouth into a frown, making her once–bright eyes look hollow and si
her
nt
It was the first night in more than two weeks that one or more of the aunties wasn’t over, chatting with Ma in the kitchen over coffee. Chloe appreciated the quiet–her family got to be overwhelming. But without them, Ma seemed more withdrawn than usual.
“This early?” Ma asked, glancing at the time on her phone. “Don’t
you start at ten p>
“I’ve been picking up extra hours,” Chloe lied.
Ma’s frown deepened. “You already switched to third shift, now you’re taking overtime? Why? You’re going to work yourself into the ground, make yourself sick, just like your father p>
“I’m not working myself into the ground. I promise. I like working nights, it’s quieter and it pays more than days. And lots of people work overtime. It’s not a big deal. And it’s not even every day. Just
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays p>
“Well, for how long p>
Chloe shrugged. “As long as I need to p>
Chapter 88
“I don’t like this,” Ma said flatly.
Chloe’s throat and chest tightened. Hot, prickling discomfort chased over her skin. “Well it’s not for you to like or not like, is it?” she
snapped.
Ma stiffened, brows drawing together, frown deepening
Chloe sighed, rubbing at her forehead like she could scrub away the anger and the stress and the exhaustion. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,
Ma. I didn’t mean it like that. But this situation is tough, so we just
have to deal with it. I’m heading out now. Thanks for
I’m
ke
looking forward to it.” She held up the leftovers Ma
a peace offering.
Ma’s frown softened by a fraction. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you in
the morning. ”
“Night. Don’t forget to lock up after me p>
A few minutes later, Chloe was sitting on the L, riding north to where Amos lived in Old Town. By the time she reached her stop, she’d forgotten her stress and was mostly overcome with nerves. She walked beneath the girders of the L, the ground rumbling beneath her feet as a train passed overhead, and made her way through Old Town’s pretty streets.
When she reached Amos’s house, she stood outside the beautiful greystone, frozen with indecision. She was shivering, but this time it wasn’t from fear. Or, not entirely from fear. It hadn’t been that long since she’d learned vampires even existed, and now here she was, a professional blood “donor” about to go in for round two. Another round of being drained of blood while she orgasmed continuously in a stranger’s crushing hold.
Jesus Christ, what was she doing? She pinched the bridge of her nose while a heated flush spread through her whole body. Earning more money in fifteen minutes than you make in a day, that’s what you’re
Chapter 88
doing. Before her mind had quite made the decision, her feet
brought her up the steps to Amos’s front door. She rang the bell and
waited.
lond
Amos Hansen. It didn’t sound like a vampire’s name. It sounded like somebody’s grandpa. Vampires were supposed to have names like Dante or Lucien or Aloysius. They were supposed to wear all black and have a sinister air of brooding mystery. On Monday, Amos had been wearing a crisp white oxford shirt and neatly pressed wool slacks. He was pale, yes, and had alarmingly red irises, but that was about the extent of his vampiric aesthetic. Instead of tall, dark, and handsome, he was middling height with closely cropped hair and the sort of face that was best described as “h cheekbones, heavy brow, blocky jaw. Deep crow’s feet i from the corners of his eyes. What had probably been dimples when he was young were now matching grooves in each cheek. He wasn’t model material, maybe, but there was still something pleasantly masculine about his features. He looked like a sturdy, corn–fed farm boy from a bygone era.
Well, maybe that’s exactly what he was.
ut
P
The door suddenly opened, and there he was, the undead farm boy, in the flesh. Chloe stared at him. She knew she looked like a startled rabbit, but she couldn’t seem to make her face do anything normal.
“Uh… hi,” she managed to rasp.
Amos’s blood–red gaze swept over her, his expression totally neutral. He was slightly dressed down compared to last time, wearing jeans instead of wool slacks, but still in a crisp button–down shirt, this one a deep forest green. “Hello, Chloe. Come in.” She’d noticed there was just the slightest accent to his speech. She couldn’t place it, but she suspected it was a remnant of a bygone accent–the way Chicagoans spoke back when he’d been human.
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