Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(77)

I don’t want to be sick about it, but I love him with my life. It scares me down to the bones to think about losing him—although, in Morganville, it’s a lot more likely that he’ll lose me, given the mortality rates among humans here.

Still.

I rushed through the next three orders to get to Michael, and then took my time, leaning over the counter and smiling as our eyes met. “Hi, handsome,” I purred. “See something you like?”

“Always,” he said, and gave me just a flicker of that devastating Michael Glass grin. “And the coffee looks good, too.”

“You are suave. I’ve always said so.”

“And you’re strange. But I love strange.”

“Mmmm. Want to go take inventory with me in the back?”

“Isn’t the boss here?” Michael made a show of looking around for Oliver.

He found him. He also spotted Gloriana, who was leaning her chin on her tiny little hand, looking at Oliver with luminous, big eyes.

“Wow,” he said. This was not the thing you wanted to hear out of a boyfriend, believe me. “Who’s the new girl?”

“Gloriana,” I said. “She’s not new. She’s ancient.” I was hoping that would put an end to it; Michael wasn’t interested in hanging around other vampires, although he did it when circumstances required; he liked me, and Shane, and Claire. He liked us a whole lot better than the nonbreathers.

Until now, apparently. I could almost see the word balloon floating over his head: Should go say hello. But he was smart enough not to say it. With an effort, he dragged his attention away from Gloriana, and looked at me again. “So, you have plans for lunch today?”

“Nope. I was thinking about a smoothie.” In this coffee bar, you had to be sure you were grabbing the pureed strawberries, and not, you know, something else, but the smoothies were pretty awesome. “I could be talked into something non-food-related, though.”

“Shane’s at work,” Michael said. “Claire’s at school. House is empty. I could make you something hot.”

He said it straight-faced; that was the wonderful, wicked thing about Michael—he could deliver the most outrageous lines with utmost sincerity. It left me wondering if I was the only one with my mind in the gutter . . . until I spotted the amusement in his clear blue eyes.

“I’ll bet,” I breathed. “Meet you there at one o’clock, okay?”

“Not twelve?”

“I came in late.”

“Ah. I’ll keep myself occupied.”

“Hey!”

He gave me the full, devastating smile, and leaned across the counter to kiss me. His lips were cool and sweet and softer than they had any right to be, but he was gone before I could really savor it.

He’d left $4.50 on the counter—his way of saying that I should have a drink myself. Which I did, making it extra sweet and extra strong, like him.

It was only as I was sipping the drink that I realized Gloriana was staring at the door through which Michael had gone. She finally leaned over and pecked Oliver on both cheeks in a European sort of farewell, and took her cup of O to go . . . following Michael.

I didn’t like that.

At all.

? ? ?

One o’clock crawled slowly toward me, to the point where I checked the coffee shop’s clock against my cell phone and my watch, just to be sure. When the hand finally dragged itself to twelve forty-five, I stripped off my apron and chirped to Oliver, “Lunch!”

“Don’t you have time to make up?” he asked, not looking away from the cash he was counting for the bank bag.

“Yeah, I’ll stay late.”

“I’d rather you worked through lunch.”

“Sorry, slavery’s gone out of fashion,” I said, and hung up my apron on the old coat-tree at the end of the counter. “Gotta run.”

He grunted and waved his hand. I retrieved my purse from the locker and dashed out.

It wasn’t a long walk home, but it was unexpectedly chilly; rain clouds were rolling in, dark and ominous, and the wind had kicked up. It blew sand and broken bits of grass across the roads, rippled the leaves on the trees, and generally made walking less fun than usual. I was happy to turn down Lot Street and see my big, shiny black hearse parked at the curb. Death’s party bus. Holla.

I couldn’t wait, and broke into a jog up the walk, up the steps, across the porch, and unlocked the front door as fast as I could. Yes! I slammed the door and threw my stuff on the hall table; Michael’s keys were already there, in the candy dish. My heartbeat sped up even faster. “Let’s get the party started!” I called, and walked down the narrow hallway toward the living room.

On the way there, I passed the formal parlor room, which was basically a furniture museum; we never sat in there. Except this time I registered people in there as I passed. I stopped, backed up, and found Michael sitting in the big red velvet wing chair.

Gloriana was sitting on the settee, her to-go cup on the marble coffee table. She had her legs crossed, and seemed very comfortable.

In my house.

With my boyfriend.

“Michael?” I asked. He stood up, looking guilty and nervous, which was new for him. “What’s going on?”

“Uh . . . this is Gloriana.”

“I know who she is. I told you who she was.”