We were on our third date.
Russell Baker was twenty-four and a professional boxer. I wasn't twenty-four.
In fact, according to my driver's license, I was thirty-five. Thanks to the vampire in me, literally, I looked twenty-eight and possibly younger.
We were at Roy's Restaurant in Anaheim, a bustling place that consisted mostly of Disneyland tourist spillovers.
Still, a nice restaurant with great ambiance and just enough background noise to make it seem like we were alone.
Russell Baker was dressed in tight gray jeans and wore a tight black Ralph Lauren shirt open wide at the collar, revealing some of his muscled upper chest. He wore his own type of medallion.
It was a golden scorpion inside a golden disk, in homage to his birth sign. I'd heard about Scorpios. I've heard they could be the best lovers. The thought, perhaps not surprisingly, sent a shiver through me.
"You okay?" asked Russell.
"Just a little cold," I said, which was a half-truth. I was always cold. Always.
Russell seemed especially perceptive of me, and I was beginning to suspect the reason why. By our second date, I was certain he was picking up stray thoughts of mine here and there. Faster than what usually happens with most people who get close to me. After all, it had taken Detective Sherbet nearly a half a year to get to this point. Then again, Russell and I were getting close, fast.
Russell stood and plucked his light suede jacket from the back of his chair and came around the table and slipped it over my shoulders. He sat opposite me again, smooth as a jungle cat.
"Better?" he asked.
His jacket smelled of good cologne and of him, too. Essence of Russell. For me, it was a wonderfully exhilarating scent.
Despite the jacket doing nothing for me, I said, "Yes, much better." Which, again, was a half-truth. I loved his scent, and I loved his concern for me.
For me, dinner dates were a challenge.
Salads were great to order for someone like me. They scattered nicely about the plate and gave the impression and appearance that I was eating my food. The wadded-up napkin in my hand contained half-masticated lettuce and carrots and beets. Anytime Russell headed for the bathroom, or checked his cell, or called over the waiter, that wadded-up napkin was gonna disappear into my purse.
Lickety-split.
And so it went with me. A creature of the night - yes, a vampire, I supposed - attempting to date in the real world. Cold to the touch, unable to actually eat real food, and giving away her thoughts as if they were free.
"You're not like other girls I've dated, Sam," said Russell.
"Oh?" I wasn't exactly delighted to hear this. Lord knew I'd tried to be just like the other girls. Perhaps too hard.
And once again, I thought, Geez, what am I doing?