The Fangover (The Fangover 1)

“How do you deal with this smell thing?” she asked, trying to distract herself.

She wrinkled her nose as they walked farther into a dark, crowded room. Cort managed to find a small table toward the back of the bar and pulled out the chair for her to sit. It was rickety and uncomfortable, but she didn’t care as long as she finally got a drink.

Cort sat to the left of her and the parrot scrambled down his arm to waddle around the perimeter of the table like a beaked sentry.

“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke.”

Cort rolled his eyes, then turned to her.

“I don’t even notice smells now, unless I choose to, or I’m—” He paused, clearly changing his mind about sharing that detail. “The longer you are . . . this way, the easier it is to control things like that,” he told her, his tone gentle.

She could tell he knew this was very hard, but of course, he would know. He’d been through it, too.

“Did you have a hard time with the . . . transition?”

Cort didn’t answer right away. “Well, I wasn’t crossed over like you were.”

“Not that it’s like we know how I was crossed over,” she pointed out.

“True, but I had the—the choice. Given that you can’t remember, I don’t feel like you really did.”

She nodded, although she wasn’t sure she agreed. As totally strange as this was, something told her this hadn’t happened as an attack or totally against her will. How she could somehow know that, and not know how it happened didn’t make any sense, but that was how she felt. Deep in her soul.

Wait, did she have a soul anymore? So many questions.

“I know that makes the transition more difficult,” he said with a small, sympathetic smile, “but you will be fine.”

Would she? How would she ever go back to her normal life? Panic returned.

“What will I tell my parents?” she said suddenly, more thinking out loud than expecting answers. After all, Cort didn’t know Janine and George, or the fact that they had a hard enough time with their only daughter being a washboard player on Bourbon Street. They sure as heck weren’t going to understand her being undead.

“And how am I going to play with my band?”

They were called “the day band” for a reason. And days were out now, weren’t they?

Cort reached across the table and took her hand. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but you will be okay. It isn’t bad to be this way. In fact, it’s pretty great most of the time.”

She looked up from their joined hands, feeling her eyes fill with tears as she met his beautiful gaze and saw kindness. And something else. He almost seemed to be pleading with her, willing her to be okay.

Did he really think he’d done this? What other reason would he have for that look . . . one of almost beseeching guilt?

She swiped at her eyes, feeling silly. She wasn’t usually a crier. “I’m fine.”

“It really will be okay. I’ll be here for you,” he told her.

Her eyes welled even more. Damn it, but she managed a watery smile. “My husband.”

She forced a smile so he would realize she was making a joke about it. But she couldn’t miss that his smile faded a little.

“And the other guys will, too,” he added.

He definitely didn’t want to be married to her—to the point she couldn’t even make light of the situation. That said a lot.

And really, why should that bother her? He’d never shown any interest in her, so of course he didn’t want them to be married. She didn’t want them to be either, did she?

Of course not.

Let it go, she told herself.

“So how old are you, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Seventeen,” he said automatically. “And I have been for a very long time.”

She laughed, even though she knew it still sounded a little snuffly.

“And I suppose you sparkle, too, right?”

He smiled.

“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke.”

Cort looked at the bird. “How did we get saddled with the alcoholic?”

Katie shook her head, staring at the bird. “I don’t know, but someone better take our order soon before it gets the d.t.’s.”

Cort chuckled. “Yeah, I do not want to see what he does if that happens.”

Just then, a woman in her twenties wearing a bar apron and harried expression approached their table, although her expression warmed slightly when she saw Cort.

Did they know each other? Cort smiled at the girl, but Katie didn’t see any recognition in his sleepy eyes.

“We have some drink specials,” the girl added, clearly talking only to him, her gaze moving appreciatively over his lean, muscular body and handsome face.

Katie supposed that reaction was better than at the last place, she told herself, even as a wave of jealousy washed over her.

But honestly, didn’t the hussy even notice their rings? Katie caught herself. Okay, she needed to get a grip. They weren’t married. Even if they were, they weren’t really.

Katie looked back at the girl, who still acted as if no one but Cort existed. But this chick didn’t know their rings weren’t legit. And Katie didn’t care if it was irrational, she was still irritated.

“I think we know what we want,” Cort said, his expression pleasant, but he didn’t seem to even notice the waitress’s obvious interest. And he didn’t seem to know her.

Wait, what if he knew her from last night? Katie studied the girl closer to see if that could be possible.

“What can I get you?” the girl asked, still not looking at Katie, but not any more familiar with Cort.

“Jack and Coke. Jack and Coke.”

The waitress looked a little startled by the bird’s request, but then said, “For real?”

“Yes, for the bird,” Cort said, his tone exaggeratedly pained. “And we’ll both take Grey Goose and tonic. Make them doubles. With extra lime.”

Warmth spread through Katie even as she scolded herself for the feeling. So he remembered her drink of choice. And he ordered for her. He’d just heard her order it at the other bar so it was hardly a sign of familiarity and closeness. But Katie still liked it. Especially since the waitress finally seemed to notice her, her moony expression fading slightly.

“I’ll be right back with those.” The girl left, her harried expression returning.

“I’m pretty old, actually,” he said as soon as they were alone again.