The Fangover (The Fangover 1)
Page 65Oh, no, he didn’t. Stella was so furious she couldn’t form words. Her lips just sputtered as she searched the bed for another pillow to throw.
Wyatt moved to his dresser and yanked open a drawer. “Johnny, don’t even go there with me. And you’re changing the subject. The real question is how could you do this to us? Let us think you’re dead? That sucks, man.”
“No, the real question is how he can look himself in the mirror and not throw up in his mouth?” Bambi asked. “He’s refusing to accept responsibility for his child!”
“I told you, it’s not my baby.”
“Are you accusing me of sleeping around?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying that it can’t be my baby. I’m sterile.”
There was truth to that. Stella had never heard of a vampire impregnating a mortal. Maybe once in like ten million vampires. But that still didn’t explain her brother’s ludicrous need to write a made-up suicide note.
“Oh, if I had a dollar for every man who handed me that line when he didn’t want to wear a condom. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.”
“I wore a condom,” Johnny protested. “I’m not the father.”
“So take a DNA test. I offered you that option and instead you pretended to be dead. That’s f**ked-up, Johnny.”
Stella had to agree with Bambi on that one. “What was that pile of ashes?” she asked her brother. “There was a pile of ashes in your apartment.”
He shrugged. “Cigarette ash. Took me all damn week to collect that many. They don’t accumulate as much as you’d think. I spent forty bucks on cigarettes, twice my weekly budget.”
“Don’t be mean,” he told her. “And I’m not taking a DNA test.”
Stella imagined that he didn’t want to hand over his blood for testing because vampires didn’t exactly have the same genetic makeup as mortals. But no one was going to be doing a full analysis on his blood. They were going to do a paternity test, end of story. This seemed like a ridiculous way to maneuver around that. Or hell, he could have just paid Bambi child support and played daddy, even if the kid clearly wasn’t his.
Anything would have made more sense than letting your loved ones think you were dead.
She was going to kill him.
Wyatt had pulled a T-shirt and pajama pants out of his dresser and he handed them to her, smoothing her hair back off her face. “It’s okay,” he whispered to her. “Remember the positive. Johnny’s alive, after all.”
She wasn’t sure that was such a positive at the moment, but she appreciated the reassurance. Nodding, she said, “Thank you,” and pulled the shirt on over her head.
Wyatt stood up and turned to Johnny. “You owe Stella an apology. What you did was cruel.”
“Sorry.” Johnny didn’t sound particularly sorry. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Stell. I figured Wyatt would tell you last night and you’d think it was funny. Good wake, by the way. I liked the music and there was a good turnout.”
Stella wiggled into the pants under the covers, falling onto her elbow, trying to process her idiot brother’s statements. He was making even less sense than Saxon, and God knew that was saying a lot. “What do you mean, you thought Wyatt would tell me last night?”
If Wyatt knew her brother was alive and he didn’t tell her, well, then the body count was going to rise even higher.
“I was spying on you guys. Well, you weren’t there, but all the band was, and Wyatt spotted me in a doorway. We talked, and I gave him my necklace for safekeeping. It’s my blood, you know, didn’t want that falling into the wrong hands.” He shot a side glance at Bambi, who was clearly the DNA thief he was referring to.
“No.” Wyatt looked as flabbergasted as she felt. “Though I don’t remember anything, remember? I very well could have had a whole conversation with him and would have no clue.”
“Oh, my God.” Stella finally got herself into the pajama pants and shoved back the covers. “That would explain where you got the necklace from.”
“You’re right.” Wyatt groaned. “This is ridiculous.”
“Johnny, where did you get the necklace?”
“I went back to my place and took it off the kitchen counter. It’s my necklace.”
The kitchen counter. Right where Wyatt had said all along it was. Before the night had gone black and all hell had apparently broken loose.
“So are you going to give me DNA or do I have to serve you in court?” Bambi asked, hands on her hips.
Stella felt a great deal of sympathy for the woman, and figured she should be happy that Johnny couldn’t have children. His idiocy should not be passed on to a future generation.
Wyatt left the room. Stella climbed out of bed, intending to follow him. She was done with this conversation.
But he came back immediately.
Johnny was saying, “No. I’m not doing it. You can’t force my hand, Bambi.”
“Here.” He held the Q-tip out to Bambi. “Do what you need to do.”
“Hey!’ Johnny protested.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Wyatt told him.
Bambi took the offering delicately, holding the swab up between two fingers, and said, “Thanks.”
“Front door is this way.” Wyatt took her through the kitchen and living room to the front door of his apartment.
Bambi followed without a backward glance at Johnny.
“I’m not at all comfortable with that,” Johnny said, frowning.
“I’m not at all comfortable with you at the moment. And if you want to prove it’s not your kid, this is the only way to do that. It’s certainly easier than faking your death.”
Stella went over to Johnny and whacked him in the arm. “How could you do that to me?” Then she burst into tears. Johnny wasn’t dead. He was alive and well and driving her crazy and she was absolutely grateful for that fact.