My Vampire Plus-One

by Jenna Levine

The fact that I could now see he was wearing a black T-shirt beneath his trench coat that said Blame Bezos in bright red letters, as well as a pink gingham skirt that totally clashed with his coat and his hat, didn’t do anything to dampen my attraction. If anything, it just enhanced the dirtbag Chris Pine look he had going for him.

The problem was, I’d always had a thing for accountants. Their organized minds were such a delicious contrast to the intentionally erratic way I lived.

And there was my most prized possession: a framed oil painting of Edward Cullen on the wall above the sink, sparkly and magnificent as he gazed moodily into the middle distance.

“I’ll—I’ll have you know I’m an accountant,” I spluttered, feeling like an idiot. “I am well aware.” There it was again—the softness in his tone that I just didn’t know what to do with. Then he added, “It suits you, by the way. Your choice of profession.” I didn’t know what to do with that, either. “Right,” I said lamely.

I stared at his hand. Long-fingered and graceful. I wondered if he played the violin, or some other delicate musical instrument. He certainly had the hands for it.

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I smiled back at him. “You are really fond of hyperbole, aren’t you.” “Oh, yes,” he said, earnestly. “It’s my favorite word beginning with hyper.”

I might have been an accountant, but I wasn’t made of stone.