My Roommate Is a Vampire

by Jenna Levine

The seconds ticked by as we stood there—me ogling him, him staring wide-eyed at a spot of nothing just beyond my left shoulder. I tried to think about anything but how close we were standing, how little we were wearing, and the way my heartbeat was suddenly racing. And then, because I’d never had much of a self-preservation instinct, I had a sudden, nearly irresistible urge to trace the solid lines of his chest with my fingertips. To see if those abs of his were as rock hard as they looked. What would he do if I did?

YESSSSSS COME TO MAMA

God’s thumbs, but I am the worst, filthiest sort of reprobate.

There was a sweet, electric anticipation in the air that hadn’t been there before. I wasn’t sure I had words for what it was. All I knew was that I wanted to feel it again. I wanted to feel him. The hard planes of his broad chest beneath my hands. His lips, his breath, hot and sweet against my neck.

I sipped my cappuccino (it was good—Katie made a mean We Are Empowered) and then licked my lips. Frederick’s eyes tracked the movement of my tongue with interest. I pretended not to notice.

He met my gaze. His dark brown eyes were so soft and inviting. I could get lost in them, I realized. My stomach did something that felt like a somersault. Dangerous. No, I yelled at myself. We are not going to be thinking about how hot and sad Frederick looks right now.

“I need to think about whether providing live-in, hands-on life instructions to a vampire is something I can deal with before committing to doing it.” Frederick held his hands up in front of his face, frowning at them. “Hands-on? I will admit I had not imagined using our hands as a part of the instruction process. But if you think touching would help . . .” If I’d been drinking my cappuccino at that moment, I’d have spat it out all over the table. Suddenly, it felt like the temperature in Gossamer’s had increased by ten degrees.

“Even if I can’t live with you again, Frederick, you’ll just find someone else who can.” His eyes went hard. “Impossible. I . . .” He trailed off, then shook his head. “While yes, I suspect I could find another roommate, given adequate time, I will not find anyone who can instruct me so well as you.” That surprised me. “I’m nothing special.” His brow furrowed. Something about what I’d said bothered him, though I couldn’t imagine what it might be. “Over the past two weeks I’ve discovered that in this city of millions, you are one of a kind.”

“Do not think for one moment that you are replaceable, Cassie Greenberg,” he said. He sounded almost angry. “For you are anything but.”

“All kitchen food storage space will be for your use only. I will store my food in a special refrigerator I will keep in my bedroom for this express purpose. Or else keep it out of our home altogether.” Our home. I ignored the warmth that flooded me at those words.

The vampires in Anne Rice novels, for example, didn’t act like the vampires in Buffy or True Blood.

ugh, still need to pick up Anne Rice's "Interview with the Vampire". I didn't want to get a physical copy at Barnes and Noble's because I didn't want to seem freaky

I couldn’t know for sure, but when Frederick said good night to me a few minutes later I thought I could hear him smiling.

There was no reason at all for my heart to be racing when I imagined him reading my note after I’d gone to sleep, grinning so broadly at the way I’d signed it that it activated his killer cheek dimple. No reason whatsoever.

He was the broad-chested, gorgeous, not-quite-living embodiment of the OK boomer meme. The fact that he looked like a man in his mid-thirties only made it funnier. And more adorable.

His full, plush lips turned down into a pout. My centuries-old vampire roommate was pouting.

If he pressed those beautiful lips to my throat, would he be able to feel my heart beating beneath the skin?

Thinking about his mouth on my neck—on any part of my body—would lead to nothing good.

He closed his eyes, his long, thick eyelashes fanning out along the tops of his cheeks. I found myself transfixed by them, and by the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

The inside of my arm brushed up against his forearm in the process, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. I closed my eyes against the unexpected rush of sensation that coursed through me, just from that.

“Perhaps young, beautiful women do routinely dress in next to nothing at all when they go to the beach. Perhaps my reaction to seeing you dressed this way is incredibly old-fashioned.” He paused and turned to face me. His eyes were full of torment—and something else I didn’t have words for, but which my body somehow recognized all the same. My heart sped up at the way he was looking at me now, my breathing coming short and too quick.

“I have no right to dictate how you dress or live your life. My opinion does not—and should not—matter. But the idea of other people being able to see so much of your body . . .” He looked away again, then sighed. “Perhaps I have lived too long.”

Every time I close my eyes I can still see her—beaming up at the camera in that flimsy excuse for clothing, her hair a golden halo around her head, her body backlit and glorious. I am filled with rage. At the photographer for taking that picture. At Cassie for allowing so many others to see her practically naked. At all seven billion people on this planet who have the theoretical ability to see that picture of her with a few simple clicks of a button. At myself.

Because God’s thumbs—when I saw that picture of her all I could think was how badly I want Cassie to wear that “bathing suit” of hers for me.

AHHHHHHHH

If I had been there when it was taken, it would have been all I could do to keep myself from easing those delicate little straps of fabric off her shoulders and baring the rest of her beautiful body to my eyes. I am a reprehensible creature.

Cassie is a young, vibrant, human woman who does not deserve to be the object of my lustful imaginings.

What if she needs to touch me as part of this process? I am harder than a rock just imagining it.

I realized it was one thing to tell your extremely handsome, off-limits, vampire roommate that he needed to dress differently—and an entirely different thing to actually take your extremely handsome, off-limits, vampire roommate to the mall, help him pick out clothes, and then evaluate how they all looked on his gorgeous body as you helped him make decisions.

I heard the way his breath hitched at my touch as easily as if there’d been no one else there at all.

“Your boyfriend’s a real workaholic, always-at-the-office type, isn’t he?” Boyfriend. My heart lodged itself in my esophagus at the same time my stomach did a not entirely unpleasant somersault. I glanced at Frederick. From the thunderstruck look on his face, I could tell he’d heard exactly what she’d just said.

Frederick must have been trying on the jeans. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, trying not to imagine the denim sliding up his bare legs, the waistband settling low on his hips.

Frederick looked great in the parade of old-fashioned suits I’d seen him in since we’d met, of course. More than great. But I realized now that his consistently too-formal, out-of-date attire served as a constant reminder to me that Frederick was out of my league in every imaginable way—and completely off-limits. Untouchable. And other.

I let my eyes trail slowly down his body, drinking him in, taking in his new shirt and the dark blue jeans that fit him so well you wouldn’t have guessed he’d had no idea what size he was twenty minutes ago.

I focused on these other details to distract myself from how Frederick not only looked just as hot in more casual clothes as he did in his stuffy suits, but also how he now looked attainable in a way that was dangerous to me, specifically.

I had to avert my eyes. Looking right at him felt a little too much like looking directly at the sun.

I nodded—though great didn’t begin to do justice to how he looked.

He . . . wanted me to touch him. Here. Outside of a Nordstrom dressing room.

Besides—I wanted to touch him. A lot, in fact.

Fortunately—or, unfortunately—my heart was beating more than enough for the both of us.

The shirt he was wearing was nice enough. But that wasn’t what kept me rooted to the spot, what kept my hands on his body long beyond what he’d probably imagined when he asked me to do this. I’d known he was muscular, but now that I was actually touching him I realized he was all but made of muscle. Had he been this physically fit when he was still human, I wondered? Or was being built like a professional athlete a physiological peculiarity unique to vampires? Either way, I could feel his pectorals bunch and flex beneath my palms as I touched him, could feel his sharp intake of breath when I grew bolder and started gently tracing his collarbones with my thumb.

He might not be able to blush anymore, but at the reminder of that moment we shared outside the dressing room I was blushing more than enough for both of us.

It felt good, being close to him like this. Exciting, yet comfortable. Our bodies fit together so perfectly.

The memories of his large hand covering mine as we explored Instagram together—the way my hands had looked pressed up against his chest in the Nordstrom dressing room—rose unbidden, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

“I would like to hear more about your life, Cassie.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I wish to know more about you. I wish . . . I wish to know everything.”

Mr. Frederick J. Fitzwilliam’s Google Search History how do you kiss if it has been three hundred years since how can you know if she wants to kiss you is it a bad idea to kiss your roommate is it bad to think about or have sex with your roommate age gap relationships best breath mints

And then, without thinking, I added, “I can’t wait to tell Frederick the news.”

I was an adult and had been taking care of myself for years. But the idea that he wanted to care for me . . . It did something to me.

HOW TO KISS: TEN FOOLPROOF TIPS TO HAVE YOUR PARTNER CLAMORING FOR MORE!

screaming, crying, dying

The reality, of course, was that I felt anything but detached. I wanted to kiss him again. Right then.

Even if I hadn’t kissed him the other night—for science and comparison purposes, of course—it would have been all I could do to keep my hands off him.

It has made a science of dressing its actors and actresses attractively. Between our trip to the mall and Crash Landing on You, I’ve learned an incredible amount.”

“Crash Landing on You” is such a random reference, I love it

It was immediately obvious that I was not the only one who thought Frederick looked good that night.