Page 45 of Just the Pool Boy at Vampire Mansion

“Oh, that’s a relief.” She puffed out a sigh. “Have you got any food?”

“Sure, stay here,” Theo said. “I’ll grab you something. Any allergies? Don’t wanna kill you with a peanut after saving your life just now.”

“Uhm, I kinda don’t know?”

Theo headed toward the door. “No worries.” He waved me over. We left Mystery Girl and headed into the main house.

The cavernous kitchen opened around us, feeling bigger for being mostly empty, and clearly not used that much.

“There’s a whole lot of fanfiction out there about slayers and me,” Theo said, walking me through his living room and into the enormous kitchen, with its shiny granite surfaces and backlit cabinets. “Foul beast is like a thing . . . You know the sort, vampire slayer meets sexy vampire. It gets pretty spicy.”

“You think she’s remembering fanfiction?”

He opened the fridge and grabbed armfuls of fruit and vegetables, then dumped them on the countertop. “It’s kinky. I’m just sayin’ . . .”

I tried not to smile. “You read your own fanfiction?”

He snorted. “C’mon man, like you wouldn’t.”

Seeing as I was a nobody, there wasn’t anyone out there likely to write fanfiction about me. Unless #Thowen stuck. Oh heck, what if Thowen had already become a thing? Was there already fanfiction out there about Theo and me? I almost asked, then realized I didn’t want to know.

Theo grabbed a loaf of bread and tossed it onto the counter beside the fruit. He paused, frowning at the odd collection.

“You making a mango sandwich?” I asked.

He huffed and spread his hands, encompassing the mismatched collection of food. “I have no idea what to do with this.”

Now I really did laugh, and stepped around the island counter. “Get outta the way, pretty boy. I’ve got this.”

“You cook?”

“I get by. I don’t have chefs to cook for me, and I don’t dine out. But I gotta eat. Normal and boring, remember.” I checked his fridge again and grabbed some cheese, then searched his cupboards for any sauces. Ingredients gathered, I got to work. Theo watched, hip propped against the cabinets, arms crossed. His staring should have made things awkward, but it felt good, felt like company.

“There’s something fuckin’ hot about a guy who saves a drowning woman, then makes a cheese sandwich like nothing happened.”

And I was going to pretend I didn’t hear the hot part, because if I had heard it, then I would not know what to do with it. Was he teasing? Probably.

“She’ll probably get her memory back soon. True amnesia doesn’t last long.”

“How do you know that?”

I shrugged. “I dunno, man. I just google things a lot and the information sticks, I guess.” Sandwich made, I plated it up then worked on the fruit, selecting a string of grapes and cutting the pineapple like my mother used to do.

“I’m glad you’re here, Owen,” he said quietly. “Alone, I mostly fuck things up.”

“Yeah, I googled your headlines.”

“Ouch,” he snorted.

“My personal favorite was Local Vampire Theo Witherborne Fights Valet and Loses.”

“Yeah, I did that.” He chuckled. “The guy was a dick.”

“What about the Fountain Incident?” I asked, which had been another moment in Theo’s many public spectacles that the press had gone wild over, spending weeks discussing his antics. They’d mostly determined he was a hot mess celebrity who’d had a public meltdown for no reason.

“I was very drunk. The fountain was there. Not my fault.”

According to the many online posts, he’d stood in a fountain at a charity event, fully clothed in a designer suit, and delivered a speech about how nobody knew him, then he’d tried to knight the security guard with a breadstick. He’d stayed in the fountain for forty minutes, refusing to leave. Nobody had been able to get him out. He’d only left when the crowd had eventually petered out.