Page 9 of Just the Pool Boy at Vampire Mansion

He grinned, finding something funny in what I’d said. “Sure.”

I slammed the door, climbed back behind the wheel, and pulled into traffic. On my top ten list of bad decisions, this was right up there. Right beside giving my card to a murdering weirdo. At least the phone had stopped ringing.

I glanced at Theo in the rearview mirror—eyes closed, dark lashes on pale cheeks, torn jeans, unlaced boots, flower-print shirt—and maybe somewhere alongside my racing heart, somewhere in my panicked thoughts, a little part of me wanted him there, in my back seat.

Because it meant I didn’t have to go home alone again.

CHAPTER 3

Theo sauntered into my tiny apartment, flopped onto the couch, and lay there, like a cat who didn’t belong but lived here now.

“You saved my life, you know,” he said, after a few minutes of pretending to be asleep again.

“I doubt that.” I hastily stuffed dirty socks, underwear, shirts, and whatever else I’d left strewn about my place into a heap on the bedroom floor, and then casually glided back into the main living area that also doubled as my kitchen. My apartment had two main rooms and a tiny bathroom. Not really big enough to hide my dirty laundry.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on at your place and I don’t want to. After you sleep off whatever you’re going through, we’re done. We don’t ever need to speak to each other again.”

“Okay.”

I’d expected something sassy back from him, but he just sighed and lay there, eyes closed. A little pale, maybe.

Was he suffering? He had passed out. Now he was here, I should probably make sure he wasn’t going to pass out again. “Do you need anything for the sunstroke? Tylenol?”

“A fresh vein?” he grumbled.

“Uh . . .” I rolled my lips together and looked away, at the wall, the TV, the blinds that were bent and didn’t close properly. “I don’t think⁠—”

“Don’t worry, pool boy,” he chuckled. “You’re not my blood type.”

“Oh. Good. I mean, not good for you, I guess. Is blood a thing I can order from DoorDash?”

“No. But coke will take the edge of.” He arched a hopeful eyebrow. “You got any?”

“Coke as in Coca Cola, or . . .” He rolled his eyes. “Right, the other coke. Uh, no. I do not have that either. And I don’t think DoorDash does drugs.”

He shrugged. “You look the type, is all.”

Wow. “I look like a drug addict?”

“Yeah, ’zactly. Not the sleazy ones, the flashy ones,” he drawled, the consonants going soft. He was going under.

Flashy? How had he gotten that from my boring work clothes and slightly southern accent. I tried very, very hard not to be flashy. I was the opposite of flashy. Flashy was definitely not my deal. Drab. Dull. Boring. Not flashy.

Not anymore.

“Don’t die on my couch, okay?”

“Not planning on it . . . Just need to . . . sleep.”

I busied myself in the kitchen, pretending I had important things to be doing, and when I glanced over a little while later, his breathing had gone soft, his chest rising and falling. He really was out cold, but genuinely sleeping this time.

I leaned back against the countertop and frowned at America’s most infamous vampire heir. He was trouble, that much was obvious. But after today, it wouldn’t matter. The job was still salvageable. I just had to keep my head down, stay away from Theo’s family drama, and collect my paycheck. Body in the neighbors’ pool? Not my problem.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and thumbed a message to Bet.

Guess who I got on my couch?

The dots bounced immediately.