Lust for Life by Jeri Smith-ready

Author:Jeri Smith-ready
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2012-12-09T20:56:18.489000+00:00

17

Bargain

“Hey, guys, thanks for coming.”

I resist the urge to laugh at Jeremy’s words as Shane and I glide into his dimly lit living room. I should be thanking him, not the other way around. But it would offend him to say so.

For a bachelor pad, Jeremy’s new studio apartment is big on style, even if that style could be described as Arabian Nights meets Underworld. In the far corner, his queen-size bed is surrounded by a cascade of draperies of a nearly black crimson, suspended by a single fixture in the ceiling above the center of the bed.

“The drapes set off the bedroom area from the living room,” he points out. “Plus it keeps out the sun so I can sleep during the day.”

Jeremy’s show runs from three to six a.m. every other morning, so he keeps a nocturnal schedule. He’s also practicing for the day he thinks he’s going to be a vampire.

“Neat.” I check out the coal-black living room furniture and the two-by-three framed print of Edvard Munch’s The Scream between the windows. “What does Lea think of this place? She seems so girl-next-door-y.”

“She thinks it’s cool. She gets me, even though she’s nothing like me.”

“Do you get her?”

“Trying.” Jeremy points the stereo remote at the receiver. As the music clicks on, I hear Shane sigh with disapproval.

“Is this that band without guitars?” he asks Jeremy.

“One of them.” Jeremy sets down the remote, not offering to turn off Keane’s Under the Iron Sea. The opening track, “Atlantic,” used to remind me of Shane before I was a vampire, when I worried he would grow “old” alone after I died. Now I worry he’ll grow old alone while I’m still alive.

I set my bag on the counter. “Jer, I’ve been dying to see your new ink. Can you show us now?”

“Yeah, it’s small, not much shading, so it’s healed already.” He joins us in the kitchen and heads for the stove, where the light by the exhaust fan is switched on.

Jeremy removes his glasses, then tugs off his My Chemical Romance black-sleeved white raglan shirt. “I got the tattoo for you, but I guess it’ll help Deirdre, too, if you’re okay with sharing me.”

I don’t answer, because I’m not okay with it. But we can discuss that later.

Jeremy puts his arm under the light, revealing a dark blue line on his inner forearm. My mouth waters as I realize the line traces the vein we like to sink our teeth into.

An arrow points to the middle of the line, along with two words in a bold, narrow typeface: BITE HERE.

“Aww, that’s really sweet.” I have an overwhelming urge to buy him an ice cream cone.

“It’s in your favorite font.”

“I have a favorite font?” I peer at the tattoo again, then gasp.

“Haettenschweiler!” we shout together in an exaggerated German accent, then laugh like goofballs. I don’t know if I’ve ever actually used that typeface, but I could never resist the urge to say it loud and commandingly, Colonel Klink style.

“What did your tattoo artist think of it?”

“Amber wanted to know why I didn’t want it on my neck.

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