A mirthless laugh erupts from me because, of course, he’s right. We were fourteen, and I was barely out of the closet, and I said his outfit was cute because it was easier than saying he was cute. Because I didn’t know how to safely admit it wasn’t his clothes, but the way he filled them out, that I liked so much. “Nope. I wasn’t. But you were definitely talking about me being gay when you acted all disgusted by me.”
“It wasn’t like that.” He sniffs again, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s just... I’m sick of people always assuming that I’m gay because I like acting instead of sports. I’m sick of people gossiping about me, or thinking they can tell me my own business.”
“The only thing I was trying to tell you is that I thought you were cute,” I state curtly, not sure how to explain that it isn’t his love of theater that had me convinced he was gay. It was seeing my own mannerisms mirrored in Lucas—his sibilant S, his way of talking with his hands—that made me sure we were on the same page. Frankly, it had been a relief that first week of school, to hear another voice that sounded just like mine. And then he ruined everything with the first words he spoke to me.
Rather suddenly, I realize that the screaming and violence in the hallway has ended—and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the good guys who won this particular fight. But Orchard Bay kids are really good at compartmentalizing bad news, so Lucas just lets out another sullen breath and lowers his volume a little. “Sorry. I should’ve been nicer. But I’m not a homophobe, and I’m not gay.”
Maybe it’s because all our friends could be literally dying on the dance floor right now, but my resentments suddenly seem pointless. I’ve been angry because he made me feel more alone; angry because his denials suggested that what I am is shameful; angry because he frustrates me, mentally and sexually. But maybe I should let it go.
Whatever Lucas Coronado’s deal is, he saved my life from Kenton the Vampire Bro, and at the very least that evens the score.
“Fine. I don’t care,” I say. And then, because I’m a shameless liar, “I didn’t really think you were all that cute, anyway.”
He might be about to respond, but footsteps in the hallway shut the both of us up quick. The corridor doesn’t extend too far beyond the supply closet, and it ends in a blank wall. The only reasons to come down here during a massacre would be to run from vamps—or hunt for victims.
And whoever is out there isn’t running.
The footsteps draw closer on what seems like a beeline for the supply closet, and Lucas and I stare at each other with dinner-plate eyes. Then, just as a shadow breaks the light passing through the gap under the door, he dives at me and tackles me to the ground.
I’m laid flat in an instant, his fingers tangled in my hair before I can react, and as he yanks my head back and bares my throat to his teeth, I think, Of fucking course Lucas Coronado would turn out to be a vampire.
He plunges his face into the crook of my neck, his mouth latching on to the flesh over my jugular—and I brace my hands against his shoulders for a futile final struggle, just as the closet door is flung open wide.
Lucas is snarling, pulling my hair and sucking at my neck as hard as he can...but he’s not actually biting me. A figure looms above us, outlined by the light from the hallway, a black silhouette with burning golden eyes—a vamp.
My head spins, my heart surging with terror, my body giving me a familiar fight-or-flight ultimatum, but Lucas is delivering the performance of a lifetime. His teeth graze my skin, his tongue slides warmly over my pulse, and he grunts with animalistic passion as he pantomimes feeding.
He’s pretending to be a vampire, pretending to have cornered me in the closet and subdued me. It’s a gambit that shouldn’t work—vamps can smell the difference between mortals and the undead—but I’m so suffused with terror right now that it’s actually possible my scent overwhelms Lucas’s.
I force my head to loll back, my lids to slide shut, and my body to go limp. Well, most of my body. Honestly, I know it’s messed up, but Lucas is making out with my neck, and I can smell his cologne, and one of his hands is just slightly touching my butt... We could die at any second, but have I mentioned how hot he is?
The light from the hallway glows red through my eyelids, Lucas tugs at my hair...and then the door creaks shut and the closet goes dark again. For a long, agonizing moment, we don’t move. Finally, the footsteps outside recede, and we separate, both of us panting as if we’ve just completed a hundred-yard dash.
Lucas hovers over me, his lips swollen and his eyes hidden by shadows, but I can feel him studying my face. I’m flustered and shaking and still totally erect, and the only words I can manage are, “I can’t believe that worked. We should both be dead right now. Maybe you are a better actor—”
But I can’t finish, because Lucas tackles me a second time, covering my mouth with his. Suddenly, we’re making out—and I mean, making out. It’s the mixed martial arts of kissing. He’s pulling my hair again, our legs twined together, and his tongue is so deep in my face it nearly touches my uvula.
We roll one way and bump into some shelves, then roll the other and collide with an empty bucket, and the whole time our teeth are clicking together and our breaths huff out in steamy blasts.
Whatever vampire magic Kenton worked on me earlier, this kiss is a hundred times more exciting, because this one is real. I rake my fingers through Lucas’s silky hair, he grunts deep in his throat, and I press my hips against his so hard that if you put a piece of coal between us, I’d give you back a diamond in two minutes. I’m dizzy and breathless, and only have about fifteen percent of my virginity left by the time we split apart again.
“That was...you’re really good at that,” I manage, my lips raw.
Lucas breathes hard for a long moment, and then quietly begs, “Please don’t tell anyone.”
I push up onto my side and find him in the darkness, my fingers tingling with latent excitement. What I feel isn’t frustrated, but confused. “Why not? Lucas, your friends would totally accept you—and, you know, look: you and I could have been doing this for the past two years, instead of whatever it is we have been doing.”
“You don’t even like me.”
“You don’t like me either, what’s your point?” I retort, and it dredges a soft laugh out of him. “And maybe I would like you, if you gave me the chance.”
“You don’t get it.” His voice is tired and miserable. “My brother was this...superhero. He was athletic, smart, he dated nice girls, went to church, helped with cleaning and chores and stuff...when he was around, my parents didn’t even notice me. And then he died at the Prom Night Massacre, and now my parents don’t have anyone to notice except me.” In the dark, he heaves out a bone-deep sigh. “It was hard growing up in his shadow, but it’s even harder in his spotlight. All the expectations they had for him, they’ve transferred to me—and I’m not Gabriel. I can’t do what he did. I can’t be who he was.”