OMG. I almost ate my client. It happened while I was working. Yes, I showed a couple of houses last week–very reluctantly. Evan thinks working is a good way to keep me grounded. I say if I wanted to be grounded I would just donate money to kids in need in one of those weird, far away countries.
Anyway, on Tuesday, I met… I’ll call him Mr. Brown Eyes at a foreclosure a few blocks up from my house. Not the best part of the neighborhood. (Sigh). I shouldn’t say that. Emme would be mad at me. She lives up there. I guess it’s not that bad, I mean I wouldn’t live up there. Some of the houses only have like one or two bathrooms and the kitchens don’t always have dishwashers. Then, there are the cars. Toyota Corollas and Honda Civics. Not a BMW or Lexus in sight. I guess the neighborhood is in transition. Yes, that’s what I’ll call it. That’s a PC word, right?
So, Mr. Brown Eyes wanted me to show him the house. For some ridiculous reason he wants a fixer upper. Says he likes to work with his hands. Says he’s from Tennessee and likes to be able to say, “I did that,” at the end of the day. I figure he could have a few fingers of bourbon and be just as happy.
We started with the bedrooms. I sidestepped the gaping hole in the hallway floor and tried not to touch anything. If a house could have cooties, this one definitely did. See how disgusting it was:
Once in the master bedroom (if you can call it that, the bathroom wasn’t even ensuite) he waved me over.
“What do you think about a chandelier right here?” He tilted his head up and pointed at the ceiling.
Uh, oh. This was the closest I had been to someone without making them a meal. I tried not to inhale, tried not to let the thought even pop into my head. But there it was, and there he was, and so I breathed. Mmmm. He wasn’t salty. Or wearing cheap cologne.
“Yes, yes,” I said, trying not to gag at the sight of the grungy stain below my feet “I think that would be perfect. Shall we go back downstairs?”
But he wouldn’t leave. He hovered and poked and prodded and took measurements. All the while, the air didn’t move. His scent just hung in the air.
“I’m not feeling well,” I said, backing out of the room. Then, I felt the ragged carpet snag my heel. And I fell. Like really fell. Onto my butt, smash the back of my head, fell. Obviously, gracefulness was not going to be my vampire superpower.
The nauseatingly horrid carpet that I landed on:
My eyes scrunched closed and I didn’t want to open them for three reasons:
- I was in a bit of pain, especially my right arm. It felt like I cut it on something.
- I was as embarrassed as chubby Tricia Robertson after I slipped a laxative into her vanilla weight loss shake in 7th grade. I do feel bad about that by the way. I would never hurt anyone like that now. Instead, I do the adult thing and silently judge them or talk behind their back.
- I knew his face was inches from mine. I didn’t want to see what I could smell. I couldn’t attack my client. There had to be some sort of vampire rule about that.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I said, pushing him a full arm’s length away before I opened my eyes.
“Good, for a moment there I thought you might need a little blood to get you going again.”
Say what? Did he just say what I think he said?
I jumped up, ran down the stairs and out the door, trying to wipe the ickiness from my backside and hair.
Once in my car, I saw the blood. It had been running down my arm and onto my brand new midi skirt. But now, it was dry. The wound had all but disappeared.
A few hours later I called Mr. Brown Eyes to apologize for my abrupt departure. He was nice enough to lock up the house and not make a big deal about my bizarre behavior. In fact, we put in an offer and are hoping to close next week. You know, cash buyer, the banks really jump at that.
Oh, and don’t worry. He wasn’t on to me. He just saw the blood from the gash in the back of my arm and thought he was being funny. God, people need to watch what they say around vampires.
**Why not start the series from the beginning? Click here to read about Libby’s first day as a vampire**