To Catch a Vampire by Jennifer Harlow Page B

wink. Grin Number One.
    He bridges the small gap between us so our chests and legs touch, putting his leg between mine and placing his hands on my hips. The song changes to techno Korn. I rest my arms on his shoulders, bringing our faces closer too. Our skin is millimeters from contact. His eyes meet mine and a shiver cascades down my spine. It’s an act, it’s an act . I just haven’t had anyone touch me for awhile. I’m a method actor. Jesus, just go with it. I do look away, though.
    Our bodies sway as one, moving side to side in time. With each sway I become more and more aware of his body and mine. Hands, chest, legs, all melded. His finger making circles on my hip. My nethers separated from him only by leather and cotton panties. His neck is so close, I can kiss it.
    Think of something else. Bunnies, baseball, anything. His left hand moves south to my tush, and I damn near jump out of my skin. Grin Number Two surfaces. The jerk’s teasing me! He knew which buttons to push, and darned if he didn’t push them like a videogame controller. Anger clouds the sexy feelings. My first impulse is to step on his foot, but instead I pull away by twirling around. He just lost touching privileges. He tries inching in closer, but I dance away. We continue dancing a few inches apart for the rest of the song. That’s enough of that. I need a drink.
    I maneuver through the now moshing crowd, past the go-go dancers, to the bar. An arm wraps around my waist. “I did not know you could dance,” Oliver says.
    “I was a teenager once. I’ve been to my fair share of clubs.”
    I order a fifteen dollar rum and Coke, Oliver a vodka rocks. Not that he can drink it, but he’d stick out without a drink. When the bartender brings back the drinks Oliver shouts, “Excuse me. We are looking for our old friends, a tall black woman named Serena and a man named JR. Thin, with black hair?”
    “Sorry.”
    Long shot anyway. This time Oliver takes the lead, walking past the dance floor, up the stairs with a gothic metal fence along it. Luck smiles upon us as a boy with green spiked hair and girl in red corset stop making out and rise from a velvet couch. We snag it before anyone else can. Oliver sits close, draping his arm on the back of the couch. I lean back so my head rests on him. Just another happy couple. “Rest your head on my shoulder,” Oliver says. I do, cuddling against his chest. We can talk without screaming now.
    “Do you think they’ll actually show up tonight?” I ask, taking a sip of my drink.
    “It is possible,” Oliver says. “This type of nightspot always attracts my kind. Especially the younglings.”
    “And why is that?”
    “They are able to live out the fantasy, the stereotype. The elders enjoy it as there are so many willing donors. I think you will find that the majority of the clubs frequented by this set are owned by vampires as well.”
    “I’m just learning so much, pookie.” I take another sip. Strong. “How many vamps do you think are here?”
    “Just upstairs? Five. Two in the far left corner.”
    I look. Two thin-to-the-point-of-starvation girls in low-cut corsets with short, short skirts sit at a table playing with their neon colored drinks, watching the drones below. They have all the hallmarks of vamps: pale, full drinks, holier-than-thou attitudes.
    “They look bored,” I say.
    “That they do. The man in the corner does not.” Oliver points to a man with bright orange hair and stocky build, trailing his finger across the collarbone of a nowhere-near legal girl with brown hair. She giggles, pushing his hand away.
    “If she’s eighteen, I’m Elizabeth Taylor.”
    “My darling, you will have to fight your urge to arrest everyone here. We do not have enough handcuffs, at least not since we left the Costarellos’ condo.”
    “Ha ha.” I sip my drink. “So, do we have a plan? Ask every vamp here if they’ve seen our bad guys?”
    “No. We let them come to us. We must not arouse even a