3

I had told him it was a bad idea. Really I had. I had insisted, whined, cajoled and even sighed dramatically and attempted to explain, but he had silenced me with an imperious wave. There was nothing more I could do at that point so I'd gone out and followed my orders, returning a short time later with the requested item. That was what caused this…catastrophe.

My boss is literally on the floor, rolling around, laughing. Laughing, on the floor, and I daresay his ass might come off. ROFLMFAO as an internet savvy tween would say. There is no other way to explain this phenomena then that string of letters and I am afraid.

I hate when he reads, mainly because he has awful taste in books and then I have to be the one making embarrassing purchases at bookstores far enough away from my house that I won't run into anyone I know. Along with trashy romances and libertarian manifestos on states' rights and keeping your name out of government files, he absolutely loves vampire novels. All of them.

I guess I should just be happy that they don't make him angry. He has first additions of Polodori's The Vampyre, and Stoker's Dracula, along with fading copies of Varney the Vampire from before the Civil War. Terry Pratchett books keep appearing in the library as well because the boss does have a sense of humor and he'll read a book even when vampires aren't the main characters as long as they're there. He also owns the complete collection of Buffy and Angel books and has declared that if he ever met a woman like Buffy he would just have to make her his undead bride. He seemed to completely miss the point with that one. Twilight was a little much for him to resist.

He absolutely adores the inaccuracies, discrepancies and just plain plot holes that often pop up, though he finds himself thoroughly impressed when something is correct. Turning into a bat, a rat and a wolf? It's been a hundred years but he still tells the same bad Dracula jokes. Slayers? If he even thinks of it he goes off chuckling for an hour and he just cannot watch Buffy. He hears the first five minutes and then the rest is him giggling and pointing out what's wrong. Twilight was a bit too much.

The quiet laughter started with the vampire clan's presence in high school, at which point I was told: "any hundred year old vampire who can think of nothing better to do with his free time than hang around a high school is two bad meals away from offing himself or trying to end the world." It got worse and I was forced to sit and listen to his startled exclamations. Then there came a part he could barely read, it involved exposure to sunlight, and now he is writhing on the floor like an injured snake.

"I'm going to get the hose in a minute if you don't stop that!" I call as he slithers towards me, convulsing.

There are words in the laughter, though I certainly can't make them out and I step back slowly as his hands reach for my ankles. No doubt he wants to pull me down to eye level so that he can attempt to explain, but I'm not interested and the last thing I want is for a vampire to pin me to the floor.

"I mean it, I'll get the squirt bottle and fill it with Holy Water."

There aren't footsteps on the stairs, it's more of an impression of sound, a sort of whispering the ears almost don't pick up, and the flash of movement in the corner of my eye. I've been working for vampires too long because I turn and greet the boyfriend as he glides into the room and stops dead.

"What did you do to him?" The tone is accusing but I stand my ground and glower. This is the other vampire, the one that doesn't quite get the distinction between human employee and vampire servant. He gets jealous.

"I didn't do it," I say, throwing up my arms. "He did it to himself!"

The boss goes slithering across the floor towards his boyfriend now, still cackling, and tugs at the cuffs of his pants.

"Sparkles!" is the only word either of us understands.

"What did you give him?"

I crossed my arms in a huff and pout. "You know, he pays me to buy things for him. I'm just doing my job. I still need to buy food."

"What. Did. You. Buy him?" He speaks slowly, danger lurking behind each implied period in a way that can't help but raise my hackles. I know if I say anything now my nervousness will show, more than I'm sure it does already in the tension in my posture. So instead I point to the book lying open where it dropped on the floor, its covers spread for all to see. He tilts his head slightly to see and it takes a moment to filter through his vampire brain, where pop culture seems to lay deep below the surface, far out of sight and sometimes barely within comprehension. It finally clicks into place and I can see the realization spread across his face as it lengthens and his tense posture morphs into a hangdog look.

"The one about the 108 year old virgin?" he manages after a moment when finally the boss' laughter had died away to a silent convulsion.

Of course that only starts it back up again and the boss man is flailing around again. His boyfriend and I share a commiserating look before he stoops and hauls the boss off the ground.

"You're wrinkling one of your best suits." It comes out almost as a whine, but then, he is the fashionable one of the pair.

He slaps at some of the wrinkles, not that that does much good as the boss throws his arms around his neck and proceeds to laugh manically into his shoulder, the word 'virgin' tumbling from his lips like a kid saying 'poop.' I shrug, glad that he's somebody else's problem, and make it an early night. For once I'll actually be done early enough to have that movie date.

Of course like any addiction, once hooked he just can't stop, even if he recognizes how bad it is for him. He manages to get through the seven hundred or so pages quicker than you can say fanfiction and less than a week later I'm faced with the puppy dog eyes.

"No," I say, pausing in the doorway and barely preventing myself from leaping back out and running across the lawn to my car. I try to tell myself it's not the outfit that makes me want to run. Today he's in the seventies. His white bell bottoms and leisure suit collar might work well with the yellow Formica in the kitchen, but among the antiques filling the rest of the house he looks like he's trespassing. Trespassing in the outside world too.

"But—"

"NO!"

I thank my lucky stars that at least he's not wearing seventies' shorts. I think that much pale skin would be blinding and then I would never have a chance to escape.

"But sweetheart!" In a second he's directly in front of me, has my arm and is drawing me into the house while simultaneously tugging at my coat. Sometimes I swear vampires have more than two hands. "I pay you well."

"That's arguable."

"I provide excellent health insurance."

"What, that you'll bring me back from the verge of death as the undead? That's not my kind of insurance."

"I bought you that pretty car!" He gestures towards the BWM in the driveway.

"That's your car, and sometimes you let me drive it, when you want something. My car is over there," I point at the old Japanese sedan parked behind the beamer.

"Ah well, semantics."

"No, not semantics, legal paperwork."

"Ah, well I'll let you drive my car to the bookstore!"

"No dice."

I shrug my way out of my coat and leave him standing in the hall, holding it as I go into the living room, rolling up my sleeves. There don't appear to be any fresh stains and I sigh in relief as I move towards the next room. Only to find him lounging across the doorway.

"But I need it."

"You don't need it, you just want it. Go read Anne Rice."

"But I'm so tired of her. All her vampires are gay."

I am about to point out the obvious when I stop myself, instead I say: "No they're not, there's that girl that isn't."

"Oh," he sighs and waves dramatically. "Well the female vampires aren't. But still! I'm not interested in female vampires."

I cough and turn away, unable to keep myself from saying: "No surprises there." I shake my head and come to a stop as he's in front of me again. "When did you turn into a middle school girl?"

"When did you decide that you didn't need a paycheck?"

That stops me and I step towards him, none too happy. "You wouldn't, not over a book."

"Sweetheart." He's beside me suddenly, running a hand along my jaw line and I try not to shudder. "It's not just a book, it is a great and wonderful form of entertainment. You should be happy I'm reading!"

I groan and side step him. "I'm the one who has to stand in line to buy it. Fine, but only if I get to drive the beamer."

I hear the jingle of keys and snatch them out of the air clumsily.

"That's my good girl."

When I get back a little later, making sure to stow my few purchases on his credit card in my car first, he's once again waiting at the door. I chuck the book at him and kick the door shut, ready to resume my daily inspection before doing the wash. They go through a surprising number of clothes for being dead and not leaving the house much.

"You're one of a kind," he calls as I make my way through the kitchen, checking the fridge to make sure there haven't been any spills.

"Don't go all mushy on me now!" I call back as I slam the door and go on to the library.

"I could be your Edward!" he wails from the other room, not quite managing to keep it together.

"No thanks. I like my men with a few less sociopathic tendencies, and I need something to warm my feet on at night."

I hear a rustle and look up to find him slouching through the door behind me, New Moon under his arm. "You're as cold blooded as I am, I knew it!" he calls as he drops into an antique, leather wingchair, which hardly fits given when he's wearing. He should find himself a paisley couch and some shag carpeting.

"My feet might be as cold-blooded," I reply, wiggling my toes in my shoes and deciding then and there that there is no way my new boyfriend will ever meet my boss.

He managed to find me during a date with the last one and that had been the end of that relationship. I like this one too much to ever subject him to it.

"The rest of me is fine."

He grins at me over the top of the book as he cracks it open. I begin backing towards the door, unwilling to get caught up in another spectacle of horror. "Just remember," he says as I reach the safety of the hall. "There's two books left!"

No offense to any Twiligh fans out there, it's just not the kind of thing I can slog through. I like my trashy romances to have sex, and my vampire novels to have vampires biting people, etc.