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that matters, I guess.
    Working on autopilot, I thought about Jean-Claude and our fantastic night together. Not that we had talked that much, we were kind of busy with other stuff, but I felt innately that he could very well have a lot to tell me if I'd give him the chance. There was something mysterious about him. I just couldn't quite figure it out. Those moments when his lips touched my throat—I could still feel that unequivocal shiver of pleasure that coursed through me and the anticipation of ...
what exactly ? There I go again , I thought, making a whole heap out of what was probably all my imagination.
     
At ten-thirty, when the last of the stragglers had filed out and Jean-Claude had not shown up, I started to worry. Was he going to stand me up? But why, I reasoned, after he'd been the one to call and make the date?
    Shit. I hated this, especially when I saw Jonas and Ted casting gloomy expressions of sympathy my way. Maybe he got tied up at dinner—not literally of course. I hadn't figured him for the kinky type, just the fantastic type. I groaned mentally. It just wasn't fair to have that kind of experience with such a fabulous guy, just to have it shot out from under me.
You're overreacting , I told myself. He said after you close up. He didn't say howlong after.
     
But, by eleven, I knew he wasn't coming. The last of the help had gone, and I was sitting at the table with Ted and Jonas, twirling the stem of my wineglass and feeling blue.
    43
My Vampire Lover
by J. P. Bowie
"Shall we go for that drinkie, then?" Ted said, trying to lighten the gloomy atmosphere.
"You guys go. I don't feel up to it."
"Ron..." Jonas took my hand. "Come on, guy ... don't go home and mope around."
"No, I won't. I have some accounting to do here, so now's as good a time as any, I guess. I'll see you back at the apartment later. Go on, have fun together."
    "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
    After I locked the door behind them, I poured myself another glass of wine then went into the back office to tackle some of the outstanding paperwork I'd let pile up over the past few days. About ten minutes into this, I got the strangest feeling something was terribly wrong. I thought I heard a voice calling me.
    "Jean-Claude?"
The silence surrounding me was almost palpable. I felt a weird prickling in the back of my neck. Getting up from my desk, I walked out through the restaurant and peered out of the windows into the dark streets. I saw nothing unusual, yet the strange feeling persisted.
    Unlocking the door, I went outside, looking up and down the street.
Nothing.
I locked the restaurant door and started towards Santa Monica Boulevard. As I passed an alley about a block from the main drag, I heard a moan. 44
My Vampire Lover
by J. P. Bowie
Shit. I squinted into the darkness and barely mad out the shape of someone lying on the ground about halfway down the alley. I strode quickly towards him—I could now see it was a man—and then my heart jumped into my mouth.
     
"Jean-Claude! Oh, Jesus..."
     
He lay on his back in a pool of blood, his dark hair fanned out around his face, which looked even paler than usual. I knelt by his side. Then I saw it —a long piece of wood was buried in his chest.
    His eyes met mine.
"Pull it out," he said, his voice barely audible. "I have not the strength..."
"But, if I pull it out, you'll bleed to death," I protested. I flipped open my cell phone. "I'll call for an ambulance."
"No!" His hand grasped mine, knocking my cell from my hand. "No, please do not do that, Ron." His voice weakened again. "Do you want to save me?"
    "Of course..." Tears burned the back of my eyes as I gazed down at him. He suddenly looked so young, so frail...
"Then pull out the stake, I beg you ... now ."
"Okay. Hold on to me. It's going to hurt." I grabbed hold of the wood with both hands and gave it a mighty tug. It came with a sickening ripping sound, but the fountain of blood I'd expected to follow in its wake did not happen.