Stake Me Out to the Ball Game Read online

  I’d heard of those guys. Frank Lloyd Wright, anyway. But I didn’t have any idea what their buildings would look like. I just knew how to build a mean martini. I liked the idea of having such an important career, though, so I laughed and said, “And to think I got my start with Tinkertoys.”

  For just a moment, his face twisted into a puzzled question. I’d done it again. I’d answered like a girl born in 1961. Legos. I should have said Legos like any self-respecting millennial.

  I rushed to distract him before he could question my anachronistic response. “So, let’s see,” I said. “You don’t like traditional Washington get-to-know-you chit-chat. You’re wearing gear from a California team. You have no detectable accent.”

  I pretended to complete my analysis, stealing the opportunity to study his face. He had a slight scar on his right cheekbone—just enough to keep me from embarrassing myself with a guess like, “Movie star.”

  Somehow, I remembered my task. I cleared my throat and said, “You’re an Oakland sportscaster, in town for some national convention.”

  He laughed and leaned close. “I’m missing the keynote address this very moment. Don’t tell my boss I’m playing hooky, okay?”

  “What’s it worth, for me to keep your secret?” I licked my lips to make my smile as provocative as my tone.

  “I’ll buy you a beer?”

  “Sold!” I laughed.

  Of course I wasn’t going to drink a beer. My vampire body could never process the alcohol. But I’d been to enough ball games to know the vendors sold beer in opaque cans. I could nurse a single Budweiser all night.

  “Beer man!” Dennis called out to the next vendor who hit the stands. He held up two fingers, and we clinked our cold cans together as the fifth inning drew to a close.

  At the top of the sixth, a couple sat directly in front of us. I recognized the guy immediately—not the specific individual, but his kind. He was the worst stereotype of a fraternity brother—loud, crude, and stupid enough to get blind drunk on twelve-dollar ballpark beers. The young woman beside him sat with her shoulders hunched. Her eyes were rimmed with red. The pain in my tooth immediately throbbed to a higher register.

  “Hey, Bri,” the guy shouted, even though he was sitting right beside her. “Come sit on my lap, and we can play some real games.”

  “Josh…” Bri said, making shushing gestures with her hands before edging to the far side of her seat. I thought she might shrivel up and blow away from embarrassment.

  I glanced down the stands, looking for the usher who’d waved me toward my seat. The guy was nowhere in sight.

  Don’t get me wrong. I was perfectly capable of putting Josh in his place. My vampire reactions were about three times faster than his—if he’d been stone cold sober. With him drunk, my advantage increased exponentially.

  But I wasn’t sure I could stop short of breaking his arm. Probably with a compound fracture. And a dislocated shoulder too.

  “Come on, babe,” Josh whined. “You’ve been holding back all night. I picked up the check at dinner, and for beers on the concourse. I paid good money for these seats, too.”

  “I know,” Bri whispered.

  Josh leaned close, trying to slobber a kiss onto her lips. When Bri cringed away, his face flushed purple and he shouted, “Don’t be such a bitch!”

  Bri’s hands shook as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. From our vantage point, Dennis and I could see the phone remained blank when she punched at the screen. It seemed to be out of juice. Nevertheless, she shook the device, as if that might bring it back to life. When that didn’t work, she stabbed the glass a few more times.

  So much for Uber saving the day. From the stricken look on Bri’s face, she wasn’t carrying cash, either.

  “Guess you’ll need a ride home,” Josh sneered. “And I know exactly how you can pay the fare.”

  I started to stand, danger of compound fracture or no. Dennis beat me by a microsecond. “May I?” he asked.

  I inclined my head in a “be my guest” gesture.

  “Bri,” he said, his voice pitched perfectly to reach the cowering girl.

  Her gaze shot up like she’d been tased.

  “Why don’t you come up here?” He offered her a hand, easing a full step to the side so he wouldn’t crowd her as she climbed over her seat. Josh started to splutter, but he didn’t fully realize what was happening until Bri stood safely between Dennis and me.

  “I don’t—” She gestured toward her pocket where she’d stashed her useless phone.

  Dennis was already reaching for his wallet. He fished out a twenty and handed it to her.

  Bri stared at the money like she’d never seen cash before. “I can’t—”

  “You can,” Dennis said firmly. “Head right out the the center field gate. There’s a cab stand one block down. They’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  “Hey, bro,” Josh said, finally realizing he was about to be cut loose.

  Dennis ignored him. “Go ahead,” he said to Bri. “No one’s going to bother you anymore.”

  “C’mon, bro,” Josh complained, reaching for Bri’s ankle.

  “You’ve got exactly five seconds to turn around and sit in your seat, bro.” Dennis sounded like a general firing commands from the middle of a battlefield. “One!” he snapped, when Josh didn’t back off. “Two! Three! Four!” Dennis pulled himself to his full height, using the motion to put his body between Josh and Bri.

  When you’re a vampire, you get used to recognizing terror. Sure, I only feed from Sources who’ve signed up for the job. But no one is perfect at wearing a mask.

  I’ve slipped a few times and let mundanes see my fangs. That’s good for generating some bone-deep fear. I’ve used my strength to shift things in my way, only to find humans gawking in horror at the apparent woman before them whose arms should have been pulled out of her sockets.

  That’s why I carried a flask of Lethe with me. The cinnamon-scented elixir allowed me to take humans’ memories. I could erase looks of bone-deep terror—the same expression carving Josh’s stupid, drunken face as he stared at Dennis.

  Not that Dennis was a vampire. He wasn’t any sort of imperial. I was certain of that.

  But he knew how to issue a command that could send lesser men to their knees.

  When he turned to Bri, though, his voice was kind. “Go ahead. I’ll keep this knucklehead here for ten minutes or so. Give you plenty of time to catch a cab and get to a safe place. You do have a safe place to go, don’t you?”

  Tears welled up in Bri’s eyes as she nodded. “I can go to—”

  Dennis interrupted her. “I don’t need to know.” He looked meaningfully at Josh. “No one does.”

  Bri snuffled her gratitude and clutched the money. “If you give me your address, I can mail you—”

  “No need,” Dennis said. “Just keep an eye out for someone you can help down the line. Now go on. Get out of here.”

  The girl swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she said. “Both of you.” I’m not sure why she included me, but I nodded gravely. She hurried down the stairs and disappeared onto the concourse that would take her to the center field gate.

  Swearing a blue streak, Josh stood up to follow her. “Ah, ah, ah,” Dennis said, tapping him on the shoulder with enough force that he remembered to sit down. “You just sit back and watch the rest of this inning. There’s some fine baseball being played down there.”

  Dennis gestured far more politely for me to take my seat, and I did, pleased to feel him at my side. Glancing at my scorebook, I realized we’d missed three outs, all of the Philadelphia batters.

  The rhythm of the game was broken. Dennis shrugged and flipped his book closed. Regretfully, I did the same.

  At least we got to watch the bottom of the sixth with renewed interest. Josh wasn’t stupid enough to try escaping again. Only as the Washington players were trotting back to their dugout did Dennis dig his toe into the kid’s shoulder. “Go on, then. But you l
eave that girl alone from here on out.”

  Josh snarled. “I wouldn’t tap her, if she was the last woman on earth.”

  “And you eat with that mouth too… Get out of here.”

  At least Josh was smart enough to recognize a good deal when he heard one. He slouched down the row of seats, taking his time, pretending like leaving alone was his idea. When he’d reached the exit to the concourse, he turned around to flash an obscene hand gesture to Dennis and me. I didn’t have any problem reading the epithet he mouthed in slow-motion.

  Apparently, Dennis didn’t either, because he grabbed both armrests as if he meant to haul himself to his feet. Josh turned tail and ran like a frightened rabbit.

  I waited until Dennis leaned back before I said, “So that’s how sportscasters handle punks, huh?”

  “I spent some time in the Army. In Oakland, actually.” He gestured to his green and gold finery.

  I nodded toward the now-empty seats in front of us. “That was a nice thing you did for her.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe she’ll think twice before going out on dates with any more… glass bowls like that.”

  I liked that he hesitated, that he changed his choice of words. And I loved that he shrugged off his anger, his frustration. His voice was warm as he nodded toward the field. “Forget about them. We’re missing a great ball game.”

  All hell broke loose in the seventh inning.

  A lot of baseball stuff happened. What? “Baseball stuff” is enough description—Philadelphia scored some runs. Washington changed pitchers twice. Three different batters got hit by pitches. Benches cleared for a brawl. The home plate umpire threw out four players and a manager, restoring order.

  Tooth stuff happened too. My fang decided to ratchet up its jangling, taking up tap dancing on every nerve in my head. I guess it didn’t like the adrenaline let-down after Josh fled the scene.

  But none of that was the “breaking loose” I mentioned.

  No, that happened when Dennis and I started talking.

  Maybe we felt more chatty because we’d put away our scorebooks. Without the need to record details of the game, we had the luxury of conversation.

  Or maybe it was because three rows in front of us were now clear. No one was close enough to overhear our chit-chat.

  Or maybe it was because I found myself ridiculously attracted to a guy who would help out a young woman who’d made a mistake, who would shut down her drunk racist boyfriend, all without throwing a punch.

  I don’t know what Dennis saw in me.

  But when one of the Philadelphia players hitched up with a hamstring pull, instigating a long delay as medical staff evaluated him, Dennis turned to me and asked, “Would you rather lose the ability to walk or the ability to hear?”

  He couldn’t know that my vampire senses allowed me to hear far better than his human ears. Right now, for instance, I could make out the steady thud of his heart. I could hear the breath he caught as he waited for my reply.

  But I wasn’t going to point that out to Dennis. Instead, I told him I’d take the wheelchair. His grin was tight as he said, “We could race each other.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I thought a guy like you would value the ability to move around!”

  “A guy like me?”

  There it was again—that swoopy feeling that might have been a blush if I’d had a working circulatory system. I nodded toward the empty seats in front of us. “A guy who isn’t afraid to use his body to get what he wants.”

  Oh. That didn’t come out sounding quite the way it had in my head.

  Dennis obviously considered teasing me about my choice of words. But he passed up the easy banter, the same way he’d skipped over the obscene term for Josh. Instead, he said, “I can’t imagine giving up the connection I get from hearing a voice. Think about it. We learn so much from tone, from timbre. When I was a kid, my father could order me: Get over here. But those same words, coming from a lover, have a completely different meaning.”

  Okay. Maybe he didn’t pass up the easy banter. Because his answer sure made me shiver.

  I wasn’t cold. My body never got cold. But I suddenly wanted to experiment with tone and timbre, to say a whole lot of things all night long, to the man who sat beside me.

  It took all my nerve to meet Dennis’s eyes, but he didn’t seem the least bit affected by the words he’d chosen. Instead, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Okay. New question. Would you rather get up early or stay up late?”

  “Late,” I said, without hesitation. “You?”

  He nodded. “Late for me, too.”

  It was my turn. “Are you a team player or a lone wolf?”

  I shouldn’t care about his answer. Dennis Maugham wasn’t going to be anything to me, not after the game ended on the baseball diamond below us. But I did care. I just couldn’t say which response I preferred.

  He thought for almost a minute before he answered. “I’m a wolf, playing on a team.”

  “Not fair,” I protested.

  He was already shaking his head. “No, think about it. There are different types of teams. Some require you to be in the same place at the same time.” He gestured toward the guys on the field. “But others take contributions from all their members and build something bigger. Something more than any one person can accomplish on his own. I like being independent. But I’m more satisfied when I know I’m part of a greater whole.”

  I must have still looked skeptical, because he laughed. “I take it you’re a lone wolf.”

  “The lone-est,” I said. I meant the words to be a joke, but they came out like a warning.

  Dennis nodded, as if he’d heard everything I didn’t say. Before he could respond, though, everyone around us stood up. Surprised, I looked at the Jumbotron and realized we’d reached the seventh-inning stretch.

  As the stadium organ started playing a familiar song, Dennis and I stood next to each other. The words were projected on the scoreboard, with a convenient bouncing ball to keep us all in order. Everyone started singing: “Take me out to the ball game.”

  Dennis swayed toward me, matching the rhythm of the music. It was just a shifting of his weight, barely perceptible. He wasn’t interfering with my personal space, not really. He wasn’t crowding me.

  I had the option of matching his motion with my own. If I rocked left and right at the same time he did, we’d maintain our original distance. Nothing would change.

  But I slipped my arm around his waist.

  I saw the way his abs tightened as he accepted my touch, just a ripple beneath his jersey, a motion that would have been imperceptible to human eyes. Once again, I heard the quick intake of his breath, a catch in his throat making a sound no vampire could make. I felt the second’s hesitation before he put his arm around my shoulders, his hand light, giving me the option of slipping free if I wanted to.

  When the song was over, he lingered for a moment before lifting his arm free. The tips of his fingers brushed the nape of my neck.

  “You’re freezing!” he said.

  I wasn’t. But I couldn’t explain. So I quickly asked, “Would you rather be hot all the time, or cold all the time?”

  His eyes narrowed, but he played along. “Cold. You can always put on more layers. But after a while, there’s only so much you can take off, when you’re hot.”

  The questions came faster then. He’d rather be an amazing dancer than a pro football player. He’d rather live a long life in poverty than a short life with more money than he could ever spend. He’d rather have the power of telekinesis than telepathy.

  I made up answers to all those questions. I didn’t really care what I was saying. I just wanted to hear him talk more. Because every answer he gave convinced me that there was more to Dennis Maugham than met the eye.

  A lot more.

  He was a thoughtful man. A thinking man. The sort of man I could fall for, fast and hard.

  The ball game had turned into a rout below us. With every run for the ene
my, more Washington fans left. But none of that mattered because I couldn’t get enough of the guy beside me.

  It was Dennis’s turn to ask a question. He stared at me for a long time before he spoke. I could track the minute motions of his gaze; it traveled from my lips to my eyes, then down to my bright green jersey before returning to my mouth. His voice was soft enough that I had to lean closer to hear. “Would you rather eat a different meal every day but never your favorite, or would you rather have your favorite every night for the rest of your life?”

  Every muscle in my body clenched. I recognized the sensation: It was the reaction I’d seen in the hapless humans I’d fed from before I switched to the safe, predictable world of Sources. I was poised on the edge of fight-or-flight, unable to speak, unable to offer up even a joking response to Dennis’s question.

  I only ate one meal. It had become my favorite years ago. I’d forgotten what it was like to eat anything else, because I only dined on human blood.

  He leaned close enough to whisper in my ear. “You can tell me the truth, Ava.”

  “T—truth?”

  “Mm-hmm.” His index finger traced the shoulder seam of my jersey. “You care about scoring a game, but you arrived an hour late—an hour after dark. You said you prefer staying up late. You’re a lone wolf.” His eyes were steady. Serious. Calm. “Put it all together, and I know you’re a vampire.”

  My forced laugh sounded crazed, even to me. “That’s what you get out of all those silly questions? You might as well say I’m a telekinetic ballet dancer who’s going to live forever without a penny to her name.”

  That finger—that damned finger—found the line of my jaw. And the worst part was, I wanted to turn my head. I wanted to rest my cheek against his palm. I wanted to feel him touch me, stroke me, even as he repeated, “You’re a vampire, Ava.”