Page 11 of Dad Bod: Vampire

It’s probably a good thing that most of the hotel guests have already checked in for Monster Mash, which doesn’t officially start until tomorrow. Though I think there’s an unofficial gathering tonight for people if they want. I’m not planning to attend any of it myself, but I am glad to provide a place for them to come and be themselves in a place where there’s no judgement.

I’ve never enjoyed crowds though, so I’ll likely stick to my suite and leave the staff to handle everything. The hotel runs smoothly most of the time.

I’m just about to retreat to my suite when there’s a bit of a commotion coming from the main entrance, where several of the monsters have gathered in a cluster. I turn just in time to see a flash of blonde hair.

My heart rate ticks up automatically before I remind myself that it’s not Rosie. My obsession is getting out of hand. Especially after that damn voice memo.

The woman who just entered does look remarkably similar… no, it can’t be. The closer she gets though, the more certain I become. Mouthwatering, plump curves fill out her yoga pants and t-shirt. She slides her sunglasses up on top of her head, her eyes wide and looking all around her.

Because, of course, there are monsters all over the fucking lobby. Me, included.

Goddammit!

I walk around the front desk and storm towards her. The minute she recognizes me, her whole face brightens. Her smile is wide and genuine and makes me feel warm all over. Which is fucking weird because ever since I turned, I’ve been cold. Always so cold.

But she’s like a walking sunbeam and it literally steals my breath.

“Hudson,” she breathes my name when I reach her.

I grab her by the elbow and move her out of the main flow of traffic. “What are you doing here?” I hiss.

How wide brown eyes look up at me, no fear to be found in their chocolatey depths.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hosting a cosplay event?” She glances around us. “These people are legit. I mean I’ve never been to a con, but from what I’ve seen online, these folks have stepped it up on their costumes.”

What the hell is she talking about?

She nudges me in the gut and instinctively I try to suck in my stomach. “Look at that guy.” She nods towards a wolf man leaning against the wall. “He looks like an actual werewolf. That’s crazy.”

I stare at her though. She’s so fucking beautiful, it nearly hurts to look at her. So sweet, so young… EMPLOYEE!!!

“You need to leave,” I say.

A frown furrows her brow. “Why? I’m here now and I can help. This event looks like a big one. The sign outside said you were fully booked. That’s amazing.” She reaches over and squeezes my arm.

Why does she keep touching me? It’s incredibly distracting.

“But I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about it. Clearly whoever you had do the planning and advertising did a great job.” She blows out a breath, obviously frustrated that she wasn’t invited to participate in this event. Her eyes narrow a little and then she steps closer. Then she gasps.

Fuck. She clearly just saw my fangs. Here’s where she’s gonna scream and run in the other direction. Who could blame her?

Then she goes up on her tip-toes—because I’m a fucking giant—and actually taps her fingernail on one of my fangs.

Do not lick her or bite her.

“These are amazing. Are they custom-made?” She steps back, but her eyes are still locked on my mouth. “Of course they’re custom-made. Now let me see,” she steps back again and then eyes me up and down. “You’ve got the fangs, but you’re not wearing a traditional Dracula-type cloak or whatever. Earring. Rocking eighties hair.” She gasps again. “You’re a vampire from an eighties movie. Like Fright Night or The Lost Boys.”

I tilt my head back. “Fuck my life.”

“The look would totally work for Silver Bullet and An American Werewolf in London too, but werewolves, not vampires.”

“You seem kind of young to be a fan of eighties movies,” I say.

“Yeah, I guess I am. My fourth foster mom loved them and played pretty much just those. Well, those movies and Wheel of Fortune. I love eighties movies. They’re the best. The teen rom-coms, the horrors that were also comedies, just all of them. So am I right? Is that what you were going for?”

“Pretty much.”

“I’m impressed. You really went all-out for this.” She points a finger at me like I’m a naughty boy. “I would not have pegged you for a cosplayer. I mean, not that I’d peg you. Unless that’s something you’re into. And then I probably would …” Her eyes go wide, as if she’s just realized what she said. “Oh my God, I’m sorry that I have no filter.”