Since he’d played his part in the “help Bobo” movement, Manfred felt free to think about himself and his own concerns the next day. He worked late, not turning off his computer until after dark. When he finally got up, he realized he’d been sitting in the same position for far too long. Walking off the stiffness, he strolled over to the window. The light over the storefront of Midnight Pawn was humming with bugs, and the two cars parked there looked forlorn in the bleak glare. Manfred had known that Lemuel kept the shop open at night, but he’d never particularly noticed any customer traffic. Now he saw a strange, hunched shape come down the six steps to the street level. It paused to stuff something in its left coat pocket (it was just cool enough this night to make a sweater feasible but not a coat). Then, left foot dragging, the creature made its way to the driver’s side of a Ford Fusion. Manfred found it impossible to tell if he was looking at a male or female; whatever this individual was, he was fairly sure it wasn’t human.

He wondered what it had pawned. But he thought it would be indiscreet to actually go in the shop to ask Lemuel.

Plus, Lemuel might want to hold his hand again.

Manfred had tried not to brood about that little incident in the diner, but it had shaken him . . . Lemuel’s intensely cold hand, the hard grip, the creeping weariness that had gradually sapped Manfred’s strength. There had been something eerily pleasant about it, but the incident had also been really, really terrifying. And why had Lemuel picked him, Manfred, to feed from? Manfred had never doubted his own sexual identity was hetero, but the connection had not been completely without intimacy.

Okay, he asked himself, trying to face and conquer this inconvenient uneasiness, how do you feel about the idea of kissing Lemuel?

He felt an instantaneous Yuck. Somewhat relieved by this response, he was not as tentative about exploring the question further. Do I seriously believe Lemuel thinks of me as a potential sex partner? was the next question. Probably not, he thought. After all, though he didn’t have any direct evidence, he’d gotten the definite impression that Olivia and Lemuel were a couple, or at least were having sex. Since this internal conversation was relieving an anxiety he hadn’t realized he harbored, he thought he’d carry it one step further. He’d face Lemuel; he’d erase this lingering uneasiness.