I missed the sound of his laugh.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him.

“Getting cigarettes,” he says. “Aren’t you cold? Do you want my jacket?”

“I’m not cold,” I say.

I’m aware that it’s cold out, that I should be cold. I’m not. In fact, I’m a little warm. There’s some sweat happening, a shallow puddle forming in the small of my back.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”

He nods and walks past me. I hear the door open, then close behind him.

I shove another hot dog into my mouth.

I haven’t responded to any of his calls or texts since the full moon last week, so it’s been eight days of radio silence on my end. I know I should have said something, but what, exactly? Sorry. BRB, trying to figure out if I can still date you as a bloodthirsty supernatural monster?

I guess it’s for the best if he’s mad. If he’s not interested in me anymore. It’s not like we could ever be together. I’m stuck in this body. A body that’s volatile, that’s vicious, that I can’t trust. I wake up with this truth and fall asleep with this truth. A truth he can never know.

It’s too risky to try to pull him close. Too dangerous. For both of us. He could get hurt. I could get hurt.

I know this. I know it and yet . . .

I want him.

Seeing him just now, I can’t ignore it. My feelings won’t just disappear. I want him like I’ve never wanted anything.

The door opens and I hear the clink of his Zippo, the crinkle of plastic.

He comes around the back of my car, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. He takes it between his fingers and exhales.

“G’night, Rory.”

He’s walking away from me. He’s vanishing into the dark. All of a sudden, the hot dogs rebel inside me. I’m nauseous. I’m panicked.

“Ian!” I call out.

He turns around. “Yeah?”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home,” he says. “Why?”

Fuck it. “You weren’t going to invite me?”

“Didn’t think you’d want to come,” he says. “Also, you look pretty busy.”

I wipe my hands on a napkin, instead of my pants like I’ve been doing. I look up at him.

“I’m sorry I’ve been MIA. I had a bad week, okay? Like, epically bad.”

“I wasn’t sure what was going on,” he says. “You weren’t responding. If you don’t want this, that’s fine. I’m not going to hold it against you—I never have. But I think I made it clear where I stand and would hope you’d respect me enough to not just ignore me.”

“I’m sorry.” Why did I eat all of those fucking hot dogs? “I wasn’t ignoring you. It’s . . . I’ve had a rough couple of days. That’s really all it is.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose and takes another drag of his cigarette.