“Well … ta-da!” He does a goofy little dance step, somehow even more attractive than ever. “Listen, if you’re not feeling it, that’s okay; I should go anyway. But I just thought, you know, if you were feeling it … we could get coffee, or something. Somewhere that’s not Sugar Mama’s.”

“Like…” I scratch my neck where the heat makes it tingle. “You mean, kind of like a date?”

“Or an actual date. If you’re cool with it.”

For a moment I just stare at him. About twenty minutes ago, a guy with two swords was trying to vivisect me in a parking lot—right after a four-hundred-year-old vampire told me I’m the undead’s version of Aladdin’s lamp, destined to barf up a wish-granting super being that will give them eternal life; fifteen minutes ago, I was a sobbing, snot-covered wreck, desperate to flee the country and hide forever. I still want to run and hide. With four walls around me and a front door that locks, I feel safer … but I know it’s an illusion. Even if vampires can’t get in, ninjas don’t need an invitation to pick a lock and katana me to death.

The world as you know it, as we all know it, could be coming to an end. I should really tell Gunnar thanks, but no thanks. As lonely as I am, as lonely as I’ve been—as much as I’d love to be kissed by a boy just one time before I’m possessed … how can I even consider it?

Daphne’s words come back to me: You’ve still got a life to live. As messed up as that life is, she’s right. I’m sick of being told that if I just wait two more years, if I just get into college, I can move to a city where the closest real-life gay guy isn’t ten miles away. Most of my straight friends have been dating since middle school, and I’m sick of being told that when I’m eighteen, I might finally get the chance to catch up to them—to hold hands with someone, to know what it feels like to want someone who wants me back.

I might never turn eighteen; I don’t know if I have two months left, let alone two years. If the Corrupter is real, and the Brotherhood can’t figure out how to stop it from Ascending, my time is already running out. All I have is now, and even though I am definitely on the verge of a panic attack, I don’t want to miss out. Not if I’m going to die.

“I think a real date would be very cool,” I manage to say, nodding, my face kind of hot and my breathing all funny.