“I can’t have a drink?” Van asks.
“The drinks are in the other fridge. The white one. This one isn’t ours. It belongs to our roommate, Vlad.”
“Vlad?” Rosco asks, but everyone ignores him.
“And he doesn’t share his drinks?” Van asks, frowning. Everything was community property back at the hockey house, so I get why he’s confused. But it’s not out of bounds for this guy to keep his own beverages for himself.
Mickey shrugs. “I don’t think he has any sports drinks or water. It’s pretty much just for blood.”
“The fuck?” Rosco says, his hand on the doorknob.
Van’s brow is furrowed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did you just say?—"
Mickey lowers his voice to a whisper. “I think it’s just chicken liver from the deli downtown, but I don’t know. Imean, he’s a vampire, so his meal choices are not my business.”
“And I repeat…the fuck?” Rosco’s still standing at the door, and I’m about two seconds from cracking up. Who needs TV when real life is this ridiculous?
“You live with a vampire named Vlad?” Santos asks, his bushy brows receding into his hairline.
“I’m beginning to understand how you scored this place,” Rosco says, nodding.
Deano ignores him and turns to Pete. “I think his given name is Cameron, but don’t call him that. Also, keep the volume down. He sleeps during the day. You know, ‘cause he’s a vampire.”
“A fake vampire,” Rosco adds.
Ollie frowns. “Uh, showing some fucking respect, Roscowitz.”
Rosco holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, it seems like false advertising. He’s a vampire, but he won’t fully commit.”
Deano shakes his head. “It’s no different than being a vegetarian.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. “It’s actually the very definition of different.”
But Deano’s stubborn. “No, because if a vegetarian eats a black bean burger, then it’s kinda the same. Right? Back me up here, Will.”
Will makes a face because he knows Dean Strathmyer is full of shit. “You know what, we don’t have to put labels on it, ok?”
“Actually, we do,” Mickey pipes up, pointing to the fridge. “That’s why we got the extra fridge. When containers aren’t labeled, well…let’s just say that was the second worst bowl of tomato soup I’ve ever had. So, yeah. You wanna use this fridge. With the wolf sticker on it. This is our fridge. The one with the bat sticker belongs to Vlad.”
We’re all quiet for a second, and I’m wondering if Rosco’s going to walk out, but he just grabs a soda from the fridge with the wolf sticker and takes a seat.
“So, Norris,” Santos says, “something’s up. How can we help?”
Ollie pops up. “Hang on. I printed out some diagrams. Be right back.”
As he heads to his room, I shoot him a double middle finger salute. Then I blow out a breath and wonder how I’m going to ask for help. It’s not something I’m used to.
“Dude, you said everything was good yesterday. I saw the ultrasound pic?—”
Mickey’s getting worried, and that’s not my intention, so I shake my head. “Everything is good,” I say, pulling up the pic on my phone. It’s grainy as hell, but I can’t stop looking at it.
“Tell me you did not do a gender reveal,” Ollie says, walking back in and handing over a veritable workbook of sex positions. “Because first off, ew. And second, you didn’t invite us? And what’s the crisis? Because if you threw some sort of hissy fit because you had your heart set on a boy and pinata spewed pink glitter everywhere, then we’re gonna fight.”
My middle fingers go right back up. “We’re not even finding out the gender. We like surprises,” I say.
“Obviously,” Deano says, and Mickey doesn’t miss a beat before cuffing him in the back of the head.
“And I know it’s cliché as hell, but I don’t care about anything except making sure Maggie and the baby are healthy.” I can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across my face.
