Chapter Twenty-One - The Date

The Date

Christopher's POV

Stretching the kinks out of my back I let out a loud yawn. Picking up the two trays filled with round globs of dough I set them aside and look for my boss. I find him at the front of the bakery, his white puffy hair just visible over the top of the counter.

"The bagel dough for tomorrow is all set, Mr. Romano."

Standing up he gives me a wide smile, his heavily wrinkled face crinkling around the edges. "Excellent! Good work, son."

I smile, wiping clumpy dough off my hands. I'm covered in flour and I smell like bread. Not that I'm complaining. I love this job and who doesn't love the smell of baking bread?

Pressing his hands against his back, Mr. Romano hobbles over to me. He's in his early eighties, with a hunched back and bad knees. He shakes so bad it often causes him to fall over and I worry that this may be one of those times when he looks at risk of toppling sideways.

I rush to meet him, gripping his arm to stabilize him. "Let me help you."

He rolls eyes, shooing me away. "I'm fine. I'm fine." He gives me a critical look. "Nothing but meat and bones." Nodding towards the muffin shelf he adds, "Take those muffins home. They'll be stale by tomorrow."

Bemused, I roll my own eyes with a smirk. I know there's no point in arguing and honestly, food from the bakery was often the only thing I had to eat at home. "Okay."

I collect my muffins into a paper bag and slip on my jacket. Outside, I help Mr. Romano lock up, his hand too shaky to use the key.

Looking around he frowns. "You have a ride?"

"My dad's coming." I hope...

He grumbles something under his breath that sounds like 'damn drunk'. He doesn't care for my father and doesn't bother trying to hide it.

"I'll be fine," I reassure him.

"If you say so," he sighs. I watch him get in his car and leave, wincing at how slow he drives. I just hope he doesn't get into an accident.

Watching until he's out of sight I sit on a bench and wait. And wait. And wait some more. It isn't long before my fingers start to go numb.

It's so damn cold!

I huddle in on myself, the cold penetrating the thin layers of my jacket. I'm in desperate need of a new one but I can't afford it. Every dime I make goes towards bills or my father's liquor.

Glancing at my cell I sigh. It's seven-thirty and I've been waiting for nearly an hour now. My dad's not coming. No doubt he's already passed out on the couch. Another night of walking home. It'll take me hours.

My teeth start to chatter. I stare at my phone again, worrying my bottom lip. Maybe I can get a ride?

Bringing up the contact list my thumb hovers over the only number there. Nervous butterflies collide in my stomach. I haven't spoken to Roland since that night.

A hot blush heats my cheeks at the memory. I can't stop thinking about him. I even dream of him. It's as if he's haunting me. I want to see him again so badly. Just a glimpse.

"Arg!" I groan. I have to stop thinking this way! I'm obsessed. I know it's pathetic of me. Roland is way out of my league. What would he ever want with me? I'm awkward. Poor. Dressed in dirty clothes and begging for scraps. Not to mention he's a grown man and I'm barely into adulthood.

Compared to Roland I'm nothing...a waste of space.

My thoughts leave a painful ache in my chest. I wish I was someone else. Someone better. Someone more deserving.

Sighing, I glance down at Roland's number again. I don't want to bug him, but he did tell me to call him if I needed help.

I sit there for several more minutes, debating with myself. Then soft puffy flakes of snow begin to fall and my limbs grow numb. I can't even feel my toes anymore.

Screw it, I'll take the risk.

Taking a deep breath, I select Roland's number and hit the call button. My heart is hammering like a drum, which is so stupid. I'm just asking for a ride.

Roland answers on the second ring, his accented voice turning my butterflies into a full-blown tornado. "Oui?"

"Um...hi...it's Christopher. Christopher Eagle." I cringe as I say my name twice. Damn it, why do I always do that?

"Are you alright?" he asks quickly.

"I'm fine," I rush out, not wanting to worry him.

There's a pause before he drawls in that smooth sexy voice, "Miss me already, mon cher?"

Every nerve ending in my body lights up. Hell, yes, I've missed him. Clearing my throat I say far too huskily, "I was actually hoping you could give me a ride."

"A ride?"

"Yea, my dad forgets to pick me up after work sometimes..."

I hear what sounds like curses in French. "Where are you?" he demands.

"Outside the Golden Bakery on Main street..."

"Don't move. I'll be there in five minutes," Roland growls.

I open my mouth to protest but he hangs up before I can respond. My hand holding the phone falls limply to my lap. I can't believe I'm finally going to see him again.

It's surreal. Each day I hoped for just a glimpse of him picking up Abigail, but it was always his brother, Samuel.

I still struggle to believe Roland has a twin. The two were night and day, Samuel humorous and friendly, like an open book. And the first time we met he gave me a hug that nearly squeezed the life out of me. So unlike when I first met Roland. I thought for sure he was going to beat the crap out of me.

In truth, I like Samuel a lot, but I don't feel the same way towards him that I do towards Roland. Which is strange. Samuel is just as attractive as his brother and far more approachable, but the only one I want is Roland.

It's so foolish for me to feel this way.

As I wait my knees begin to bob up and down, my excitement growing with each passing second despite myself. True to his word Roland's dirty jeep pulls up within minutes. He must have already been in town. I get in quickly, the jeep warm and toasty inside. My glasses immediately fog up, blurring my vision.

"Thank you," I sigh, flexing my fingers as feeling starts to return to the tips. Then I take off my glasses, wiping off the lenses and resettling them back on my nose.

When Roland doesn't respond, I risk a glance over at him. He's glaring out the windshield. And. He. Looks. Pissed.

I'm not sure if it's with me or my situation, and I don't care. Even angry he's so damn attractive, his handsome features causing a flame to ignite in my stomach. He's wearing a brown leather jacket with wool lining and a worn pair of jeans. And his dirty blonde hair is unruly, as if he's been running his hands through his hair.

I have a strong urge to fist the silky strands and force him closer...

Stop! Stop! Stop! I'm going to drive myself insane with these thoughts.

Blushing deeply, I stutter, "Uh...you didn't have to pick me up."

"It's freezing outside," Roland snaps. He still hasn't looked at me, his hands clenching tightly around the steering wheel. "How long were you waiting?"

"An hour maybe."

He hisses another string of curses in French. "You should have called me," he chides.

"I didn't want to bother you."

"You could never bother me," Roland informs me roughly. My heart swells. Why did he have to say something so sweet?

Pulling back onto the street he starts driving, but not towards my house. He's heading out of town...

"Um...Roland?"

"What?" he growls.

"I live the other way."

He finally looks at me, or glares at me rather. "I'm not taking you home yet."

My heart does a chaotic tumble in my chest, while my mind races with possibilities. "Where are we going?" I ask breathlessly.

"Shopping," he grumbles.

"Shopping for what?"

"You ask too many questions, Christopher Eagle," he replies as if annoyed.

"How else will I know if I don't ask?" I retort.

"So stubborn," he sighs. "If you must know I'm taking you to buy clothes." His eyes slide to me once more. "And a god damn jacket that isn't in tatters."

Clothes? Embarrassment weighs heavy in my chest. What he must think of me. "You don't need to do that..."

"This isn't up for debate," he states firmly. His voice is so stern it almost makes me jump.

"Okay," I mumble, bowing my head in shame.

"Stop that," Roland orders.

"Stop what?" I mutter.

"You feel embarrassed, no?" he replies, reading me perfectly. "This isn't charity."

"Then what is it?"

Shifting in his seat Roland admits begrudgingly, "I want to."

I watch him for a moment, trying to figure him out. He looks agitated and his eyes keep flickering blue. "You should get that under control," I finally say.

He frowns. "What?"

"Your eyes. They keep turning blue. It's kind of obvious."

He stiffens, running a hand down his face. "I didn't realize." Blinking several times, he looks over at me, his eyes now back to hazel. "Better?"

"Yea."

He mutters something else in French. Then he sniffs the air. "Mon Dieu, you smell good."

Biting my lip, I give him a bashful look. "I've been baking." Picking up the paper bag I hold it up to him. "Muffin?"

He looks at the bag with raised brows. "You're offering me a muffin?"

"If you don't want one," I sniff, pulling back the bag.

"I didn't say that," he growls. "Give them here."

Grinning, I hold the bag back out to him. Reaching over he snatches a chocolate muffin, taking a big bite and grunting with appreciation. "You made this?"

"Yup. Is it good?"

He nods, scarfing down the rest. I watch him, smiling like an idiot. Noticing, Roland asks around a huge bite, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I just like it when you're fun Roland and not grumpy Roland."

He snorts. "I'm never grumpy."

I roll my eyes. "You were grumpy two seconds ago."

"But not with you," he informs me with an easy smile. "Especially if you keep feeding me."

Chuckling, I hold the bag towards him again so he can take another. We sit quietly for several minutes while he eats, my fingers tapping unconsciously on my knee.

When he's done, Roland reaches over, stilling my hand. "Relax."

I open my mouth to apologize, but instead I blurt, "Are you ever going to tell me what you are?"

To my surprise he smiles again. "Why didn't you just ask Abby? You two are friends now, no?"

"I wasn't sure if she knew anything," I answer truthfully. An emotion flickers over his face, but he doesn't respond. "Please, I'm dying over here," I whine.

"So stubborn," he repeats, but his tone is soft and teasing.

"I have a theory," I offer.

Roland gives me a curious look. "Is that so?"

I nod confidently. "I think you're an alien."

Cocking his head, he stares at me for half a second. Then he cracks up laughing, pressing a big hand against his chest. The sound is incredibly pleasant and I find myself grinning sheepishly.

When his laughter finally dies down he says humorously, "Only you would come to that conclusion."

"It was a good theory," I defend.

"If you go to conventions and watch Star Trek," he agrees. "No wonder my brother likes you so much."

"What about a vampire?" I ask, deciding to go with the obvious.

Roland snorts, crinkling his nose. "Hell, no."

His response catches my attention. "But vampires exist?"

"Yes," he replies bluntly, as if that's not the biggest bombshell ever!

"Really?" I exclaim.

He shrugs one massive shoulder. "Vampires. Witches. All real."

"What about werewolves?"

At that he gives a little growl. "Yes."

Eyeing him speculatively I ask, "Are you a werewolf?"

His eyes flash bright blue again.

Nailed it!

"You are!" I nearly shout.

"Hush," he dismisses.

I ignore him. "Does Abigail know?"

"Yes," he sighs.

No way! And all this time I could have asked her myself. "Is she a werewolf too?"

"Perhaps you should ask her," he drawls.

"Perhaps I will," I state haughtily.

"Fine with me," he replies as if bored with the entire conversation. But I can see his lips twitching into a smile.

Leaning back in my seat I think of my next question. "Can you turn into a wolf?"

"Yes, but it's not how it's depicted in movies."

"What's it like?"

Roland pauses. "Different..."

"If you get hurt do you have like super healing?"

He laughs again, shaking his head. "Yes. And I'm impervious to disease or illness." He tosses me a knowing look. "That was going to be your next question, yes?"

How did he know!? "No. Maybe."

A drop dead gorgeous grin spreads across his face. "You're cute."

I suck in a breath. That shouldn't make me so damn happy, but it does.

"Anything else, mon cher?"

I grow quiet, the next question rolling around in my brain. I'm almost afraid of the answer. "Are you immortal?" I finally ask quietly.

His grin fades. "Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Old."

I frown. "That's not really an answer."

Stopping at a red light he runs a hand through his hair. "I'm very old, Christopher."

"Older than a hundred?" I guess.

He snorts. "Much older."

Oh, shit. "Two hundred?" He can't possibly be older than that.

"Older," he mumbles.

Now I can't breathe. "Can you just tell me before I hyperventilate?"

The light turns green but we don't move. Instead, Roland turns to face me, his face weary. "I'm three hundred and fifty." He pauses before adding, "Give or take."

"Give or take?" I choke.

"Samuel keeps better track than I do," he responds, turning back to face the windshield and driving once more.

"I...wow." I don't know what to say. I can only imagine all he's seen and experienced. "I must seem so pathetic," I whisper more to myself than to him.

"Non," he answers swiftly. "You're not pathetic and I don't want to hear you say that again."

"But-"

"Enough!" he barks, before taking a deep breath. He seems to have to force himself to relax. "In all my life I've never met anyone like you. You're...special and unique."

My eyes well with tears despite myself. How could this amazing man possibly think that about me? "Thank you."

He grunts, shrugging his shoulders.

"Is Abigail as old as you?"

"No. She's your age. And she can't know of this. You are not to say a word," he orders. "Do you understand?"

"Why not?"

He waves a hand at me, as if swatting at an annoying fly. "No more."

Arg! I hate having so many questions and no answers. "Why don't you want to talk about it?"

"Because it's forbidden for humans to be involved with our kind," he says solemnly, pulling into the mall parking lot.

"Then why did you...do what you did the other day?" I demand shyly. "And why are we together right now?"

Smirking, he shakes his head with amusement. "You and your incessant questions. Will it always be this way?"

"Probably."

"You're lucky I find you so damn cute, mon amour," he drawls.

My cheeks flush. My French is the worst but I think he just called me 'my love'. "I thought you said you didn't like men."

Parking the jeep, he gives me a smoldering look so hot it ignites my entire body on fire. "I like you."

"Oh," I squeak.

His eyes turn blue again, locking onto my mouth, and I swear this time he's going to kiss me. Then he shudders and looks away, as if forcing himself not to. "Let's go."

"Wait! Your eyes."

"Merde," he curses. Reaching into the center console he pulls out a pair of sunglasses and slips them on. "Good?"

I giggle. "Aside from the fact that you look ridiculous wearing sunglasses at night?"

"Keep it up," he growls.

Laughing, I hop out of the jeep and follow him through the parking lot and into the mall. The place is crowded, as usual this time of year. No one wants to be outside in the cold.

Stopping in the entrance I swallow the lump forming in my throat. I'm not used to being around so many people. But then Roland takes my hand, tugging me towards a clothing store, and I'm helpless not to follow him. He doesn't seem to care about the crowds, and shoppers immediately get out of his way. And who wouldn't? The man is built like a Greek god and intimidating as hell.

Inside the store Roland picks out several outfits, shoes, a jacket. I keep trying to make him stop, but he just growls at me, tosses more items into my arms.

When he throws another shirt onto the stack I feel like I need to make him stop. "This is enough."

Another growl.

"Stop that," I chide. "You're not a wild animal."

Leaning down close, he murmurs roughly in my ear, "Don't be so sure."

And just like that my body is in flames again. The last thing I need is to be turned on in public! "You're doing that on purpose."

He smirks, feigning ignorance. "Doing what?"

As if I'll admit it! "We should pay for these..."

Chuckling, he guides me towards the register. I try not to pass out at how much money all these items cost. Meanwhile, Roland hands over a wad of cash without batting an eye.

Once back outside the store I gasp, "That was too much!"

Taking the heavier bags from me in one hand he replies absently, "When you're nearly four hundred years old you tend to acquire wealth."

The memory of how old he is makes my face go pale.

Reading my expression, Roland steps closer and cups my chin. "Don't over think it," he murmurs.

"It's hard not to," I admit.

"I know." Releasing my chin, he takes my hand again. "I'm hungry."

I can't help but smile at that. "Already?"

"Always," he purrs suggestively.

God, here we go again. "You need to knock that off," I hiss.

"Make me," he replies mischievously.

As if I ever could. "I hate you."

He laughs in response. "Uh-huh."

Pulling me towards the food court he gives my hand a squeeze, resulting in a swarm of happy butterflies in my stomach. Several shoppers give us curious looks and I can only imagine what they're thinking. I know we must look like the craziest couple ever. Roland big and scary, with his dark sunglasses and pierced ears. And me, with my ratty jacket and flour covered clothes.

I duck my head shyly, but Roland doesn't seem to give two shits, striding purposefully to the food court.

"What do you want to eat?" he asks.

"Whatever you want."

Roland thinks a moment. "Pizza."

He orders us an extra-large with extra cheese. I can barely finish two slices, meanwhile Roland devours slice after slice.

I watch him eat nearly the entire pizza, completely fascinated. "What are you? A bottomless pit?"

"I've been turning a lot. Makes me hungry." Pointing to the last slice he asks, "You want that?"

I shake my head, straightening my glasses. "I'm good."

Snagging the last piece, he happily scarfs it down.

"Why have you been turning a lot?" I dare to ask.

"Wolfs been antsy," he grunts. "And no questions while I'm eating. New rule."

"Hey! I don't agree to that!"

"Not up for debate," he replies, finishing off his pizza. Then he leans back in his chair with a deep groan. "I'm stuffed."

"You sure?" I tease.

He gives me a slow wolfish smile. "For now."

Damn, him! Why does he keep doing that to me?

A broken voice announces that the mall is closing. Gathering up the bags we head back to the jeep. It's stopped snowing, the ground and cars dusted in white. It's a beautiful night and I wish we could have spent more time together. And I wonder if we'll ever spend time with each other like this again.

When we reach the jeep, I watch as Roland deposits the bags in the back seat before saying timidly, "Roland?"

Shutting the car door, he leans back against it, placing his sunglasses on top of his head. "Mmm?"

I twist my hands nervously. "Was this a date?"

He tilts his head. "Do you want it to be?" I nod, my eyes wide and vulnerable. His hand cups the back of my neck, big and warm. He tugs me closer, until our bodies connect. "Then that's what it was."

"Does that mean you're going to kiss me?" I rasp.

His brows knit. "I shouldn't."

His words are like a knife in my heart. I try not to let the disappointment show on my face...and fail. "Okay," I whisper.

"I said I shouldn't, not that I won't," he grates. With his free hand, he reaches up, slipping off my glasses and tucking them into the back pocket of his worn jeans. He's close enough that I can still see him clearly. His eyes are intense and I can feel the heat of his gaze. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

"Yes," I croak.

His black pupils visibly dilate. Cupping either side of my face in his hands he holds me firmly, his rough palms so hot they scorch through my chilled skin. "The way you tempt me," he groans.

I can't stand it anymore, leaning up to close the distance. He meets me halfway, his firm lips pressing against mine. The kiss isn't slow and soft, but rough and wild. His lips force mine apart, his tongue tangling with mine. It's a struggle for control, one I know I'll lose. One I want to lose. And in the end I relent with a soft whimper, my body going limp against him.

My submission seems to set something off in him. He spins us around, slamming me back against the jeep. Both his hands are in my hair, pulling and fisting the short locks while his tongue steals the very air from my lungs.

I'm a slave to his need, my head growing dizzy and light. Then he breaks away, allowing me to gasp in precious air as his tongue burns a path down my throat. My eyes roll back in pleasure when his fangs nip at the tender flesh. I'm so aroused, beyond reason or thought. I want to feel his tongue, his hands, his fangs, all over my body. It's as if he's making me just as wild and untamed as he is.

"Roland," I keen.

His response is a deep feral growl that vibrates through his chest. Then his body gives a massive shudder and he backs away from me, his hot ragged breaths creating puffs of fog in the cold air.

I stare at him, my lips burning from our kiss. It's as if I'm looking at an animal. His fangs are sharp between his lips, and his fingernails have turned into black claws. The blue orbs of his eyes burn into the night and there's no control reflected within, only hunger.

I should be scared, but I just want to pull him back and kiss him again. And I never want to stop.

What the hell is he doing to me?

Neither of us move for a long time, simply staring at each other. I can almost see a struggle taking place in him and I know if I move - even just an inch - something was going to happen. Something I might not be ready for.

But then he shuts his eyes and when they open again they've turned back to normal. "I should take you home."

"Okay," I agree huskily.

Stepping closer he cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lips. His face is torn, as if he doesn't want to leave any more than I do. Then he stiffens, dropping his hand. Retrieving my glasses, he gives them back to me. "Let's go."

For once I don't ask any questions.

******

AN: Hopefully, this chapter was worth the wait. I didn't have a chance to fully edit or proof read the way I normally do. I will try to go back soon and fix any mistakes.

Oui - Yes.

Mon cher - My dear (masculine).

Mon amour - My love.

Merde - Shit/Crap.