Page 60 of Fangs with Benefits

‘Dylan wasn’t thrilled about the sudden onset of two new roommates, but I think they tolerate each other well enough now.’

‘What do you call her?’

‘Gemma,’ he says. Gemma rubs against Elijah’s leg, which is when I realise he’s wearing jeans. Elijah in a tight T-shirt and jeans is not unlike a Calvin Klein ad to me–he is good looking in a deeply unfair way. ‘She keeps me company.’

I take the first bite of the meal Elijah set in front of me and it’s not just fine, it’s insanely good. ‘Okay what the fuck?’

‘Bad?’ he asks, braced for the worst.

‘It’s good!’ I say with a mouthful of food. ‘Why the hell does it taste so good if you don’t cook? Do you even know how to use a convection oven?’

Elijah laughs, his relief obvious, and lounges back in his chair, arms crossed over that broad chest as he watches me inhale the meal.

‘How’d you get the potatoes so crispy?’

‘Parboiling. I watched a YouTube about it.’

‘You know how to use YouTube?’ I ask, more shocked than I should be. I don’t correct him that a video isn’t called ‘a YouTube’ much like Google isn’t called ‘the Google’. He can have that one.

‘Dylan taught me. Loads of useful information there, along with less useful information.’

‘Did you find the fail compilations?’

He winces. ‘Yes. Nasty work. Though I do enjoy the music videos.’

‘Which is your favourite?’

He drums his fingertips over his chin. ‘I think I enjoy all of them. Dylan loves one called “California Girls”.’

‘Oh my God, with the boob cannons?’

Elijah laughs, a clearly delighted sound. ‘That’s the one.’

He takes a drink from the mug, his throat bobbing as he swallows and I startle.

‘Is that blood?’ I ask.

Elijah pauses with the mug still at his lips, then nods. I lean over the table to peer inside and, sure enough, it’s a viscous liquid that looks almost blackberry purple in the black mug.

‘Gross,’ I say without thinking.

Elijah stands, bringing the mug with him. ‘My apologies.’

I grab his forearm before he can skirt away into the kitchen.

‘It’s okay, really. It’s just weird? I’ve never seen someone drink blood before.’

‘Well, you have,’ he corrects. ‘Many times. Every workday since I started, actually.’

My eyes go wide. ‘The metal bottle is full of blood? Oh,

duh.’ I realise my hand is still on his bare forearm. I squeeze it again before releasing him. ‘It’s okay, really. I promise.’

‘You’ll tell me if it makes you ill?’ he asks.

‘I will.’

Elijah settles back in his chair and puts the mug on a glass coaster.