Texas lost its charm after I chased the first kitten-sized spider out of my kitchen armed with a broom and oven mitts. Combining that with skyrocketing rent prices and sunburn on every sliver of uncovered skin left me wondering why I moved here at all. I finally lived with no roommates, a fact I reminded myself I was grateful for when I was running on three hours of sleep after working both my jobs.

You would think a farmer's market would be a pretty chill job. I made that mistake too. I was originally hired for payroll, but I did payroll, accounting, scheduling, and anything else the owner could think of when I was in her line of sight. Cars were already filling the parking lot when I circled around a truck to enter the loading dock office. I tried entering the front door once. Just once. Those old ladies would mow you down, especially during tomato season.

It was Thursday, payroll day and the time cards were a mess as usual. The owner, Bettina, didn't like computers, so we all kept manual time cards. So, I spent a great deal of time trying to decipher what people actually wrote, before manually entering everyone's timesheet and then running checks.

"Can I get a check? Need to pick up more purple Cherokees."

"Sure, bring me a receipt though."

I added the stub to the growing stack on the corner of my desk of shit that needed to be sorted today. Or, I looked at the clock, tomorrow. I needed to be at my other job by six. It was 3pm now. If I could run checks by 4:30, I would just be able to make the bus by 5 and hopefully make it to work on time.

The printer jammed, so I ended up running checks around 5:15, and now the bus was late. I changed at work into comfortable work shoes, black shorts, and tee shirt for my night job. I shifted uncomfortably while waiting for the bus; I hated my chubby white legs, particularly compared to the leggy, tanned coeds who worked the money shifts. I didn't like wearing the tee shirt either, but they weren't too strict on clocking in on time and were close to home and that outweighed my insecurities. Or so I told myself. I made it to work with less than a minute to spare, shrugging my shoulders at Maria the daytime bartender while I tied my apron. "You missed pre-shift."

I snorted. 'Pre-shift'. We'd had the same 'soup of the day' since I'd started working and it was Thursday, so meatloaf was on special. "Anything I need to know about?"

Silversmith's was a pub three blocks from my apartment. Not a dive exactly, but nothing nearly as fancy as the owner wanted us to be. Especially after vampirism was legalized, or whatever the law was that passed. I still wasn't sure on the particulars, but we'd been picketed a couple of times and flyers kept appearing on the door about the name being problematic. I'd never seen a vampire, but we carried TrueBlood, the bottles were kept near the back of the cooler with the O'Doul's.

"We're out of Miller Lite bottles, we just have draft."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I wish, but the truck fucked up and brought us extra Bud Light and,-" she jerked her head towards the kitchen where I could hear the owner's new girlfriend arguing with our prep cook "-somebody already signed off on it, so we have to wait until Chuck gets here in the morning to place another order, so-"

I groaned. "Do we have Lone Star at least?"

"Some, but don't push it."

My next grumble cut off when Kellie popped up at the server's station. "Table 42 is for you!"

My customer service smile always pulled at the edges of my lips regardless of how much chapstick I used, but smiles made more tips and I definitely was going to need all the help I could get tonight.

It went better than I thought. It wasn't as much money as I normally made, but more than I was expecting with no Miller Light bottles and the last keg kicking two hours into my shift. The temperature dropped like a stone after sundown, but the night air felt good against my overheated skin, at least for now. When my post-shift adrenaline wore off I would probably start shivering. The cold beer in my free hand didn't help, but I'd be damned before giving up my shift drink. I made myself comfortable on the back steps before fishing a cigarette out of one pocket and digging my battered lighter out of the other one only for it to sputter impotently.

I growled and rubbed it between my palms before trying again.

"Really?" I pulled the cigarette from my mouth in disgust. The others were still cashing out, except Mackenzie who was double-sat right before the kitchen closed. I knew Rachel smoked, but I didn't really want to wait for her to finish moaning about tip out.

"Need a light?"

I looked up from scowling at my lighter to see a… teenager staring at me?

"Uh, sure."

He pulled out a plated zippo from his pocket.

I took a long drag and blew the smoke through my nose like a dragon, feeling the burn in my nose and the buzz of nicotine through my brain.

"Thanks." I sat back, leaning against one of the steps behind me, tossing the useless lighter into the sand of the ashtray.

He was young, but his features were sharp, and he was lean in the unfinished way where an older teen wasn't quite an adult yet. His hair was thick and dark, cropped close to his head. He wore a sweater somewhere in between gray and green and a black leather jacket over it. It seemed excessive for the chill, but considering I was only wearing a short sleeve tee shirt and shorts, I was in no position to judge. I'd probably be jealous of it in about an hour.

His eyes were that pale shade of colorless blue that couldn't help but look cold and hungry. One long slim hand slid the lighter back into the pocket of his jacket. I waited for him to head inside unless he was older than he looked and could actually drink. He politely ignored my once-over, gesturing to the seat beside me. "Mind if I join you?"

I couldn't exactly say 'nope, you lit my cig, now screw off!' Plus, after tonight, I probably wanted more than one and who knew how long it would take for the others to funnel out. I scooted over, taking another drag before flicking off the ash building on the end. "Sure."

He gestured to the pack of cigarettes in my hand as he took a seat. "May I?"

Fair was fair after all, I flipped open the pack and held it out.

"These'll kill you, you know," I smirked at him as he lit his own.

"Will they?" He blew the smoke between pale lips, sending coils of haze into the overcast night sky.

I shrugged and took another sip of my beer. "So they tell me, but out of all the things out there that could kill me, if these are what does me in," I lifted the cig for emphasis, "I'll consider myself lucky."

His teeth were strong and white, a flash of amusement in the darkness. "Lucky?"

I blew out another smokey breath. "Relatively, I guess."

"Relatively…."

He trailed off and took another drag.

I smirked around the filter. What was he, a parrot?

"I mean, like compared to being hacked into pieces and eaten or something." I probably watched too many Dateline reruns for someone who lived alone. I blew out smoke, watching drift dizzily upwards before shivering slightly as the minimal breeze pressed a chilly kiss to the exposed back of my neck raising goosebumps.

"That seems specific, are your only options cannibalism or cancer?"

I snorted, nearly choking on my next cloud of smoke. "I hope not."

I was nearly halfway through with the cigarette, holding the filter in my right hand and lifting my beer glass with my left. The condensation made the glass slick and I tried to shift my grip.

It slipped from my hand, pale ale splashing my neck and soaking into my tee shirt. "Dammit!"

The glass bounced once off the steps before tipping over the side and shattering while I dropped the cigarette and jumped up, brushing as much beer off my clothes as possible before it made my clothes soggy.

Of course.

"Shit, really?"

"Job opening!" The obnoxious nasal voice rang out from the deck above me.

I scowled. "Shut up, Grant."

He stuck his tongue out at me as he walked to the dumpster, hands full of kitchen trash bags. I flipped him off, ignoring his cackling. I brushed the glass off the steps and onto the pavement. Shards sparkled like comets for just a moment before shattering on the asphalt sounds like the tinkle of small bells.

The teenager looked like he wanted to laugh.

I rolled my eyes.

Brat.

I dropped back onto my seat, then yelped when a splinter of glass dug into the back of my thigh.

I mumbled and shifted, wincing as it dug a little deeper, but it stung more than anything else.

I could ignore it.

I pulled another cigarette from my jacket and looked at the smirking teenager, hopefully.

He dug his light back out of his pocket and I took a deep drag from my newly lit cancer stick.

"Are you always this exciting?"

I blew smoke up into the air. "Not on purpose."

"Doesn't that hurt?"

He nodded at my leg.

"Nah."

I'd had worse.

He inhaled deeply like he was trying to breathe in more air than normal.

I chuckled and flicked ash off the cherry; smoking used to make my lungs tight too.

He'd get used to it.

"Ugh, thirty bucks...had to give the smug bastard thirty bucks. Thirty bucks for that asshole to hit on jailbait all night."

There's Rachel.

"I feel ya, I gave Mike forty and it hurt, man."

Steph didn't bother to say goodnight, already texting angrily with one hand and stuffing her apron into her bag with the other.

Okay, then.

I nudged the teenager with my knee and he raised an eyebrow at me, looking at where my knee was touching him.

"I'm gonna try to see if I can manage to drink a beer instead of wear it, don't go anywhere though. I want another cigarette, and I'll share."

I went inside before he could argue, hopefully he'd still be there. I was kind of surprised he hadn't angled for a drink. I knew I did when I was sixteen and a busser.

The chill in the air was worse now, probably from the beer still drying on my shirt as I folded myself back onto the steps. He hadn't moved, just watched me, pulling out his lighter when I reached for another cigarette. He was an oddball. Most teenagers I met were more...chatty? Less comfortable in their skin, certainly. This one lounged instead of perched on the steps, his body languid and comfortable, like it was a throne instead of a rickety, weather worn collection of boards.

He must've felt me staring. I saw him glance at me, but I shook my head and took another sip. I stubbed out my cigarette, already down the filter; he watched my tongue as I licked my lips, to clear away the foam.

His expression stayed carefully blank as he took a long drag from his cigarette, must be a really new smoker if he could nurse one that long. Wait a second.

He was just holding it. He wasn't dragging on it. Poser.

Ugh. Cigarettes were too expensive to waste.

Brat. He smirked at me too, as though he heard my thoughts.

I took another swig out of my beer and looked at him, not sure what I was planning to say-

"-Evelyn, did you roll silver?"

I looked over my shoulder. "Yeah."

"Both baskets? I only see one."

Monica always struck me as someone who wanted to be important but wasn't. She didn't have keys or know the alarm code. She was a host some nights and her primary job seemed to be fucking up inventory while claiming to be a 'bar manager'. Maria laughed so hard she nearly puked the first time she said it. She was older than most of us though, so she clearly got to tell us what to do.

"Yep, one at the host stand and one in the server's station."

"I only see one."

I finished my beer and stood. "Okay, let's see."

I rolled my eyes and the teenager hid half a grin behind pretending to take a drag off his cigarette that was mostly ash. "You better finish that and get out of here before she sees me corrupting a minor."

"A minor?" He had a teasing look on his face. Like he knew something I didn't.

He finally stubbed out the wasted cigarette and rolled fluidly to his feet in a single motion that would have resulted in a face plant for me. "I'll see you around."

It wasn't a question, but I waved a hand dismissively all the same. Sure kid. "Thanks for the light. Be careful out there."

It was a stupid thing to say and he knew it too, that stupid grin was back. His gaze lingered on my sore leg for another moment before he walked back into the dark. I climbed the steps and showed Monica that the host stand cabinet did, in fact, open to reveal an immaculate basket of rolled silverware.

"Well, you could have put it on top!"

"That's where we wipe down menus and you can't put it on the floor. Health code."

She grumbled more about me hiding it from her. I bought another beer. My last one for the night. Technically, we were only supposed to have two on premise, but as long as you weren't hammered, Chuck didn't care.

Grant plopped next to me on the staircase. "Strike out with jailbait?"

I rolled my eyes and shrugged. " He had a lighter, so…"

"Gotcha," he took a swig out of his glass and started digging in his pockets. "Speaking of, I have a lighter but no cigs, can I bum one?"

I offered him the pack and glanced at the dark streets. He was none of my business, that jacket wasn't cheap either. He was probably a college kid, which explained him being confused at being called a minor. Weird though.

I clambered up the stairs to my cramped apartment a little after 2am. I was only humming the chorus of a song I could barely remember, but I couldn't find it in me to care as I jiggled the key in the door handle just right to open the door.

My shoes landed somewhere in the hall as I stepped out of them, I didn't think I was coordinated enough to undo the laces and I didn't want to risk face-planting into my carpet, trying. I wasn't hammered drunk. Just buzzed and tired.

My hair smelled like smoke.

My leg hurt.

I wanted a shower.

I heard a heavy thump as my phone hit the floor of my bedroom as I stripped out of my shorts.

Under the glaring light of the naked bulb in my bathroom, I looked at my leg as best I could. Contortionist I was not, but I could feel the shard under my fingers. Luckily, the fabric had kept the shard from slipping completely under the skin, so I was able to pull the shard out carefully with my eyebrow tweezers. Not my finest moment, but far from my worst.

The cut immediately started weeping and I hissed as I dabbed alcohol soaked toilet paper on the cut before turning on the shower.

The pipe sputtered twice, but the water was almost warm.

I soaked my hair, and scrubbed my generic shampoo through the roots.

The suds ran down my legs, stinging the cut on the back of my thigh, and I winced, but it quickly faded to a throbbing warmth, so hopefully it was washing the wound. I didn't have any bandaids and it didn't look too deep.

I had splurged on a bulk size of my favorite conditioner, and it felt slippery on my fingers as I rubbed it along the ends.

I stepped out of the spray and scrubbed my skin with a cheap washcloth and a sliver of soap. I washed my face, feeling mascara slowly melt.

I dried off quickly and wrapped the towel around my hair, rubbing and patting the strands until they were no longer dripping wet.

The chill of the room raised goosebumps on my skin, and I climbed under the blankets, tucking the comforter around me as best I could.

I felt pleasantly dizzy and slid into sleep between one spin and the next.

He'd followed her home; she was pathetically easy to track as she stumbled slightly, crossing the street to an apartment building, on the other side of a narrow alleyway. Her humming was off-tune as she unlocked the door and stepped inside a shabby apartment.

He stood under a broken street lamp, examining the half-burned cigarette.

'Those things'll kill ya."

He was learning this city; it had been years since he'd attempted to rejoin his own kind, let alone humans. It was bizarre.

He'd seen her on the steps, alone, swearing to herself around the unlit cigarette between her lips.

She looked young; her skin smooth and unblemished, her hair was pulled back from her face and her ears tipped red with cold.

His fangs ached as he inhaled the chill in the desert air. She smelled earthy, slightly like sweat and human food, but under that was something that triggered a visceral response in him. His hands nearly curled into claws with the urge to snatch her up and drag her back to his nest.

Completely oblivious to the danger, she watched him with amusement, not fear; he couldn't remember the last time someone smiled at him, let alone casually touched him. Even his son Eric expressed more reverence. Her nihilism was commonplace among her generation; he'd warmed to her wry half smile and the soft moan in her throat as she sipped at her beer. He wondered what else could encourage a similar noise. When the shard of glass punctured her leg, he wanted to hiss, warning other vampires in the area that might catch the scent. A visceral sort of possessiveness filled him at the idea of others partaking, licking the trail of blood from her soft thigh. His mind quickly replaced it with a vision of himself cleaning her wound and then sinking his fangs deep.

He could hear her humming to herself, followed by the thump of shoes hitting threadbare carpet. The others in the building were more raucous. He heard televisions, arguments. The wail of a hungry feline. Easy to tune out. He dropped the cigarette to the ground as he heard her humming dissolve into the soft breathing of slumber.