And then he’s gone before I can reply.
I sit in silence for a good five minutes after I lower the phone from my ear, trying to process what just happened. My first thought is that I absolutely can’t seduce Bram like Jon’s suggesting. I can’t come on to people in my normal life, so I’m not sure how exactly Jon thinks I’ll be able to put my moves on Bram of all people. It’s not that I think he’s out of my league so much as I’m pretty sure we’re not even playing the same sport.
There’s also Mina to think of. She’s my best friend, so doing this to her self-professed favourite person in the world would be nothing short of a betrayal. I’m relatively certain she’d never speak to me again.
But then this isJon. And he wantsme.
I tap Bram’s name into the search bar in my browser, but not much comes up. Bitten’s website, a few local news stories about the launch of the bar. Nothing recent. Then I remember what Jon said, and I try searching ‘Viral Bat Guy’ instead.
All of a sudden, I realise why he looked vaguely familiar. I do have a distant memory of Viral Bat Guy. There are pages and pages of results, endless news stories and forum posts and memes which paint him as a troublemaker, a rogue. There are photos which depict a messier-looking Bram stumbling out of bars, draped around a variety of women– a different one in every photo. I even see a thumbnail of the video Jon mentioned, although I can’t bring myself to watch it. I’m fairly sure I’d never sleep again.
And then I’m torn again. I thought that Jon might be mistaken, but everything he’s told me is confirmed here in front of my eyes. I think about all the messages I’ve seen on Bram’s phone. Just in the car earlier I think I counted four names, all women.
Maybe it’s actuallymewho’s wrong about him. If the womanising is true, and it certainly seems to be, perhaps the rest is too. Have I made a mistake offering to share the annexe with him?
But then I remember the way Mina spoke about him. The same way his aunt and uncle did. They surely know him better than anyone, and they’ve told me more than once that he’s a good guy. Granted, I’ve known him for less than a day, but he’s been perfectly respectful the whole time. I haven’t seen any traces of the Bram I’ve just read about. I’m missing something, I know it.
Either way, I know I can’t use him the way that Jon suggested. Mina would never forgive me. I’d never forgivemyself. But I can’t deny that I’m intrigued by the whole situation, particularly the disconnect between the internet gossip and the regard in which Bram’s nearest and dearest hold him.
This is light years out of my comfort zone, but maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to try and get a little closer to him and find out the truth for myself, even if I don’t plan toinclude any of it in my article. I don’t have to go as far as Jon said and compromise my values.
I mean, it’s not like anything would ever actuallyhappenbetween us.
By the time I push back through the door to the bar, it’s packed.
Bitten’s just about the exact opposite of my normal scene, but I can’t deny that the vibes are an absolute triumph. When I imagined a vampire-themed bar, I couldn’t help but think of fake blood and cheap satin, a gaudy flash of red like the inside of Wladek’s cape. But it isn’t like that at all.
There’s an overabundance of black, of course, but it’s modern and thoughtful. Matte black walls, styled with a relief that makes me think of church doors. Black granite floors. A rugged wooden bar polished smooth on top. A velvet wall in a deep, rich red, buttons pulling at the fabric here and there so it falls in ripples, like the lining of a coffin. Candle bulbs throwing out just exactly the right amount of light.
I imagine that the clientele of this place generally trends towards the alternative, but it’s wall-to-wall goths this weekend, a sea of leather and lace. There are more shades of black than I knew were possible, a dark mosaic of texture ebbing and flowing as people move– talking, dancing, laughing. Two people kiss against the back wall, long hair snagging on the nap of the velvet behind them. I look away before they see me watching.
It’s dark. It’s atmospheric. And it’s sexy as all hell.
The kind of place I could forget myself and become someone entirely new.
The kind of place I might want to.
I see Bram across the room, light glinting off the cocktail shaker in his hands. He’s flirting with the woman he’s serving, I can tell by the curve of his smirk, but when he notices me watching there’s a moment when he stills, just for a second, before turning away. His bitten-back smile is fleeting, but in thatmoment it feels like it’s just for me. When he looks back at the customer, his practised smirk is firmly back in place, one fang dimpling his lower lip as it widens.
I slide onto an empty stool at the very end of the bar and sip my drink as I watch Bram and his staff dance expertly around each other. He’s at the section nearest to me with another bartender– pretty in an androgynous kind of way, with an undercut similar to Bram’s and a shock of bright purple curls on top. They’re mixing up cocktails with a flourish, spinning bottles and tossing them in the air as they do, pouring shots from a height without even looking at the glass. At one point the purple-haired bartender full-on juggles with three whisky bottles, and I can’t hold in my gasp. Bram’s moves are a little more understated, but they feel effortless– fluid and practised rather than showy.
I’m transfixed as he twirls a jigger with one hand, making the steel dance through his fingers. He looks entirely at home behind that bar, comfortable in a way that I haven’t seen on him before now. My whole body suddenly feels like it’s on fire, and I sip my drink to try to stave off the flush of my cheeks. There’s a small part of me– a small, secret part buried far beneath the surface– which dares to think that maybe seducing him wouldn’t be such a crazy idea after all.
God, thosehands.
I mean, forgetting for a moment that we’re polar opposites, I’m in love with my boss, and my best friend would never forgive me, of course. I laugh into my glass as I take another sip. In what world would someone like him even be interested in someone like me?
I study him as subtly as I’m able to. He’s all in black again, in slim fit jeans torn slightly at the knees with well-worn combat boots and a T-shirt, its sleeves rolled up to the swell of hisdeltoids. High on the chest is a light grey print of the same set of fangs as my lemon– something I now realise is the Bitten logo.
He belongs here, in this world, with these people. With Purple Hair and the curvy, corseted beauty behind them. With the frenetic ball of energy uncapping bottles and pulling pints who, from what Bram told me on the way here, I’m going to assume is Quinn. With the whole crowd in here tonight, in fact.
I couldn’t fit in less if I tried.
On a whim I snap a picture– a selfie with the four of them in the background, me in taupe cashmere looking almost photoshopped on against the backdrop of black and red. I send it to Mina, and she replies almost immediately.
MINA
You made it to Bitten!