I woke up the next morning with the kind of hangover you don't get from alcohol, but from raw embarrassment.
My head wasn't pounding. My stomach wasn't sick. No, it was my soul that hurt. My brain kept replaying last night like an overly dramatic Netflix recap: me, Ruth, awkward little college fangirl, practically melting in front of Theo James—yes, that Theo James, the broody vampire star of my dreams—while he stood in my dorm room looking like a sin I couldn't confess.
And then there was the bite.
My neck still tingled. I swear, even though I couldn't see it without twisting in the mirror, I could feel it—two neat puncture marks, like the world's sexiest mosquito had claimed me as its favorite snack.
"God," I groaned into my pillow, rolling over and burying my face. "Why am I like this? Why am I… why am I insane?"
Of course, my roommate Clara decided this was the morning to barge in, iced coffee in hand, her hair already perfect like she hadn't just crawled out of bed. Some people were blessed by the gods. Others were cursed with fangirl obsessions and vampire hickeys.
"Good morning, sunshine," she said, sipping smugly. Then her eyes landed on me, and she froze. "Wait. Oh my god. What's that on your neck?"
Panic hit me like a truck. I yanked my blanket up to my chin and tried to play it cool, except my voice cracked like a fourteen-year-old boy. "What neck? I don't have a neck. Necks are a social construct."
Clara squinted. "Uh-huh. Let me see."
"Nope. Privacy." I curled tighter, praying she'd drop it.
She didn't. She marched over, ripped the blanket down, and gasped so loudly I swear the neighbors heard. "RUTH. That's not a hickey."
I was about to protest—because, hello, who even gets hickeys in 2025?—but then I remembered it wasn't a hickey. Not really. It was worse. Way worse.
I slapped my hand over the spot. "Okay, it's nothing. Just, like… an aggressive mosquito. Or two. Maybe three."
Clara leaned closer, eyes wide. "Girl. Mosquitos don't leave bite marks that symmetrical. Did you—did you seriously hook up with someone last night?"
Hook up. That was one way to put it. Another way was: I let a centuries-old vampire celebrity fangirl-bait me into near orgasm just by existing in my space. But sure, "hook up" worked too.
I sat up, clutching my blanket around me. "It's not what you think."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Then what is it?"
I opened my mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. "Uh…"
How exactly do you explain that your teenage crush, star of the blockbuster vampire franchise you plastered on your walls as a kid, not only showed up at your dorm but also revealed he's a real vampire and then bit you while making you feel like the heroine of your own fanfiction?
Spoiler: you don't.
Clara folded her arms, studying me. "You're acting weird. Weirder than usual. And you're already at, like, Olympic level weird on a good day."
"Thank you?" I tried.
"Not a compliment." She leaned back. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But if you're sneaking around with some mysterious guy, I'm gonna find out. And if he hurts you, I will end him."
I almost laughed. If she only knew.
The rest of the morning was pure torture. Every time I caught my reflection, I swore the bite mark glowed neon: Look at me, I'm a vampire's chew toy! I slapped on concealer, foundation, powder—the whole Sephora starter pack—but it only half worked. I looked like a girl who got mauled by a very kinky raccoon.
And of course, the entire time I was spiraling, Theo was nowhere to be found.
Which was… both a relief and an insult.
Relief because—hello—I needed a minute to breathe. To process. To maybe not combust like a Victorian woman seeing an exposed ankle every time he glanced at me.
But insult because… what, he could just waltz into my life, sink his fangs into me, make my knees turn to jelly, and then ghost me like an expired Tinder match?
Not that I wanted him around. Nope. Totally fine without him. Thriving, actually. Hashtag independent woman.
Except, of course, I wasn't fine.
By the time evening rolled around, I was so jittery I almost screamed when there was a knock at the door. Clara had gone out, thank god, so it was just me. I padded over in my pajama shorts and opened it.
And there he was.
Theo James.
Tall, unfairly hot, dressed in dark jeans and a shirt that clung to his chest like it had been painted on. His hair was slightly messy, like he'd just run his hands through it, and his eyes—oh god, his eyes—glowed faintly in the dim hallway light.
I almost slammed the door.
"Ruth," he said smoothly, like he had every right to be standing at my dorm room at nine o'clock at night. "May I come in?"
"No." I crossed my arms. "Absolutely not. Last time you were in here, you—you bit me!"
His lips twitched. "You asked me to."
"I did not—" I started, then stopped. Because technically… I kind of had. My brain short-circuited, my mouth said yes, and then his fangs were in my neck faster than my GPA plummeted freshman year.
I sputtered. "That was a moment of weakness! Temporary insanity! You can't just—just—ugh!"
Theo tilted his head, studying me. "You're angry."
"No, I'm—" My voice cracked again. "Okay, yes, I'm angry. And confused. And maybe a little turned on, but that's not the point!"
His smile was slow, dangerous. "You're very cute when you're flustered."
I wanted to die. Immediately. Just collapse into a pile of shame.
He stepped closer, and I stepped back, until my calves hit the bed frame. "What do you want from me?" I whispered.
For a second, his expression softened. "I wanted to make sure you were all right. After last night."
My brain, ever the traitor, supplied an image of his mouth on my neck, his breath hot against my skin. I shivered. "I'm fine. Totally fine. Thriving, actually. Living my best life."
Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "You don't look fine."
"Well, maybe I don't look fine, but I am fine. Okay? So you can just… go back to wherever broody vampires go when they're not seducing innocent college girls."
There was a pause. Then he chuckled. "Innocent?"
"Don't you dare—"
But he was already laughing, low and rich, and I wanted to throw a pillow at his stupid perfect face.
I sighed, dropping onto the bed. "Why me?" I blurted before I could stop myself. "Out of all the people you could… bite, or flirt with, or… whatever this is. Why me?"
Theo was silent for a long moment. Then he crouched down in front of me, so we were eye level. His gaze burned into mine, and I forgot how to breathe.
"Because," he said softly, "you're not afraid of me."
I blinked. "Excuse me? I'm terrified of you. I'm basically living in a horror movie with a bonus romance subplot."
But he shook his head. "No. You're nervous, yes. Flustered. Overwhelmed. But deep down, you're not afraid. You don't look at me and see a monster. You look at me… and you see something else."
I swallowed hard. "Like what?"
He smiled. "Someone worth fangirling over."
My cheeks went nuclear.
I was about to snap back with something sarcastic when his hand brushed my knee. Gentle. Careful. Like he was testing the waters. And my entire body lit up like Times Square.
Oh no. Oh no.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
Because the more time I spent with him, the less I wanted him to leave. And the more I wanted him to stay, the more I risked losing my grip on reality.
And yet… when he leaned in, just close enough that I could feel his breath, I didn't move away.
I stayed right there, trembling, waiting to see if he'd kiss me... or bite me again.