Blood of the Son (Book #1 in the Skye Morrison Vampire Series) (Skye Morrison Series) (2 page)

I worked hard to make her proud.  I got a 3.9 GPA in high school and was accepted into the University of Texas when I graduated.  I was so excited when I received my acceptance letter.  I couldn’t wait to show it to my mother.  She was proud, of course.  When she told me a few months later that she was buying me my own town home, I almost died.  I wouldn’t have to worry about sharing a room and paying rent in some tiny Central Austin apartment complex.  I had a place of my own and it felt great.

“Everything will be okay,” I whispered to myself as I crossed the room and sat back down on the crate.  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall.

“Alright, Skye,” Nikki said as she walked back into the storage room and tossed something into my lap.  I opened my eyes and picked up the paper.  “Here’s today’s job classifieds.  I stole it from Dan’s newspaper.  There is bound to be something in there that uses that fancy degree you have.”

I looked up at her and smiled.  “Thanks, Nik.  Want to help me look this weekend?” I asked.

“Sure thing, Cupcake,” she said as she bent down to retie her boot.  “I’ve got a huge side piece to finish at noon on Saturday, but then I’m all yours.”

“When did you start tattooing again?” I asked, surprised and a little excited.

“Shit,” she said, cringing.  “I totally meant to tell you. I started moonlighting at Cherry Bomb last weekend.  They needed a part-time artist to fill in for Laser while he ‘finds himself’,” she said, rolling her eyes,  holding her hands up in the air, and using them as quotation marks.  She walked over and sat down beside me.  “I hope you don’t mind putting off our next project,” she said.  “It’s only for a few weeks, I’m guessing.  The classes are in four week intervals anyway, so it’ll be easy to catch the next one.”

I reached over and smacked her playfully on the arm.  “Girl, do what you have to do.  No worries, Nikki.  I’m glad you are back tattooing again.  Save an appointment for me, though.  I’ve been itching to get my half sleeve finished.”  I stood up and pulled her into a side hug.  “Pottery class will always be there.”

“Thanks, Cupcake,” she said ruffling my hair.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” I said, suddenly remembering.  “Dan said it was cool for you to split once you finished up with inventory.”

“Cool beans! It’s been a damn long day.  Well, hey, I’d better run,” she said while I stacked the overturned crates back up.  “I’ve got to get some supplies before tomorrow’s session. Call me, ‘kay?” She flashed her signature peace sign and walked out of the storage room.

“You got it, Nik,” I called after her.  “See you tomorrow.”  I walked out of the storage room and closed the door behind me.  I looked out at the bustling bar and decided that I had better get to work. 

I checked in with Angel, whom I was relieving, and got updated on all of my section’s current customers. 

“Watch out for booth 12,” Angel said, rolling her eyes.  “Someone likes playing Grab Ass.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I said, giving her a pat on the back.  “See you next week.”
“Take it easy,” she said as she pulled out her bottle opener and headed for the door that lead to the back office.

I threw my long red hair over my shoulder and got to work refilling pitchers and taking orders.  Table 12 did indeed have an occupant who had sticky hands.  He grabbed my ass as I was bent over clearing empties from the far side of their table. 

“Well looky what we have here,” he said once he had a hand full.

I stood up in a flash and flushed a light shade of furious.  “Keep your hands to yourself, sir, or I will have you dropkicked right out of Dan’s.”

“Aw, honey, he didn’t mean nuthin’ by it,” chuckled his friend and fellow table occupant.  “Floyd here just thinks you’re pretty, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s all fine and well, but Floyd had better keep his hands to himself for the rest of your visit.”  I turned and looked at the two other men.  “Can I get you fellas another Shiner?”

“No, ma’am,” said the one with the sandy colored hair in a deep Texas drawl. “We’re gonna settle up now, if that’s alright.  Floyd here has just about had his fill tonight, I think.”

I closed out their tab and was happy for the big tip.  I’d be sure to share it with Angel since Floyd had played Grab Ass with her, too. 

I took a few more orders, popped a lot more tops, and started enjoying the night.  It was around 9pm and the live Irish hardcore punk band that Dan hired for the night started playing their set.  I loved the Manky Langer.  This was the third time they had been here this month.  They were working on their first album now and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it when it came out.  Their song “Knackered Jacks” had been stuck in my head for days following their last visit…not that I minded at all, of course.

I was singing along to the band and checking on my tables when Dan caught my eye.  He motioned for me to come over to the bar. 

“You like them, huh?” he asked with a sly smile on his face.

“Hell yes,” I leaned in and replied over the music.  “Thanks for inviting them back.  I can’t get enough of these guys.”

“I thought you looked like you were enjoying the show last time they were here,” he said, chuckling, while pouring a shot of Jack for a fellow waitress’s order.

I blushed a little and shrugged, “Well, shit, Dan…they rock, I can’t help it.  I did manage to keep my tables up AND watch the show.”

Dan laughed at my mock coyness. “I’ve got something for you,” he said as he rummaged around behind the bar.  He handed me a half a pint of Guinness in a glass and a half a shot whiskey with a Bailey’s floater.  “Give the Car Bomb to Jameson.  He always gets one on the house from me.”

I looked confused.  “Who’s Jameson?” I asked.  He pointed to the right of me, towards the stage.  I turned and looked to where he was pointing.  All I could see was a mass of dancing bodies and the band.  I turned back to him with a questioning look.

“Would you like to buy a vowel?” Dan said and laughed.  “Jameson is the Manky Langer’s lead singer.”

I rolled my eyes and reached over to smack him in the arm.  “Don’t be mean,” I playfully pouted.  “Hell, for all I knew it could have been a customer,” I said.  “And, anyway, I thought the lead singer’s name was Micky.” 

Dan threw his head back and roared with laughter.  I frowned.  “Micky is just some silly Irish slang, doll,” he said once he regained his composure. He wiped at his eyes and handed me the glasses.  “Take it over and say hello, Skye.  He doesn’t bite.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and took the two glasses.  I sauntered over to the side of the stage and patiently waited for the current song to end.  After the last note I held up the two glasses over my head and let out a loud, sharp whistle.  Jameson spotted me and smiled.  He walked over to the edge of the stage and bent down. 

“Wha’cha got there, fine thing?” he said and smiled an amazing smile. 

“Dan’s sent you over a Car Bomb.  Is there anything else I can get for you?” I asked, while looking up into his light green eyes and smiling back. 

“What pretty packaging it comes with,” he said, with a hint of an accent, as he looked me over, head to toe, and back.

I did the same and was impressed by what I saw.  Jameson was definitely choice and totally looked like Joseph Gordon-Levitt.  He was slim, but muscular, had shoulder length, shiny brown hair, amazing light green eyes, and full, kissable lips.  He appeared to be in his late 20s.  He wore a plain black v-neck t-shirt that showed off some of his flawless pale skin, distressed Levi jeans, and Doc Marten Wingtip shoes.  He definitely rang my bell, if you know what I mean. 

I felt my face flush hot and I gave him a flirtatious grin.  “I could say the same for you,” I said.  “I love your music.”

“Thank you, love,” he smiled, leaning over and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.  “What’s your name?” he asked me.  His accent was a little more noticeable now, but I had a hard time placing it.  I knew he definitely wasn’t from Texas.

“Skye,” I replied, biting the corner of my lip and smiling.

“Skye,” he repeated, testing it out.  “What a lovely name.  I’m Jameson Doyle,” he said as he took my hand.  “I hope to see you again soon, Skye.  It has truly been my pleasure meeting you.”

I blushed, but managed to keep my eyes locked on his. “Likewise, Jameson,” I replied, proud of myself for sounding strong and confident. Inside I was screaming like a teenager.  I slowly let go of his cool hand and walked around the crowd and back to my tables.  I caught Dan’s eye as I passed by the bar and winked at him.  He winked back and gave me a thumbs up.  I smiled.  Dan had just made my night. 

I got back to work and busted ass until closing, still on an emotional high from my all too short visit with Jameson.  Nothing could have spoiled my mood.  Not even when some drunk junior spilled his drink all over my new heels.  I was in a flirty mood and made great tips that night.

I finished cashing out and headed back to Dan’s office.  It was 2:30am and I was so ready to call it a night.  As I strolled in I saw Dan sitting at his desk looking at Friday’s paper.  I pulled out my bottle opener from my back pocket, walked over to my cubby and deposited it.  I grabbed my messenger bag from my hook, slung it over my shoulder, and turned around to notice Dan looking at me. 

“What’s up, D.?” I asked.  “Something wrong?”

He ran his hand through his hair and held up the newspaper. “Skye, I found these classifieds in the bar stockroom.  Only you and Nikki hang out in the stockroom.”  He looked me in the eyes and for the first time and I noticed the hurt in them.

Shit!  Busted. 
He knew they weren’t for Nikki.  I sighed and walked over to sit on the corner of his desk, facing him.  “Look, D.  It has nothing to do with you personally,” I explained softly, ashamed.  “I was going to tell you soon.  I just graduated, you know, and my loans are coming up.  I owe so much money, it’s not even funny.  Drop Kick’s just isn’t going to cut it, D.”  I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued.  “I’ve got to find something else for full time work, but I can still work here part time…if you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll have you?” Dan asked, confused.  He shook his head.  “Are you kidding me, Skye?”  He stood up and sat down next to me on the desk, looking into my eyes.  “I love having you here.  You are smart, funny, sexy, and the clientele love you.  You hardly ever call in sick and you work your ass off.  Not to mention that I happen to adore you, doll.”  He patted my knee.  “We’ve been good friends for four years.  No matter where you work, Skye, you’re still my girl.” 

I was starting to tear up and tried to compose myself before he noticed.  “Damn it, D., don’t get all sentimental on me.” I sniffed as I got up, set my bag on the floor, and sat down in his office chair facing him.  “I don’t want to completely leave here, just cut my hours back to part-time so I can make room for another full-time.” I bent over and started taking off my cage heels as I continued. “I owe $70,000 and it’s seriously freaking me out.  I’ve got to bring in more cash and then I can chill out a bit.”  I took a deep breath as I slipped my heels into my bag and pulled out my black Converse sneakers.  “Your support means everything to me, D.  I appreciate our work relationship and your friendship…more than you know.”  I pulled on my sneakers and got up and hugged him.  “Call me this weekend?” I asked. 

“Of course” said Dan, with a big smile on his face.  He cocked his hip and continued in a high falsetto.  “Who else am I going to girl-talk with about my hot date tomorrow?”

I laughed, playfully hit him on the upper arm, and turned to walk out.  “You’re such a goober.  Take care, hon.  See you Monday.  Oh, and, have fun on your date!”

“Good luck on the job search, doll,” he replied as he walked out behind me and locked the office door.

Driving in my red 1988 Pontiac Fiero GT, I blasted some Misfits and sang along for the 15 minute trip home.   It was a clear, warm night and I was enjoying having my windows down.  I hit the button on the garage door opener as I turned into my driveway.  I pulled into the one car garage and hit the button again to close it.  I stepped out of the car and immediately heard my 2 year old miniature French Bulldog, Styvi Nix, barking up a storm.  She has always been a vocal little thing; cute as a button, but very opinionated.

I walked in and set my bag down on the small kitchen table.  I turned around and picked up Styvi for a quick cuddle.  “How was my super star today?” I said as I nuzzled her neck.  She licked my cheek in response while her stubby tail wagged furiously.  I set her down, walked over to the treat jar on the kitchen counter and removed a single treat.  She stood on her hind legs and started jumping in excitement.  I held up the treat and she immediately sat down.  “That’s my good girl,” I said as I bent down to feed it to her.  I gave her a quick pet and watched her trot over to her doggie door and go through it and into the large back yard that Nikki and I shared.  (A few years ago we decided to tear down the fence that separated our yards.  We went half on a nice patio set and had a big deck built to put it on.  We liked to meet up there on our downtime to have a cold beer and catch up.)

I yawned, headed into the living room toward the stairs that were located by the entry way. 

Casa Morrison is a modest 2 story, 2 bedroom, 2 and a half bath town home in North Central Austin.  It is decorated in various pieces that I have collected over the last four years.  I don’t have a certain style when it comes to my house.  It’s all pretty eclectic.  Some pieces of furniture are modern, such as my sleek black, low profile couch with matching love seat and my newly acquired 52 inch LED television.  And, some pieces are perfectly retro, such as my authentic 1970s Pedro Friedeberg hand chair (inherited from Mom. Thanks Mom!), and my 1950s kidney shaped formica topped coffee table that I found at a local thrift store.  My walls are decorated with an assortment if abstract paintings, various self-welded wrought iron pieces, and the occasional family/friend vacation portrait.