Blood Type: Book One of the Blood Type Series (complete)

It's Not What You Think

I fully expected an argument when I asked my mom if I could hang out with John and Ian that night, but all she said was to have a good time and be back before curfew. She didn't balk. She didn't complain. She didn't even ask about adult supervision, though I didn't volunteer there would be none. After all, both Ian and John technically qualified as adults.

"Aren't you going to lecture me about how I should give Zach a second chance or how I'm such a horrible person for hurting his feelings?"

She looked up and removed her reading glasses, placing them on the table beside her. "You're not a horrible person, Blake. And you can date who you want. I trust your judgment."

I stared at her, wondering what had happened to my real mom. "I thought you didn't like John."

She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The crease between her brows deepened, and her eyes darted around the room as though she was searching for the words. "I was wrong about him," she finally said.

"Really?"

She picked up her glasses and rested them on the end of her nose, looking at me over the rim. "Believe it or not, parents are allowed to be wrong about things. You'll see when you have kids of your own."

I blinked in disbelief. "I'm sure Zach's mom will have an opinion. She has an opinion about everything," I muttered under my breath.

My mom resumed scrutinizing her papers and began highlighting stats and other important real estate stuff I had no interest in. "Helen has a great many opinions," she said, "none of which you should worry about."

When I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, she glanced up at me. "Don't you have a date to get ready for? You don't want to be late."

If my mom was suddenly fine with me seeing John regularly, who was I to ask questions?

John lived in an older part of town in a large Victorian, its twin-peaked dormers and spire of bay windows lending it an air of splendor. Compared to many of the other houses on the street afflicted with peeling paint and crumbling brick, John's home seemed out of place with its cheery yellow façade, trimmed yard, and well-tended gardens. I wondered who was taking care of the place with his parents away for the summer.

Climbing the wide plank steps leading to the front door, I rang the bell and waited, getting a few strange looks from some neighborhood kids chalking the sidewalk. After several uncomfortable moments of waiting, Ian opened the door wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans that were ripped at the knee and hung low around his hips. A slice of greasy cheese pizza hung limp in his hand.

"See something ye like?" His body was long and lean, but muscular. He held one arm braced against the door jamb, barring me from entering.

I cleared my throat and forced my eyes up from his naval. "Are you going to make me stand out here all night, or are you going to invite me in?"

Ian bent his head toward mine. His lips grazed my ear, and the skin on my neck tingled as his breath tickled my jawline. "How do I know you're not a vampire?"

"I can't believe he told you." I pushed past Ian, his taunting laughter trailing after me.

"Don't be angry, lass! Vampires are sexy, aye?"

"Where's John?" I said, spinning to face him. I refused to let him tease me all night.

Ian sighed and pointed with his pizza across the room to a hinged door, its wood worn by generations of hands pushing it open. "In the kitchen. Through there."