Alpha Dog by Jennifer Ziegler Read Free Book Online Page B

voice from behind me.
    I let out a little yelp and whirled around, the skirt of my nightgown catching up with me a second later.
    A figure was lying on the sofa surrounded by stuffed wiener dogs—a guy wearing dark clothes. I couldn’t see his face, though, since he was shielding it with his hands.
    There is a strange guy on our couch!
a voice shouted inside my head.
    “Seriously, love, it’s a bloomin’ supernova out there!” he said, sitting up.
    A strange
British
guy is on our couch,
my mind went on,
and you’re just standing there like a dumb ass in your
Hello Kitty nightie!
    What to do? Should I scream? Run away? Grab a weapon? Offer him hot tea?
    “Wh-what are you doing here?” I demanded, my vocal cords reactivating. “Who the hell are you?”
    “I’m Robot,” he muttered from behind his hands.
    “You’re a robot?”
    “No-o. The name’s Robot. Robert actually, but me mates call me Robot. I’m Christine’s chap.”
    “You’re . . . Christine’s boyfriend?” I stumbled, my brain slowly sputtering back to life.
    “Yes,” he said irritably. “Charmed, I’m sure. Now could you
please shut the bloody blinds
?”
    I yanked on the opposite cord and the blinds swished shut.
    “Thank you,” he said with a sigh. “You must be Christine’s flatmate.” He lowered his hands, revealing a long, pale face—unusually pale for Texas in June. His features appeared to have been sculpted from marshmallow: deep-set brown eyes like two finger pokes, a thin tweak of a nose, and a pinch of a chin that was trying manfully to sport a soul-patch goatee, but instead came across as a smudge of potting soil. His white skin was offset dramatically by spiky black hair and sideburns, as well as his rumpled dark T-shirt and jeans. But he was cute, in a skinny, sloppy, creature-of-the-night sort of way.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked.
    “Christine said I was snoring,” he said, sitting up and scratching his scalp with both hands, making his hair defy gravity even more. “She made me come out here.”
    I shook my head. “Uh . . . not what I meant. I mean, why are you in Austin? Don’t you live in San Antonio?”
    “Yeah, I crash there most nights. But when Christine told me about this new flat, I thought I’d come check out the scene awhile. You know, try to score some gigs for the band.” He smiled at me as he said this—not taunting, but rather smugly, as if he thought I’d be squealing and wetting my undies over this news. “My band’s New Bile. You heard of us?”
    He rattled off the question offhandedly but watched my reaction closely. I could tell he was waiting hungrily for my starstruck reaction—as if that were the blood his vampire body thrived on.
    “Yeah,” I said, somewhat squeaky with delight in spite of myself. All last year the cool kids at school were talking about these retro-punk guys called New Bile who were packing the clubs. Unfortunately, my mom would never let me go to one of their shows. “My boyfriend is a major fan,” I added. His smile stretched further. My reply was acceptable.
    My boyfriend?
I wondered. Why didn’t I tell the truth? Why not say
ex
-boyfriend? Was it a slip of the tongue? Or was I trying to make myself seem more sought-after and attractive? As attractive as a girl with morning eye gunk and a cartoon cat on her chest can be.
    Robot stretched his arms and propped his feet, covered in dingy, moldy-looking socks, on the rickety coffee table. I had just opened my mouth to tell him to be careful of the furniture, that we could lose our deposits if we break anything, when I saw him lunge toward a leather jacket draped on one of the armchairs and pull out a pack of American Spirit cigarettes from one of the pockets. He saw me watching him and pointed the box toward me. “Fancy one?”
    “Uh . . . no thanks. Um . . . we’re not supposed to smoke in here.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Says who?”
    “Says our landlady.”
    He let out a snort. “Don’t see