My arm touches nothing when I reach for Ms Pink on the other side of the bed. Opening my eyes confirms the fact and I sit up in bed, scratching my head, wondering where Ms Pink is. A gust of wind sweeps my hair across my eyes, blurring my vision. I sweep them away, but something new obscures my vision again and this time, I can’t do anything about it.

“Ms Pink? What are you doing?”

Warm breath puffs over my ear. “What does it look like I’m doing.”

“Er . . . blindfolding me?” A soft chuckle is followed by the tightening of the blindfold. Arms encircle my waist, holding me against a soft chest. Hands caress my skin, raising goose pimples everywhere. “M-Ms Pink . . .”

Ms Pink laughs—a sound that I have grown to love dearly—and I am lifted into the air by her strong arms. Then, wind is gushing all around me for a second or two before I am placed on what seems to be a wooden chair. It takes a moment for my brain to process the data my senses are sending in, so it isn’t until the blindfold is taken off that I realise what I’m looking at.

“Breakfast?” I ask a little incredulously. And stupidly.

“For a stupid human.”

My eyes rove over the feast spread out before me. Sausages. Toast. Cereal. Milk. Tomatoes. Bread. Butter. Jam. Eggs. Juice. Coffee. Tea. Potatoes. Ham. Cheese. I’m surprised my dining table can hold this many things. “I-I can’t eat all of this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But it’s such a waste—”

“Shut up and eat.”

Sneaking a peek at Ms Pink sitting adjacent to me, I note how she doesn’t look cross even though she sounds impatient. “Is this your idea of a post-anniversary celebration breakfast?” I venture to tease.

“I’m feeding you so that you’ll have energy for more after eating.”

“More ? Wasn’t last night enough?”

A corner of Ms Pink’s lips rises a notch. “No.”

“Okay . . . but Sunny might be coming back anytime—”

“She won’t.”

“How do you know—”

“Summer.”

“Oh.” I am surprised by this apparent forward planning Ms Pink has done. So I’m not the only one who has been preparing a surprise for this special occasion. “Did you plan this from the start?”

“You don’t need to know.”

This particular sentence would have been jarring to my ears if we were discussing another issue like Ms Pink’s work or history but since it’s our anniversary surprise we’re talking about . . .

“Eat.”

I pick up the fork and knife laid out by my plate and dig in, pleasantly surprised by this turn of events. Who would have known Ms Pink would be into first month reunion anniversaries too?

Half way into the meal that I am devouring by myself (Ms Pink is simply sipping on a blood red smoothie—no pun intended), Ms Pink receives a message on her phone that sets her brows in a frown.

“What is it?” I ask, mouth full of scrambled egg.

Ms Pink does not answer me. She taps on her phone for a while, her brows dipping lower and lower, and finally makes a call as I chew on a strawberry. Her phone call is short and curt, revealing little information on her end. All I can make out from the few words she utters (results, accuracy, analysis) is the rough idea that this might have something to do with Max and his blue blood—or a new type of bloody vampire delicacy, who knows. Ms Pink makes a second phone call and this time, I hear a familiar name.

“Yuri, where are you?”

Yuri? What has Max’s blue blood got to do with Yuri? Maybe this isn’t about Max at all.

“Are you free to play?”

At the word ‘play’, I look up from my food and stare at Ms Pink. Her eyes meet mine, unperturbed, as though playing with Yuri is something she does on a regular basis. Does she? Is this some kind of vampire-succubus thing? I remember Yuri’s biting comments about how I am causing more trouble than I am worth. She’s not a fan of me, that’s for sure.

“I need a real workout.”

A real workout? What does that mean? That’s vampiric code for a murder spree I hope? I chomp on my toast with a vengeance, chewing harder than necessary as I glare at Ms Pink.

“A ,” says Ms Pink, her eyes flashing shocking pink as they hold my glare.

That’s it. When a girl has to put her foot down, she has to put her foot down. I don’t need to be a vampire to know what a entails. At that thought, I dump my food back on my plate and throw my fork and knife on the table to demonstrate what I think of Ms Pink’s conversation with Yuri. When Ms Pink’s expression does not change, I stand to stalk away from the table. This is one conversation I’m not interesting in listening to.

Unfortunately, I don’t get very far before an arm curls around my waist and pulls me back. I land on Ms Pink’s lap but this is not a position I want to be in right now.

“Let me go.”

Ms Pink puts her phone away and stares blithely at me. Her arm does not budge. “Where are you going?”

A series of rude, biting, stone-cold responses come to mind but I settle for a tactical one. “The bathroom.”

“Good.” Ms Pink pats my thigh. “Get yourself ready. We are going to High Society.”

“To play with Yuri?”

Ms Pink fixes an unreadable stare at me. “Yes.”

“Please define the term play.”

Again, staring me straight in the eye, Ms Pink replies, “It is exactly what you think it is.”

X

Ms Pink does not talk to me in the car, leaving me to stew in all my questions and displeasure. It is not enjoyable to be left clueless, with an imaginative mind that is concocting a bunch of wild speculations as to what playing with Yuri might entail. Judging from the last time I saw Yuri, it might involve some outfits. Not that I’m keen on being part of this  that Ms Pink mentioned, but I was not given a choice in the matter—Ms Pink had simply hauled me to the car and dumped me in it.

This is the part of Ms Pink that I dislike the most. The secretive side of her. The part of her that withholds knowledge from me. In this case, it is knowledge of what we are about to do with Yuri in High Society. If playing with Yuri is what I think it is, I will refuse to join in. Neither will I approve of Ms Pink playing with Yuri. I am fully aware that I won’t be