Read Online Leonardo di Caprio is a Vampire by Julie Lynn Hayes - Free Book Online Page A

he went home, in order to evade his mother's notice. He was poring over a notebook, ballpoint pen racing across the page. Hunter, he noticed, was sprawled across the two chairs on the other side, reading. He wore a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. It was a tight fit which only served to accentuate his build, and a pair of tight jeans which almost seemed painted on. Fisher was so enraptured at the sight of his friend that he completely forgot the presence of his guide.
    Arthur, probably bored with Fisher's obsession, was peeking over the shoulder of the studious younger Fisher as he wrote, reading silently along with his writing. "Hunh." A noncommittal grunt. "Guess I've read worse."
    Fisher found himself shaken from his self-imposed reverie at the left-handed compliment. Only then did he realize what it was they were doing there. What he was doing, actually. Hunter was just being Hunter, keeping him company, while he was working on his novel. That piece of tripe. How embarrassing. Even if his friend did insist on reading every bit of it as he wrote it. He tried to shield the newborn words as they spilled from his pen, to prevent the Leo di Caprio lookalike from reading it. That did no good as Arthur seemed to be able to look right through him. Just then the Hunter from the past spoke.
    "Fisher, almost done with the next chapter?"
    "I said, why didn't you—" the ghost began again, but Fisher wasn't listening.
    "Hush, I can't hear Hunter," he shushed him, straining to hear the conversation between the two. Even though he'd lived through it once, already.
    Hunter leaned across the table. He reached for the notebook, and tried to turn it in his direction. The startled Fisher managed to keep his grip on it, mostly by dint of sheer luck. "What? It's not ready."
    "Fisher, you're amazing." Hunter never moved his hand, which now lay atop Fisher's own. The younger Fisher could feel, as well as see himself blush, but whether it was at Hunter's words or his touch—well, he wasn't ready to admit to himself, much less anyone else. "You're going to be a famous writer someday, and I'll be able to say I knew you when."
    "Yeah, sure," Fisher managed to mumble, torn between glancing down at the words on the page, or into the handsome face of his friend.
    Fisher watched the tableau with some fascination. Had Hunter always looked at him that way, and he'd never noticed before? Or did his own recent burst of intuition cause him to look at the past in a different way? Knowing that he could neither be seen nor felt, he dared to reach across to the dream Hunter, his intention being to caress his cheek, but his entire hand went through him, no more substantial than a mist. Naturally. He sighed, even as Arthur chuckled.
    "You are so smitten with him, you're worse than Verlaine, and he had it pretty bad for me. C'mon, we don't have time to waste here, I think you've seen enough."
    Before Fisher could protest, Arthur grabbed his sleeve, and the library, and the two boys at the table, were gone.
    This method of transportation did not improve with repetition, the nauseous Fisher decided. Once the world had stopped spinning around him, and he found himself able to resist the urge to retch, he rose from the position he found himself in—upon his knees in the grass—to take stock of the situation. To see if he could figure out where he was. And when. He was catching on real quick that time was an obvious variable in this changing scenario, and it wasn't just a matter of his physical location, but temporal too.
    His eyes were met with a familiar sight. Which made the where quite obvious. This was home. Their home, his and Hunter's. Now to discover when.
    Without waiting for Arthur, Fisher strode up to the front door and through it—he was getting the hang of this ghost thing—into a virtually bare house. For a heartbreaking moment he wondered if he was seeing into the future. A future in which Hunter had moved out.
    He wandered through the hall and into the living