Dead End Dating - Sucker for Love Part 2

Bad tummy.

"When's the last time you had a date?" I blurted, desperate to ignore the lewd and lascivious thoughts that suddenly rushed through my head. "Because if you need one, I would be more than happy to help." He grinned and reality zapped me. "That is, I could find you someone," I rushed on. "A nice female demon. Someone you could take home to Papa."

"I seriously doubt he'd go for that." His cell phone chose that moment to beep and he s.h.i.+fted his attention to the display. "I've got to go. Mo and I are working a case in the Bronx and he just spotted our subject." His gaze collided with mine and his eyes smoldered again for a split second. "Will you be all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I shrugged. "You said yourself, it's probably nothing."

"I could drop you off at home on my way out."

And I'd sit next to him in the backseat of a cab? As it was, I had the crazy urge to strip naked and haul him into the nearest storage closet. A dark, cramped backseat would surely send me over the edge into nympho-land.

My legs shook and I felt the wetness between my thighs. I stiffened at the realization. I knew why I was having such an intense physical reaction to him (he was a s.e.xual demon, after all), but it didn't make it any less startling.

Get thee behind me, s.l.u.t.

I licked my lips and gathered my strength. "Thanks, but no thanks." I couldn't help l.u.s.ting after him, but I could keep from acting on that l.u.s.t.

Think Ty.

Think monogamy.

Think happily ever after.

Think.

"You go on," I told him. "I still need to pack up a few things here."

He stared at me long and hard, his eyes dark and hot and oh, so dreamy, but I held my ground.

"Suit yourself," he finally said. I watched him disappear (thankyouthankyouthankyou) into the elevator. The doors whooshed shut, and just like that the strange sensations subsided.

I spent the next hour watching Ash's men bag and tag. Finally, they gave the go-ahead for Nina to have the sofa moved to a storage closet to await disposal. They spent a few more minutes questioning the waitstaff and then they left. Nina had a new sofa brought up from storage and soon the sitting area looked as picture perfect as when I'd first walked in that evening.

There wasn't a trace of Esther left behind.

The realization made my eyes water and I blinked frantically.

Ash was probably right. It was probably nothing. Just a great big misunderstanding.

That's what I told myself as I grabbed the last of my things and loaded them into a box.

The problem was, deep in my heart I didn't actually believe it.

I was not going to cry.

Because I'm, of course, a bada.s.s vampire and BAVs did not cry unless a) they were on the sharp, pointy end of a stake, b) they were being burned alive by overzealous villagers or c) they ruined a pair of high dollar Zac Posen booties while chasing an extra from The Exorcist (hey, confession is good for the soul, right?).

A missing client/friend didn't score waterworks.

Unless it was the client/friend who'd stuck with me through not one but twenty-nine failed dates (thirty if you count tonight's bloodbath). Despite Esther's long list of losers, she'd kept trying. Hoping. Believing.

In me and in her sucky social life.

I wiped at a big fat tear that squeezed past my eyelashes, picked up my box and headed down the elevator. The concierge helped me outside and flagged down a cab. I loaded my stuff into the backseat and climbed in.

I know, I know. I was Super Vamp. I could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Listen in on every conversation for a three block radius. Sniff out a one-of-a-kind Donna Karan bag from a mile away. I should just do the pink fuzzy bat gig and save a few bucks, right?

Unfortunately, I had a bad habit of losing things during the metamorphosis and I was decked out in all my faves tonight.

Besides, a bat toting a box of name tags and a credit card machine? How inconspicuous was that?

"Where to?" The female cabbie eyed me in the mirror. Her name was Evelyn and she lived in Brooklyn. She had four kids, ten dogs and twenty-two hamsters. She'd had twenty-three but just last night she'd had to flush one because one of her labs had tried to use it for a chew toy.

A mental picture hit me and my stomach pitched.

Sometimes being a highly sensitive Super V wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

"Take a left at the corner and head east." I gave her my address before settling back into the seat and pulling out my cell phone.

I had three texts and two voice mails. I punched in my mailbox code and waited for Ty's frantic Are you all right?

Instead, my mother's exasperated, "What's the point of having a cell phone if you don't answer it?" blared in my ear.

Before I could hit the DELETE b.u.t.ton, she rushed on, "Then again, what's the point of having a premium fertility rating if you're just going to waste it on a human woman who has no hope in the universe of giving birth to an heir to carry on the sacred Marchette name."

O-kay.

"Obviously, said human has discovered that she can still give birth thanks to your brother 's premium born vampire sperm, which can fertilize any egg. But without two vampire chromosomes to make it a pure blood, the child is obviously doomed to be inferior."

In layman's terms? Human.

"I swear," she added, "I would slit both my wrists if I thought it would put me out of my misery. But the last time I did that, your father thought I was trying to seduce him with a snack. We ended up having s.e.x on my imported Belgian rug."

I so didn't need to know that.

"Needless to say, I couldn't find a dry cleaner in Connecticut who would touch it. I ended up s.h.i.+pping it to a filthy expensive preservatory." She heaved a sigh. "Never again. If your brother thinks I'm ruining another rug just because he has this crazy idea that he's going to give me a human grandchild, then he's sorely mistaken. I'm not going to stand by and let him sully our family's name. I mean, really. What will everyone say?"

Everyone meaning the card-carrying members of the Connecticut Huntress Club. Also known as the local 101 for snotty, pretentious, born female vampires.

My mother had been the refreshments chairwoman for the past three de cades. She pa.s.sed out gla.s.ses of AB-and O+ along with a primo sales pitch to hook me up with available sons, nephews, grandsons, great nephews, great grandsons, uncles, cousins, friends of cousins, friends of friends of cousins-namely any born male vamp with a p.e.n.i.s, a fertility rating and a bank account.

Gee, thanks Ma.

"I simply won't let it happen," she declared. "We've never ever had an actual human in our family tree until now."

Three words-Great-uncle Peter.

"Oh, wait. There is Peter. Last I heard, he was still shacking up with that c.o.c.ktail waitress from Vegas. But we all know he hasn't been right in the head since he bit that priest back during the Crusades. And as crazy as he is, he still hasn't gone so far as to marry the woman. Last I'd heard they were barely sharing an email account. It's that Mandy, I tell you. She's bewitching your poor brother until he can't even think for himself ..." Beep.

The message timed out and my mom's tirade ended. I sent up a silent Thank you to the CEV (Chief Executive Vampire) of Upstairs, Inc., for sparing me more misery.

I checked the phone number on the second message-so much for mercy-and hit the DELETE key before moving on to the texts.

The first was from Nina Two about five minutes before I'd discovered the b.l.o.o.d.y couch. Knock em dead 2nite.

My chest tightened and I blinked frantically. If only she knew.

I pulled up the second message, which had come through thirty seconds later.

OMG.

What can I say? Good news travels fast with my BFFs.

Number three? Miss u. Want to lick u all ovr.

Uh, yeah. She'd obviously mistaken me for Wilson, her significant other. At least I was hoping as much. While some BVs b.u.t.tered their bread on both sides, I'd never been one of them. I'd take Brad over Ang any day.

My hands flew over the keypad. No lickng 2-night. How bout shopping 2-mrow?

I hit SEND and stashed my phone just as the cab pulled up in front of my place.

The renovated duplex that housed my apartment wasn't anywhere close to the plush high-rise near Central Park that my parents kept for those last-minute city trips. No marbled foyer. No private elevator. No blood-slave/doorman named Maurice. Not even a porch light. Rather, my building had three concrete steps leading to a very narrow stoop and a single glow-in-the-dark door buzzer. I handed the driver a ten, a DED card and a mental You're desperately lonely and should call for a date ASAP. What can I say? She was female and, therefore, unsusceptible to my BV charm, but I gave it a shot anyway. s.e.xual preference was such a gray area these days and I hated to miss a prime advertising op.

"Thanks," she murmured. Her gaze caught and held mine in the rearview mirror. Sure enough, I saw an image of the two of us playing a game of strip poker.

I was winning, of course.

I smiled and added a persuasive Call me before I climbed out of the cab and headed for the front door.

Entering the building, I power-walked five flights of stairs and headed down the long hallway that led to mi casa. Across the hall, my neighbor-an accountant who loved Thai food and cheap perfume-was just hitting the SNOOZE b.u.t.ton. I slid my key into the lock and let myself in.

The apartment was just the way I'd left it-cat hair clinging to the rug, a pile of dirty clothes in one corner and a stack of shoe boxes I'd been meaning to organize in the other (FYI-in addition to being allergic to stakes and sunlight, I had a strong aversion to vacuums and cleaning products).

I made a few kissy-kiss sounds guaranteed to bring the average, loyal, devoted pet running to the door to greet his master.

Needless to say, Killer kept his fat, furry a.s.s planted on my couch.

"What? No love?"

I'm weak from lack of food. He blinked. I can barely lift my head.

"I fed you before I left."

I'm even hallucinating, he went on. I took a p.i.s.s in the litter box and I swear the wet spot is the spitting image of Garfield. eBay, here I come.

"You're not auctioning off your pee and you're not weak from lack of nutrition. I fed you Kitty Cuisine lamb and vegetables before I left."

Is that what I yacked up all over your shoes?

"You didn't."

He blinked. A wave of dread rolled through me even before I turned and spied the surprise near the sofa. I contemplated tossing him from the nearest window, but that totally went against the whole born vamp creed of keeping a low profile. The last thing I needed was to wind up getting cuffed on the Animal Planet equivalent of COPS.

I glared at him. "You're cleaning it up."

In your dreams, sistah. He rested his head on his paws and closed his eyes. I don't do manual labor, and I don't eat lamb and vegetables. I already told you, I like the sardines. The imported ones that you brought home last week.

"Last week was a special occasion." I'd been celebrating my first full week of coupledom with Ty. He'd gotten stuck working a case and I'd ended up celebrating on my own. An imported bottle of AB-for me and Italian sardines for Killer. "Those things are expensive."

Yeah, well, so are designer shoes.

Maybe I could use a pair of pantyhose and disguise my face before I threw him out the window. I contemplated the idea as I went in search of rubber gloves and some antibacterial wipes.

I ended up with an old pair of gardening mittens left by the previous tenants and a few hand towels. I spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning up the mess and envisioning a street full of splattered feline. Talk about an upbeat way to end my otherwise depressing night.

At the same time, I kept picturing the b.l.o.o.d.y couch, which made me nauseous, which kept me from smearing Killer 's sorry hide all over the pavement.

"You're lucky I had a stressful night."

And you're lucky I didn't yack into your handbag so it could match the shoes. He purred. What can I say? I'm just a softy at heart.

"I should spike your food."

You wouldn't.

I gave him an evil grin. "Oh, wouldn't I?"

Confession time-as much as I despise Killer at times, I've gotten used to having him around. Which is the only reason I didn't pour a bottle of Windex into his food bowl. Well, that and the fact that I didn't actually have a bottle of Windex-see the above reference to cleaning products.

Instead, I dished out the last can of sardines and then headed for the shower. My head hurt and my chest felt tight. I desperately needed to wash away the past few hours.

The water poured over me, blending in with the moisture that rolled down my face. When the hot water ran out, I toweled off and pulled on a worn red T-s.h.i.+rt that read Santa, I can explain and a pair of fuzzy white socks. Not the typical s.e.x dominatrix ensemble one would expect from an all-powerful vampere, but I was going for warm and comfy rather than b.i.t.c.hy and b.a.l.l.sy.

I flipped the deadbolt on the front door, checked my cell phone for any messages from Ty-did I mention that he was still stuck on said case and I hadn't seen him in four days, five hours, and fifty-seven minutes?

Not that I was counting. Or feeling sorry for myself because my new boyfriend had pledged his devotion on Monday, only to disappear on Tuesday.

A sigh worked its way up my throat as I closed the heavy-duty blinds on my trio of windows. Climbing into bed, I burrowed under the covers and pulled the goose down over my head.

I closed my eyes, conjured my favorite fantasy and tried to forget that poor Esther might be in serious trouble.

And that it was all my fault.

It was the hottest fantasy I'd ever had.

And trust me, at five hundred (and holding) I've had more than my share.