“Oh, goody.” Oh, shit.
Seventeen
“Oooooooooooo…”
My brother’s voice carried from inside the apartment.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh…”
“Uhhhhhhhhhhh…”
Someone was either getting laid, or watching a Sesame Street episode on vowels.
A loud moan punctuated the thought. Definitely number one. I should probably come back later.
The thing was, I knew Mandy was at Wedding Wonderland. Which meant Jack was inside with someone else. Which meant…
I stiffened and banged on the door. Wood grumbled and groaned beneath the force of my fist (I am Super Vamp). A few grunts and I knocked again. Harder. My knuckles made indentations in the wood. I drew back and was about to rip the thing off its hinges when I heard Jack’s voice.
“It’s open. Eeeeeeeeee…”
Oh. Well. Okay.
The knob turned and I walked into the large apartment. Much larger, in fact, than my own, but Jack made at least ten times my salary at Moe’s, not to mention he still drew a nice allowance from my folks for helping with the family biz.
I headed down the small foyer and stalled in the doorway that led to the living room. Shock beat at my temples as my gaze fixed on the two people in the center of the room.
He couldn’t be…No way was he actually…No!
Jack was sprawled on a portable massage table, a sheet draped over the lower half of his body. He lay facedown, his back gleaming with massage oil. Hans, my mother’s personal masseur, leaned over him, his massive hands kneading and working while Jack ooohed and ahhhed.
My gaze narrowed. “Just what the hell is going on here?”
Jack’s head bobbed up from the table. “I’m getting a deep tissue.”
“I can see that.” Jealousy reared its ugly head and I stared pointedly at Hans. “What is he doing here?”
“Mom sent him over. She called this afternoon and said I’ve been working too hard.” Hans rolled and pushed and Jack’s head wobbled. “That I should take the night off and she would have Dad cover for me at Moe’s. She sent Hans over to help me relax.”
Okay, here’s the scoop. I covet Hans. He has the biggest, most fabulous hands ever. But like her favorite Dior blouse, my mother never lends him out. I’ve begged. I’ve pleaded. I’ve even considered subbing at Moe’s.
No Hans with the hands.
“How come you get to borrow him?” came my sullen question. Just as the words were out, the answer struck. Terrible infection. Poor Jack.
“Beats me, but she said I should keep him for as long as I want.” Strong, massive fingers grabbed a shoulder blade and pressed. Jack’s mouth dropped open and drool pooled in the corner. “What…are…you…doing…here?” he finally asked, each word accompanied by a loll of his head.
My own muscles screamed, “Me, too!” and I fought down the urge to shove my brother off and hop up on the table myself. “Mandy forgot the measurements for Claude’s tux. She tried to call, but she said your cell is off. So is the answering machine.”
“This is a Do Not Disturb moment.” He motioned to the mahogany desk set up on the opposite side of the room. “The measurements are in the middle drawer.” His head dropped and he started to moan.
I knew the feeling. I’d had one massage via Hans when my mom had been away at a Huntress convention in Spain. The airlines had been limiting baggage, and so she’d been forced to leave him at home. I’d begged for two days before the Swedish hunk had finally agreed.
Okay, so I’d cried and he’d been so freaked out that he’d begged me to stop. (He so didn’t want to risk my mother’s wrath.) One thing had led to another and, well, tada! Those meat hooks had been all over me.
I shivered at the memory. We’re talking pure ecstasy. There’s no other way to describe it. The oil seeping into my skin. The rough fingers pushing this way and pulling that and—whew, is it hot in here, or is it just me?
I picked up my steps and snatched open the drawer. If past experience served me, I had about three minutes to get the hell out of there before Jack—
“Ohhhhhhhhh…”
Uh-oh. Too late.
My preternatural instincts kicked in and I moved so fast I made myself dizzy. The door slammed shut behind me and, hurray, I was safe!
Sort of. I could still hear him.
I’d love to say it was the vampy thing and I’m just special, but he was now screaming. The entire building was privy to his “Yesssssssssssssssssssss!”
The old woman down the hall stuck her head out, saw me, and gave me a disapproving frown.
“Oh, no, it’s not what you think—” I started.
Slam!
Down on the first floor, a college-aged girl peered out and grimaced. A fiftysomething woman with a cheating husband gave me the evil eye.
“It’s not—” Slam! Slam!
I’d just reached the door to the building when I heard the creak of hinges behind me. I whirled. “I didn’t do anything, all right!”
“Lil? It is you! I thought I heard your voice out here.”
I drank in the woman smiling at me and my own expression eased into a grin. Rachel Sanchez was twenty-four with long brown hair and an olive complexion. She was short and petite, with big, bright brown eyes and a cute nose. Once upon a time, she’d been hooked on Jack (who hadn’t?). She was now a Dead End Dating client. One of my most difficult, as a matter of fact.
You try matching up a were-Chihuahua.
Luckily, in addition to being a were, she was also patient. She beamed. “Thanks so much for the dog biscuits.”
“Thank you for going out with the sanitation worker. I know he wasn’t really your type.”
She shrugged. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
Atta girl.
“So you wanna come in and have a drink?”
“I’m on my way to an appointment,” I started and her face fell, “but I suppose one quick drink wouldn’t hurt.”
“You’re just in time,” she told me. “It’s apple night.”
“Apple what?”
“See, me and the girls from work get together every Monday. Sort of like a celebration that we all made it through the first day of a new week. We used to do nachos and chocolate cake, but then Denise, one of the girls, gained twenty pounds. So now we try to make something that’s healthy. Tonight it’s appletinis and apple pie.”
“How is that healthy?”
“Appletinis are liquid, so they don’t count, and the apple pie is made with a low-fat crust and artificial sweetener.”
Hey, it made sense.
I followed her into an apartment with the same layout as my brother’s, through the living room, and into a small kitchen.
“The other girls aren’t here yet. Just Susie. Suze,” she motioned to a twentyish girl with short brown hair, a pug nose, and brown eyes, “This is Lil. Lil, Suze.”
My gaze met with the girl’s and…Nothing. I couldn’t read a thing, which meant she wasn’t human. I did, however, have the sudden urge to scoop her up and cuddle, which told me she was definitely a were.
A Chihuahua like Rachel?
Maybe. Maybe not.
She wore a yellow T-shirt and white Capri pants. Her nails were painted a bright peach. I watched as she slid on pink mitts and retrieved a freshly baked apple pie from the oven.
She set the hot dessert on a trivet, pulled off the mitts, and walked over to where she’d cored the apples. She sniffed a Granny Smith before slicing it into quarters and lifting one to her mouth. She started nibbling, her two front teeth chomping away at the fruit.
I can’t explain, but just like that an image of Word popped into my head. Crazy, right? What could they possibly have in common?
“You like to bake?”
She beamed. “I love it.” She nibbled some more.
“What about pizza?”
“I’m afraid I’ve never actually made one.”
“I meant do you like to eat pizza
?”
She grimaced. “Too greasy. Since Rach and I have been doing the healthy-eating thing, I’ve given up all junk food.”
Which eliminated every single favorite listed on Word’s profile.
“What about beer?”
“Too many calories.”
“Music?”
Her eyes lit. “I absolutely love boy bands. Back-street Boys. *NSYNC. Even the old ones like Bell, Biv, DeVoe and Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.”
It would never work.
Even so, there was just something about her that drove me and kept the questions pouring out of my mouth.
“Favorite color?”
“It’s a toss-up between yellow and mango orange.”
“What are your thoughts on piercings?”
“Barbaric.”
“Men wearing eyeliner?”
“Gay.”
“Men wearing glasses?”
“Geek.”
She nibbled some more and I should have taken the cue to stop, forget this girl, and drink my appletini.
I eyed Suze, my mind racing. “You’re a were, right?”
She looked nervous for a split second, her gaze zigzagging to Rachel, who held a martini shaker in one hand and a glass in the other. “It’s okay. She’s not a real vampire.”
A rush of happy went through me.
Because I was onto something, I reminded myself. This close to matching up a difficult client, which never failed to fill me with euphoria, and the giddy notion that true love was out there, waiting for any and everyone brave enough to reach out (awww).
No way was my heart suddenly pumping so fast because I actually liked Rachel’s statement. I was a vicious, bloodthirsty vampire and I would show them—just as soon as I satisfied the niggling in my gut.
“You are a were.” It was more statement than question, but Suze nodded anyway.
“Chihuahua?”
She smiled. “Right size. Wrong species.”
“Cat?”
“Hardly.”
“Possum?”
“Nah.”
“Skunk?”
“No, but I have been called a skank before.”
Haven’t we all? My curiosity kicked into over-drive. Okay, this was it. I was going for broke. “Rabbit?”
She shook her head. “Squirrel.”
“Close enough.”
Eighteen
“They’re all so beautiful,” Mandy declared after trying on thirty-two more dresses for the second time in three hours. “I just can’t decide.”
I stood near the edge of the velvet sofa, downed my third Jell-O shot, and croaked, “More.”
Shirley retrieved the now-empty tray (Mandy had done four and her mother a whopping five) and smiled. “I’ll be right back.”
I was just about to settle back and return calls on my cell while Mandy wiggled into the next dress when she grabbed my arm and hauled me off the couch. Her eyes were lit with desperation. “You have to help me decide.” She shook her head and eyed the rack full of white fluff. “There are just so many. And they’re all so…”
Busy? Outdated? Ugly?
“…so white,” she finally finished. “I’m getting a headache.”
“It’s the tequila. No more shots for you.” I pried her fingers loose from my arm and stepped back, wobbling a bit in my Charles David lace-up sandals. Not that I was snockered. Not yet. I blinked until the blurriness faded and eyed the dresses. “Okay,” I said. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I’m going to do this. Fix this. Make it all better.” I blinked again and stood up straight and my mind cleared enough for me to think. “Have you ever had a wedding fantasy?” I turned to Mandy. “You know. Dreamt of the Big Day? With all the trimmings?”
“Well, yes.”
“Did you picture a certain dress?”
“Several of them.”
It figured. “Did they all look just alike, or were they similar in cut and style?”
She seemed to think. “They were kind of similar.” An idea seemed to strike and I knew she was following me. “Not exactly, but they had lots of things in common.”
“Good.” I motioned toward the sofa. “Sit.” When she plopped down and wiggled for comfort, I added, “Now I want you to close your eyes and picture the different dresses. I’ll ask you questions and we’ll toss out everything that doesn’t fit with the mental. That might not get us all the way down to one, but it should narrow things a bit.”
She nodded. “Okay.” She closed her eyes and I gave her a few seconds to get her juices flowing.
Okay, so I gave myself a few seconds to get a grip. Either way, we’re talking win-win.
“Straight or full?” I finally asked.
“Mostly straight. But not too straight. I need to be able to keep up with Jack when we walk down the aisle.” She cracked an eye open. “Vampires walk down the aisle, don’t they?”
Never. “Of course.”
She smiled and closed the eye. “Is it working?”
“We’re definitely making progress.” I retrieved eight of the thirty-two dresses, set the rejects off to the side, and kept the possibilities hanging in front of us. “What about material? Satin or silk?”
“Yes. I mean, I’m open to either. Or both.”
“That rules out the taffeta.” I rifled through the stack and pulled out seven dresses to add to the Not in this Galaxy rack.
“What about lace?”
“Yes, but not too much.”
That cut five more from the Back to the 1980s collection.
“Poofy bows?”
“I’m not really big on bows. Or beads. I don’t like a lot of clutter.”
That eliminated nine more. I eyed the remaining trio. “Sleeves or strapless?”
“I definitely want strapless.”
Adios three amigos.
Relief swept through me and I smiled. “All done.”
“Really? Which one did I—” Her eyes opened and she stared at the empty rack. “But there’s nothing there.”
“I say we consider it a sign from God.” Whoops, did I say that? My bad. “I’ll make an appointment at Vera Wang. I’m sure they’ll have something wonderful.”
“But I can’t go there.”
“Of course you can. I have connections. I can get us an after-hours appointment. We’ll sip champagne, eyeball dresses, and have a fab time.”
She shook her head. “Let’s do it again.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I have to pick something here.” Her desperate gaze struck mine. “Shirley’s family. She went to a lot of trouble to get as many dresses as possible so that I would have plenty to choose from. And she’s been staying open late. And she’s making all these Jell-O shots and she’s even throwing in the unity candle for free. I can’t just walk out and hurt her feelings.”
“I can.”
“Really?”
“Uh, yeah. I’ll tell her.”
Mandy’s eyes lit with hope. “You can do that?”
“I’m a badass vampire. We rape and pillage the way some people jog and play tennis. Crushing someone’s hopes and dreams? Snuffing out their livelihood?” I smiled. “I am so there.”
That’s what I said, but somewhere between the raping and snuffing, I sort of lost my enthusiasm.
When Shirley returned with another round of shots and a hopeful expression on her face, I lost my nerve, as well.
“Have you made a decision?”
Mandy and her mother stared at me. I cleared my throat. You can do this. Release your inner vampness. Just open your mouth, maybe even flash a little fang, and let it rip. “She wants to try everything on at least one more time,” I heard myself say. “Then she’ll sleep on it and pick her favorite first thing tomorrow.”
“I will?”
“She will?”
Mandy and Mrs. Dupree spoke in unison. Meanwhile I flashed them a look that said Hello? Lying, here. Follow me.
�
��I will,” Mandy blurted.
“Most definitely,” Mrs. Dupree agreed.
Ah, the look. Works every time.
“Excellent,” Shirley replied. “Then we can move on to the veil and shoes and accessories.”
“Lucky us.”
“Actually, you really are. I have a bunch of new vendors who are sending me stuff left and right. I just got in this conch shell necklace that looks as pretty as a picture with the dress that has the little navy sailor bows.”
I smiled. “Fab.”
Shirley beamed and held up the tray. “Shot?”
“Please.” Mandy grabbed eagerly for the lime. I took a green apple and Mrs. Dupree settled back with a watermelon and a raspberry.
The next few hours passed in a blur of dresses and tequila and self-pity (my own). The more I stared at all the lace and pearls and swaths of fabric, the more I kept picturing myself instead of Mandy. And the more I missed Ty.
Made vamp. Born vamp. So not happening.
I knew a future with Ty wasn’t in my realm of possibility (or my mother’s), but I couldn’t kill the images no matter how much I tried. Nor could I squash the worry that niggled away at me and made me all the more anxious to call Ash. Again.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mandy declared as she tried on one Southern belle monstrosity in particular. Shirley had gone to retrieve the matching straw hat (yep, ya heard me, straw) and veil, and we were alone for the first time since I’d wimped out.
“You do?”
She nodded. “You don’t have to say a word. The look on your face says it all.”
My look says I’m pining away for a made vampire?
“I can see it in your eyes.”
Oh, no.
“You think I look awful.” She faced the mirror and threw up her hands in disgust. “Maybe we should just forget the whole thing. I’ll never find a decent dress. The hotel booted us out and all the other decent hotels are booked. The only place that’s free on our date is my Uncle Nino’s hamburger joint. He wants to serve chili-cheese fries.” She sniffled. “And I’m beginning to think that your mother hates me.”
“What makes you say that?” Other than cracker-jack intellect, of course.
She shrugged and the floppy sleeves of the white dress sagged on her shoulders. “She never talks to me. At first, I thought it was because she didn’t really know me. But I’ve been to oodles of hunts and I’ve tried talking to her, and she just doesn’t bite.”
Your Coffin or Mine? Page 11
