“When I said I was in the mood for a meat market, I meant that metaphorically. I don’t actually want to be anyone’s dinner.”
Ashlee rolled her eyes. “It’s not that kind of vampire bar, Mel.”
“What other kind is there? It’s for vampires. What do they drink? Blood. And we’re their primary suppliers of that beverage. Ergo . . .”
If she rolled her eyes any higher, they’d disappear into her skull. As I sipped my beer, I overheard a guy at the bar talking about women and not-so-discreetly jerking his chin our way. Cute guy, too. Hmmm . . .
“I’ll take the blonde,” he said to his friend. “You can have the brunette.”
“No, I want the blonde.”
It was always nice to be argued over . . . Too bad I was the one they were arguing over not wanting. There are distinct disadvantages to being a half-demon with super-charged hearing.
“So this vampire bar,” Ashlee tried again. “It’s for dating. It’s not easy being a vampire, you know. You think you have dating issues? Try being immortal.”