Real Vampires Hate Skinny Jeans by Gerry Bartlett Page B

“My girl will be here any minute. She gets my dances.”
    “Right. Penny is at the football game with her parents.” I tugged Alesa away from Trey. “Hands off this guy, Alesa. Trey, tell her where I am, but, if her parents are with her”—I made a face—“good luck with that.” Penny’s mortal folks had no idea their daughter had been turned vampire the previous spring. We’d been doing a lot of lying and juggling ever since. Nothing new there. It’s called blending. We were surrounded by mortals now and I’d downed a bottle of synthetic at the apartment before we’d come so I could keep my fangs under control surrounded by all the warm, rich blood I could smell everywhere. It was working so far, but I was ordering more synthetic as soon as I got to the bar.
    “Having a little thirst issue, Glory? Come with me to the bar and we’ll get you that drink. They have the stuff with alcohol for you fangers?” Alesa had her arm hooked through mine again. It was driving me crazy that she thought she could actually act like my friend.
    “Hush. Remember where you are, Alesa.” I glanced at the mortals around us. “And of course they have stuff that I like. It’s Rafe’s club. He caters to us.” I jerked away from the demon, risking the kind of scene she’d relish. I felt eyes on me and looked up at the balcony. Yes, Jerry was up there and he’d already headed for the stairs. I sensed another presence and turned. Rafe was working his way around the edge of the large room toward us. He gave me a nod, frowning when he noticed Alesa’s hold on me. Thank God for friendly faces.
    “What the hell are you doing here? And still bugging Glory? I told you to leave her alone.” Rafe dragged Alesa away from me.
    “Like I listen to you.” She waved at the vampire bartender and ordered a shot of tequila.
    “Not happening. No alcohol with a baby on board.” I signaled the bartender for my usual blood with alcohol.
    “Doesn’t hurt my kind.” Alesa smirked. “Take the stick out of your butt, Glo.”
    “You claim what you carry is part shifter.” Rafe’s hand came down on the bar. “Play by the rules while you’re here. We don’t serve alcohol to pregnant women.” He gave his bartender a look. “Give her a bottled water.”
    “Well, you’re no fun. For that, you have to dance with me.” Alesa put on a pouty face.
    “Not in this lifetime.” Rafe turned his back on her. “Glory, Blade and I want to talk to you. Come to my office.”
    Jerry was right behind him. “Yes, we’ve got something for you there.”
    “What is this, an intervention?” I was familiar with those, but not for myself. Well, not recently anyway. In Las Vegas, I’d needed one for my gambling problem. Back then Rafe had been in dog form as my bodyguard. He and a few vamp girlfriends had done the deed making me cut up my credit cards and sending me to a program when I’d lost control at the poker tables. I’d be forever grateful.
    “Do you
need
an intervention? Why are you still running around with that creature?” Jerry glanced from me to Alesa, who smirked like she knew a secret. “And what have you two been up to? Gambling?” He leaned close to whisper in my ear. “Ripping out throats in dark alleys?”
    “Jerry! No and hell no!” I put my hand on his chest then glanced at Rafe. Both of them looked so good to me. Safe havens. I was grateful for their strength, not to mention loyalty. And then there was the obvious… If I ever needed another twelve-step program it would probably be for a sexual addiction. These men were just about irresistible, each in his own way. Jerry had that rugged, battle-worn look that always made me want to soothe his hurts while he soothed mine. Then there was Rafe, who was 100 percent Latin lover.
    I indulged in a little fantasy about what could happen in Rafe’s office if these men really had reached some kind of truce. Oh, yeah. And I’d be in the middle. My cheeks felt warm, my thoughts well