Lazare
Carter’s Café usually does the trick if I’m in a foul mood. It’s an all-day breakfast place, and the waitstaff is crazy gorgeous. I suspect sirens, but I have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy about other supes. Most importantly, the food is made with the right kind of grease.
Bacon, for the curious.
And hoo, buddy, I need all the help I can get this evening. I don’t know what the fuck is up, but between getting up at o-dark-thirty to fruitlessly search every damn Fontenot warehouse under the sun and the boners that just won’t quit, I’m about at the end of my rope.
The need to breed is so overwhelming that I’ve put Gentry on speed dial. Even after taking a break to fuck him twice in the back of the store, I’m already raring to go again. I don’t know why my wolf is riding me so hard this season, but he needs to cool it.
The unfortunate thing is that, while sex with Gentry is physically satisfying, I’m still batting a thousand in the dick department. We tried a few things to get my knot going, but…nothing. I come just fine, but the damn thing’s on hiatus, despite my nearly desperate drive.
Gentry’s suspicion about my having a potential mate remains the same, but I figure if I ignore it and keep fucking him into the nearest surface, it’ll go away, right? Right.
A throat clears, and I reorient myself to my situation, meeting a pair of large blue eyes, rather amused.
“Hey, Bobbie, you been standing there long?”
Her grin spreads into a broader smile. “Baby, I was just letting you work it out. What can I get for you this evening?”
Bobbie and Becky are Lillian’s younger sisters, fraternal twins who’ve owned this place since the eighties, and they are some of my favorite people. Bobbie is the brunette with the pretty eyes, and Becky is the blonde with the world’s sweetest smile, and both will either hand you your ass or have you rolling on the ground with laughter, depending on what you deserve that day.
I have been the recipient of both, deservedly so, usually for hooking up with their irresistible waitstaff. Speaking of which, I wonder if that redhead at the end of the counter would be up to putting some lipstick prints on my dick…
Oh my goddess, focus, you horny distracted motherfucker.
“An order of beignets, extra powdered sugar, and the chicory drip, black.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “I’ll have that right up for you, handsome.”
I smile as she puts up the order, then walks over to Becky, whispering in her ear. Becky raises her brow in my direction, looking between me and the redhead I’d been drooling over.
“Don’t even think about it,” she says, blowing a kiss my way.
There’s a buzzing in my pants, and I pull up the screen on the cursed phone, fussing with it until it recognizes my face.
Doc:Found the vamp. Needs your blood.
Smiling at the cute emo waiter behind the counter, I change my order to go.
Lazare:Sure. I’m thirty minutes out—what’s your ETA?
Doc:Twenty.
Doc:Then I’ve got a witch who blew off half an ear with a potion gone wrong
Lazare:Fauna before flora. It’s not a hard rule.
Doc:You’d think.
Lazare:Grabbing my food to go, see you when I see you.
Doc:llbtr
Laissez les bons temps rouler, indeed.
The moody waiter slides me the bag of powdered goodness along with my coffee and a phone number. Bold move for someone wearing guyliner and Doc Martens. You gotta appreciate the initiative. And I will appreciate it later tonight after we get the vamp squared away.
Speaking of which, I’ve got to get on the good foot, or Doc’ll skin me alive for making his patient wait. I make my way out to my Jeep and cross over the rickety bridge with five minutes to spare. I pass Doc on the way in, and he points to the kitchen. Entering through the arched doorway, I’m immediately hit with a wall of werewolf stench and an unconscious man on the table.
