Vlad wasn’t joking. Jeff would have been toast long before he earned the top spot onStreet Fighter IIif Vlad had been around.
Tyrone dabbed at his eye with his sleeve. “You’re right. Jeff was a fucking ass.”
Dr. R clasped her hands together. “Awwww! Look at that!” With a dopey smile, she said, “These two…Merry Christmas, everyone.”
“It’s not Chrithmas,” I said, exasperated.
“Christmas lives in our hearts,” Dr. R said.
Vlad clapped Tyrone on the shoulder, casual dude style. “Come on, we’ll talk. You can catch up with Tiffenie later.”
“Vlad,” I implored, “don’t do anything.” He had better not hurt one hair on Tyrone’s head. I couldn’t handle any more blood on my hands. Not one drop.
“Tiffany,” Dr. R said as she opened the back door. “If two”—she glanced at the guys—“veeerrrry attractive men want to get naked and give each other sexual pleasure, that istheirbusiness.”
Tyrone huffed out a brief laugh at his drunk therapist.
“That’s not my issue, Dr. R,” I said. For all I knew, they would have sex. Vlad was a vampire, for God’s sake. As long as Vlad didn’t drain Tyrone. Of blood, that is. I could handle jealousy, but nothing more.
Heaven shut the back door firmly and said, “Let’s get this shitshow on the road.”
With a tight smile, all my hopes from earlier dashed, I said, “Bye, Tyrone.”
Tyrone looked lost and emotionally spent, but Dr. R was right. Getting all of the guilt he’d been carrying off his chest and into the air was healing. I wanted to be there for him, but after tonight, I suspected that he might not be there for Tiffenie Ruba, immortal vampire.
His limit seemed to be BDSM for beginners with Tiffany Amanda Blair.
Before I drove off, I sent Vlad a text.
Me:don’t hurt him. not even a nibble
Vlad:It’s okay. Relax. I love you.
I started the car with a heavy heart. I couldn’t even with these men. How was that supposed to be reassuring?
Vermont. Hallmark. Happily ever after. My picture-perfect dreams had gotten so messy. I steered the hearse past my favorite stores on Main Street. “All I wanted was to move from the big city to a small town and date a farmer. To live happily ever after, even if it was just for his lifetime,” I said.
Dr. R started laughing. “Say what?”
Heaven raised her eyebrows. “Neither of those fools is gonna make you happy.”
“Why not?” I exclaimed. “Why can’t things be simple?”
“How old are you, Tiffenie?” Heaven asked.
“I stopped counting.”
“I don’t know how you are this old and still so fucked in the head, but a man is not a happily ever after. What do you think you’re in, a Disney movie?” In an extremely judgmental voice—and I had to admit, as delightful as she was, Heaven was pretty judgmental—she said, “How many times have I said, ‘Good dick ain’t nothing’? That’s not a joke, it’s a proverb.”
Dr. R nodded emphatically. In a professorial tone, she said, “Relying on a man to provide your happily ever after is a vestige of a patriarchal society where women held little to no power and the best option for improving one’s station in life was marriage.”
Heaven said, “I don’t need you to PhD translate for me, doctor.”
It was so easy for these baby humans to explain how relationships should be. It’s not like I didn’t know things. Most women knew things. Even they acted contrary to their best interests. “I am an actual vestige of the patriarchal society to which you refer,” I said. “So is Vlad. Of course we are ‘fucked in the head,’ as you so eloquently put it, Heaven.”
Softer, Heaven said, “Just fix yourself first, Tiff. Some dude isn’t going to make you happy even if he is hot and owns a Chrithmas tree farm.”
In the back seat, Dr. R started singing “Hey sista, go sista, soul sista, flow sista.” Without a seatbelt, she slid backward. She giggled as she rolled across the back of the hearse.
