Page 2 of Dating is for Suckers

I grab my phone back and huddle into the couch, staring at the well-written message. It isn’t crude, or just some random pickup line like I was expecting. I don’t normally do this sort of thing. I don’t hook up with random guys, especially ones on a rando dating app.

My cheeks heat at the thought of throwing caution to the wind and actually giving this a shot. Or maybe it’s the heat from the alcohol. Either way, I feel bold. Definitely the alcohol. Perhaps I should put this off until I’m sober? Nah. The tipsy part of my brain wants to see where this goes, and I’ll be damned if I’m actually alone on Valentine’s Day.

A smile tugs at my lips as I think about how to respond. Should I even get my feelings involved at this point? Rory sounds like a really great guy. But let’s be honest, if he’s on an app like this, that means he’s single too. If he’s such a great guy, though, why is he also single? Someone that looks this good on paper has to be taken. Right? It could be he has an amazing personality yet some sort of physical deformity? If that’s the case, good thing I’m not shallow. I don’t exactly care what a guy looks like as long as he’s nice.

I’m overthinking things. I know I am, but I don’t know how to reconcile being dumped just hours ago to talking with a new guy. Besides, what do I have to lose exactly? It’s not like Joe even wants me back. He made that pretty clear with his message. Typing out my last line, I wait, my heart fluttering as I anticipate his response.

“Oooooh. Club Euphoria! That’s where my date met me! Dude, that place is exclusive! Wait. His name isn’t Trevor, is it?”

Laughing, I pull the phone to my chest, hiding our conversation from Stacy’s prying eyes. “No, it’s Rory.”

She pulls back, her nose wrinkling. “What kinda name is Rory? Who names their kid Rory?” Stacy shakes her head and leaps off the couch, her body practically vibrating with excitement. “I’ve been waiting for this for sooooo long! Makeover!”

Internally, I wince as she yanks on my arm, hauling me off the couch and towards her closet. I’ve been dreading this moment. Stacy’s choice of clothes is far more loud and risqué than mine. Which isn’t a bad thing. I don’t judge her for them; I personally don’t feel comfortable showing as much skin as she does.

Sure enough, the first outfit she pulls out is a barely-there number with just enough fabric to cover the pertinent bits. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Oh, come on!” She whines, her feet stomping in an adorable show of frustration. “It’s just for one night! Think of it this way, you’re Cinderella’s more free-loving twin!”

“No. I’m already feeling nervous about tomorrow. I don’t need to worry about a wardrobe malfunction on top of that.”

Rolling her eyes, she tosses the outfit to the floor and digs some more. Five more pieces fall to the floor after an emphatic shake of my head until finally, she pulls out something I don’t instantly hate. Though it’s certainly tight enough to show everything, it looks like it covers most of the body.

I pull it from her hands and hold it against me. This is certainly a compromise I can make. Walking over to the bathroom, I shuck my current outfit and slide the dress on. It slides over my skin like it’s made for me, hugging every curve in just the right way. Looking up at the mirror, I can’t help but feel a little breathless.

I look wanton, powerful, a seductress.

CHAPTER 2

Rory

I glance down at my phone, looking through the stats on the girl I’m meeting for dinner. I still feel like it’s the dumbest thing to not have photos. Truthfully, I don’t care what my food looks like, but it would be nice to at least have a visual. Shaking my head, I fiddled with the stupid rose on my lapel. This whole thing is stupid.

Why can’t we just go out and hunt like normal vampires? It’s not like the bars won’t be overrun with sad people looking for company. And even then, I won’t have to work so hard to get them to trust me enough to gain access to a vital artery. They’d be too sloshed to even notice. For whatever reason, my coven had to be the one to do things differently. I guess Bratva is just like that. Always looking to be the odd one out.

Hell, even the Italian Mafia doesn’t have bullshit apps like this. Irritation climbs up my spine as I stand there, leaning against Euphoria. Granted, the Italians have their charm. As a pure-blooded American that just so happened to be a part of this branch of organized crime, I am lucky to at least have thralling abilities. As it stands, I’m no better than the drug pushers on the street. I just happen to come with my weapons attached to my gums.

I have to remind myself that I can just go out and snag a human, taking my fill from some unsuspecting woman in a back alley, but I will miss out on the part that makes blood truly divine. Bringing them down to our underground dungeon is the best way to get that perfect balance of fear, pleasure, and euphoria flowing through their veins, making dining more of an experience instead of just a simple meal.

Glancing up, I spot a woman with a similar rose in her hand, and I stop. She’s fucking gorgeous. With long legs, perfect to wrap around my waist, and thick, mid-back chocolate curls that I can fist into my hands, she’s a vision. I watch as her eyes shift down to my rose and back up to my face. Her breath catches in her throat, and the smile that eases across my face is genuine.

She’s already attracted to me. Perfect. This will make tonight go so much easier. Not that I’m expecting trouble, but it’s always nice when your prey thinks you're hot. Pushing off the wall, I saunter over, allowing her to study me in my expensive suit. The closer I get, the more her eyes dilate. Like candy from a baby.

“Melissa?”

“Lissa. Please. Rory?”

“One and the same. Care to join me for a drink?” I hold out my arm, pulling the pretense of being a gentleman over me like a cloak. She eats it up, her pale cheeks staining a light pink as she threads her arm through mine.

She’s so fucking warm. Closing my eyes, I imagine what her blood will feel like sliding over my tongue and down my throat. What unique notes will she have? My cock stirs as I let my mind drift to what I have planned for her downstairs. Will she take to my dominance with ease? Or will I have to force her to bend to my command? Either way, I’ll have her begging for release soon enough.

I’m so caught up in fantasizing about strapping her to the cross that I almost miss the soft words as they spill out of her mouth. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”

She clears her throat, and I’m transfixed by the pulse throbbing along the side of the smooth column. “I said, I wasn’t actually expecting someone so hot. I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day. How do you, of all people, not have a date?”

Bitterness chokes me as I stare down into her bright, guileless eyes. She didn’t ask this to upset me. I know that. And yet, I can’t keep the irritation tamped down. Why indeed? That would be the question of the day. But there’s no way I can tell her that monsters like me don’t get “dates.” We don’t have girlfriends. We have food.

How do I even explain that I was dragged into this world against my will? All I wanted was a means to provide for my family. I knew gangs were for life, but somehow Luka glossed over the part where I would be eternally tied to him, with death literally the only way out. And I don’t even have the luxury of other gang members that might die by something as simple as being shot. No. I’m stuck here forever.