Page 24 of Her Vampire, His Ruin

“I don’t get it. He was so into you.”

“Clearly he came to his senses,” I mumble, my gaze straying to the door again.

Henrietta shifts in her seat and narrows her eyes at me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve got nothing to hide,” I protest, but I can feel heat flooding my cheeks, a telltale sign I indeed have something to hide.

“Oh no. What have you done?”

“Nothing.”

“Please tell me you fucked that gangster’s brains out, and you’re being all coy because you don’t want to make me jealous.”

“I have not fucked him,” I hiss.

But I have sucked on his nipple, and palmed his rather impressive cock.

“Edie, you should know I am more than happy to live vicariously through you. My poor neglected vagina has started to seal itself back up after a whole six months of not getting any action,” Henrietta continues, motioning to her crotch.

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? Besides, your vagina has seen action. Didn’t you recently get an order in from⁠—”

“Not the real kind,” she replies, cutting me off. “And given the less than appealing men in this pub, I’m unlikely to get any action tonight either. Anyway, stop deflecting and spill the juicy details. What happened?”

I take another sip of my drink, biding my time, and wondering how I can change the subject without it looking like I’m hiding something, but before I can even formulate an answer, two men approach. Neither of whom holds a candle to Dorian. My shoulders slump and I groan. This is not what I need right now. What I need is a dangerous, dark-haired gangster with tattoos and piercings, but I’ve sabotaged that for reasons only known to a part of me unwilling to share why.

“Oh, here we go,” Henrietta says under her breath, eying the men who give us both a wide smile. “I’ll take the one on the right. At least he’s bothered to brush his hair.”

“I know I said I’d be your wing woman, but I’m really not⁠—”

“Evening ladies, thought you’d like some company. Can we sit?”

“Absolutely,” Henrietta replies, squeezing closer to me so that the man she’s already claimed as hers for the evening can slide into the booth next to her.

The other hovers beside me, his gaze immediately falling to my tits encased in a low cut, navy velvet top. He licks his lips, and I try not to gag. “Room for one more?”

I stifle the urge to get up and leave, forcing myself to shrug instead. “If you must.”

Henrietta gives me a sympathetic look before turning her attention to the man on her right, who very loudly introduces himself as Mark. Looks like I’m stuck entertaining his friend for the rest of the night. I love Henrietta, I really do, but right now I kind of hate her.

Why did I ever agree to this?

“The name’s John,” the guy says to me, his gaze focused wholly on my cleavage. “And your name is?”

“Are you asking me, or my tits?” I reply, bored already.

His gaze snaps up to my face, eyes wide with shock.

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” I continue, not bothering to wait for a response. “The next time you try to pull a woman, it would be better if you pay more attention to her face than ogle her chest like you haven’t seen a pair before.”

“Well, that’s fucking rude,” he has the gall to say.

“No, just the truth,” I snap back. I’m really not in the mood to stroke this man’s ego.

“Don’t know why you’re being such a bitch. It’s not as if you’ve got a line of men wanting to speak with you. You’re no spring chicken.”

Before I’m even able to open my mouth to respond, Henrietta rounds on him. “Excuse me, what did you just say to my friend?”

“I said⁠—”