I twirled my beer on the table, making smeared rings. Trying not to think. In the days since the death of Peregrinus and his pals, Bruiser and I had talked a lot, but only on the phone, not in person. We’d both been busy, long hours and long days, me and Wise Ass getting security totally stripped and rebuilt at fanghead central and in Leo’s new house. Getting the new system up and running, and tracking down leads to make sure the city’s vamps were safe. Fixing the electricity problem by disconnecting the wires in sub-five from the rest of the system. Finding Peregrinus’ stuff and taking it. Trying to figure out what some of it was. Bruiser had been doing Onorio things.
Most of our convos had been about Bethany and Leo and Bruiser’s life, which was way more complicated than mine was. He might not be Leo’s primo anymore, but he was bound by oaths of loyalty to the vamps in New Orleans. He wasn’t free to move around the country, not for years. My contracts would be up in a few months or a year—assuming I survived the EuroVamps’ visit and the coming war. I didn’t have plans yet, but staying around New Orleans without work wasn’t in the cards. Bruiser and I had talked around the big question of us, but hadn’t really talked yet. Had settled nothing. Talking didn’t really ever settle anything. It was doing that mattered.
My food was deposited in front of me: wonderfully greasy burger and greasy fries, pickle. I tossed a scalding-hot potato into my mouth and picked up my burger. Another meal was placed in front of me, across the small table. “Starting without me, my Jane?”
Mouth open for the bite, I looked up and watched as Bruiser lifted a jeans-clad leg over the back of the chair across from me and settled into place. He dropped flowers on the table, a bouquet of nonaromatic lilies and fresh tea leaves, which were almost impossible to find. A smile crossed my face, as I remembered him telling me that men should always give me flowers.
He picked up his burger and said, “‘I eat at diners and fast-food joints and drink beer. My dates and I talk about guns and the newest horror or action flick. I wear jeans and boots and no makeup.’ I believe that was the exact quote. And yet, you are wearing lipstick in that amazing shade of red that makes me want to take you right here, on this beat-up old table.” He bit into his burger.
Heated chills raced through me as I watched his hands cradling the burger. And . . . Bruiser in jeans and Western boots. And a button-up shirt, crisply starched. Sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned arms. Oh . . . my . . .
Talking around the ground meat, he said, “Eat up, Jane. We have guns to talk about and then the entire Kill Bill series, which I watched last night in preparation for our date, just so I would be ready for today.”
I bit my burger, hardly tasting it. I chewed and swallowed and said, “You’re going to spend the day with me. Talking about Kill Bill.”
“And eating.” He swallowed and reached out, tracing my jaw with one long, heated finger. “And making love. Hurry up, Jane. Today is going to be quite . . . busy.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Faith Hunter was born in Louisiana and raised all over the South. She writes full-time, tries to keep house, and is a workaholic with a passion for travel, jewelry making, orchids, skulls, Class II and III white-water kayaking, and writing.
Many of the orchid pics on her Facebook fan page show skulls juxtaposed with orchid blooms; the bones are from roadkill prepared by taxidermists or a pal named Mud. In her collection are a fox skull, a cat skull, a dog skull, a goat skull (that is, unfortunately, falling apart), a cow skull, the jawbone of an ass, and a wild boar skull, complete with tusks. She recently purchased a mountain lion skull, and would love to have the thigh bone and skull of an African lion (one that died of old age, of course).
She and her husband own thirteen kayaks at last count, and love to RV, as they travel with their dogs to white-water rivers all over the Southeast.