Page 5 of Bite Me
“Anything aside from a Bloody Mary, thanks.”
She snorted an unladylike laugh and leaned on the bar counter, blatantly ogling the muscly bartender. He was hot. Playful smile, nice hands, powerful chest… He wore a simple white T-shirt, leather cuffs on his wrists, and piercings in his ears. His aura said, “I fuck like a demon but won’t call you the next day.” Way out of my league and probably straight.
He moved toward us, and I saw the subtle clues in his features, his gestures, and the metallic hues in his irises. The bartender wasnothuman.
“Hi there. What can I get you?”
“Hi! Aperol spritz and a negroni, please,” Sheri said.
“You got it, beautiful.” His warm golden eyes went straight to Sheri’s ample cleavage and lingered even as he reached for the cocktail glasses.
As the bartender prepared our drinks, his hands moved distinctly faster and with greater precision than a human’s. It looked impressive and a little disturbing—a subtle reminder that he was the predator while we, humans, were the prey.
There was someone on a podcast I’d listened to last week who joked that vampires would be incredible surgeons if more of them could be convinced to do the job. Obviously, dipping their hands in fresh blood and human tissue for hours without the possibility of taking a bite was too distressing for most.
The bartender handed Sheri the card machine, and she blipped her phone above it.
“Thank you,” she sang, and the bartender winked at her.
“Where do you want to sit?” I asked, eyeing the booths. Most were occupied, but I saw two empty ones near the back.
Sheri threw me an annoyed glare. “I’m not hiding this body in a corner. Let’s stay by the bar.”
I sighed and followed her to a couple of stools in front of the beer taps. When I climbed on one, my feet dangled like a child’s. I hooked them around the legs and sipped my Aperol.
“How does it work, anyway?” I had to speak directly into Sheri’s ear over the beat coming from the speakers.
“I guess it’s the same as cruising at a gay bar.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down for me, cherry pie.”
Sheri glanced at the ceiling, as if asking higher powers for patience. She did that a lot with me. “Jeez, Eddie, how can you be so confident about your work and so hopeless in any other social situation?”
“I’m confident about the things I know how to do! This?” I circled a finger in the air. “No idea. If you leave me here alone, I might cry.” Okay, I was exaggerating, but only a little.
She looked at me with her unique mix of empathy and condescension and sighed. “It’s all about eye contact. If you’re not interested, you look away. Hold their gaze long enough, and they might come over to talk to you.”
“And then?”
“There’s some sort of code,” she said dismissively. “No biting when the prey is drunk, no full-on fucking in public, stuff like that.”
“But people are getting bitten in here?”
“Well, duh. It’s a dinner club.” Sheri craned her head and smirked. “There’s a couple having fun in the booth right behind you. The dude is gorgeous.”
“But…”
“Relax, Eddie. Nobody will drink your blood without your explicit consent.” She patted my cheek and wrapped her plush lips around the black straw in her drink. Her eyes scanned the room while I kept mine on her and my glass.
It didn’t even take ten minutes. Sheri was in the corner booth with a dashing older gentleman, and I sat by the bar alone, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
I would have left already, but Sheri asked me to stay for half an hour in case her conquest turned out to be a creep.
“One more for you?” the bartender asked.
I exhaled. “Sure. Why not?”
He smirked and picked a glass. “First time at a dinner club, eh?”
