Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Or…three, rather.
God, I hope he likes Crissy.
I hope Crissy likes him, or at least doesn’t charge him like a rabid T. rex and rip out his spleen. My daughter loved meeting my friends in California, but she’s never met a guy I was dating, and that was before her dinosaur phase.
Maybe I should let her watch Jurassic Park, after all. Yes, it might scare her to death, but at least she’d get the memo that dinosaurs are the bad guys.
I say as much to Cam on the elevator up to my floor, but he shakes his head, “Nah. The dinosaurs weren’t the bad guys. They were just animals being animals. Humans are the bad guys in that story. And, sadly, almost every other story.”
I cock my head. “Yeah. You’re right. The scientists who brought them back from extinction were the bad guys.”
“Or the guy who paid the scientists,” he says, extending an arm as the elevator doors open, motioning for me to lead the way.
“Or the people who paid to go see the dinosaurs.”
“But how much responsibility does the consumer bear? I don’t think ethical consumption can be the burden of consumers alone. There’s too much the average person buying shit in a store doesn’t know about how things are made and distributed. We need corporations and governments to do their part, too.”
I pause in front of my door, snatching a handful of his coat sleeve and biting my lip as I stare up into his face.
“What?” he asks with a grin.
“Have I told you how sexy your brain is today?”
His smile widens. “No, but that’s good to hear.”
“It’s also totally not fair. No human should be gorgeous and brilliant and a fantastic chef on top of it.”
“You forgot good in bed for a virgin,” he says, gathering me into his arms and pressing a kiss to my neck.
I tilt my head back. “Just good in bed. No qualifier necessary.” I sigh and close my eyes, relishing the feel of his lips hot on my throat for another second before I open the door.
Unfortunately, that second was one second too many.
Before I can untangle myself from Cam, the door flies open and my daughter squeals, “Somebody help! Mommy’s being attacked by a vampire!”
Chapter Eighteen
Cameron
I drop Natalie fast and lift my hands in surrender as I turn to face a tiny redhead in polka-dot pajamas staring up at me from the doorway with outraged eyes.
Before I can assure her that I’m not a vampire and would never hurt Natalie, she steps over the threshold, bringing a tiny socked foot down hard on my shoe.
“Get out of here, vampire! Get out into the sunshine!” She stomps me again and again, a bundle of tiny fury, fearlessly defending her mother. “Go burn up in a ball of fire and leave my mom alone!”
“Honey, honey, it’s fine,” Nat says, gathering the little girl into her arms and dragging her away from my feet. “Cam isn’t a vampire. He’s my friend.”
“Friends don’t eat friends!” Crissy says, still glaring up at me like she’s got my number and isn’t about to let me off the hook without a few more stomps on my foot and maybe a full-blown staking. “Like in Nemo. Fish are friends, not food.”
“Well, I’m not a fish, either. So, everything is fine,” Natalie says, triggering a scowl from her daughter.
“That doesn’t make any sense, Mama. I think you’re hurt bad.” She turns in Nat’s arms, putting a tiny hand to her forehead. “Or maybe you have a fever. You should go lie down and put the quiet mask over your eyes.”
Natalie’s lips curve in a wry smile. “You’re right. I probably should. Now, let’s go inside before we give our new neighbors anything more to talk about, okay?”
“Okay,” Crissy says, her fingers moving down to fondle the beaded strap of Nat’s dress. “Why are you wearing the same clothes? Did you stay up all night? I thought you could only do that on New Year’s Eve.”
A judgmental grunt from over my shoulder draws my attention to a large woman watching our exchange from an open doorway just down the hall. She’s built like an old-fashioned safe from the 1920s and has her hair in pink rollers like my mom used to when I was a kid.
And she looks pissed.
“Sorry, Mrs. Greer.” Natalie leans past me to wave a friendly hand. “We’ll take it inside. Just a little misunderstanding.”
“Your daughter should know that vampires aren’t real,” the woman says in a startlingly deep voice. “It’s dangerous to let children believe in fantastical lies. The harder it is for them to tell truth from fiction, the harder it is for them to tell right from wrong. That’s how criminals are made.”
“I don’t think Crissy’s in any danger of becoming a criminal,” Nat says through clenched teeth. “She’s four.”