Page 14 of Bite Marks

“Come now, are you still on about this? Dahlia and Samuel?—”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t need another lecture from you,” Sel grumbled with a sigh. “Let me drink my sorrows away in peace, Ren.”

With the conversation clearly over, I preemptively fixed Sel another drink —earning myself a grateful grin—and dropped it off before checking on my other guests.

I’d gotten my bearings quickly, weaving between serving drinks to patrons sitting at the bar and fixing orders from waitresses flitting from table to table. Even with the somewhat foreign ingredients at times it felt like I was already on autopilot.

Ren and me had fallen into such a natural rhythm, I’d almost forgotten that I absolutely wasn’t taking this job.Almost.

I was just adding cherries to a couple of cocktails when the music shifted abruptly, signalling the start of the third act of the stage show.

It was a group number first; the girls dressed in elaborate peach-and-champagne feathered costumes as they ground against each other to the beat. I took the opportunity to settle the bill for one of my guests looking to move to get a better seat for the show, flashing a fang in my direction as I looked at where he’d written his number on the receipt.

Turns out I didn’t need Ren to show me the POS after all. O used the same one as the Silver Dollar—the bar I’d worked at in college. So I’d be able to pick it up almost instantly, clicking through the screens to find the different cocktails.

Same POS or not, even I had to admit this clientele was a hell of an upgrade from a vampire biker bar. Tipped a lot better, at least.

I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes, turning to busy myself with putting the payment slips in the register.

What kind of sleazeball gives his number to a girl but barely tips 15%? No fucking thanks, dude.

By the time I was done squeezing two bags of AB positive into large domed wine glasses, the number was over, the deep red curtains closing amid applause and whistling.

“I think you’ll like the next act,” Ren said, topping up some tequila shots with a light-yellow fluid that had to be plasma. “On the main stage, we mostly keep it PG-13 to give them a reason to pay for the membership to get to the back. How’re you making out?”

“Oh, you know,sir,” I threw a new nickname at her with a teasing wink. “Same old, same old.”

Her gaze burned, lips twitching in the threat of a smile.

Yeah. I wasabso-fucking-lutelyteasing.

I was aprofessional. Andprofessionalsdid not under any circumstance fantasise about hot, tatted-up coworkers between rushes.

Especially not when they rolled up their sleeves to give me a better look at all that delicious artwork trailing up their forearms, flexing as they pushed their hair back like some kind of cover model?—

“Earth to Vi,” Ren said, making me realize I’d gotten lost in thought. “You in the weeds?”

“No, no!” I rushed out. “I’m all good! Getting the hang of it.”

“You’re doing a great job,” she praised, tilting her head to the side with another one of those lingering looks. “You know, if you want the job… It’s yours.”

“Maybe,” I said noncommittally, glancing at the roster of drink orders, relieved to find we were caught up for the time being.

Ren leaned into my space, dropping her voice suggestively as she boxed me against the bar. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a yes from you, hm?”

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, my eyes darting from the soft features of her face to the tattoos peeking out of her collar.

Stay strong,I scolded myself.You cannot be swayed! You have convictions! A favourite florist at the market! A degree you don’t want gathering dust!

Ren’s smile didn’t waver, eyebrow raising in a silent question.

No job prospects and rent due in—I did the mental maths—eighteen days. A stack full of mom’s medical bills that just keep getting higher…

And a certain bartender who kept inching closer and closer…

Suddenly, movement on stage drew my attention, the curtain parting to a spotlight that illuminated a low-hanging swing held to the ceiling by heavy golden ropes. A petite vampire sat in the middle of the seat, her pale blonde hair shining in the warm glow. Her delicate hands, covered from the tips of her fingers to the crook of her elbows by black satin gloves, wrapped around the ropes to keep her balanced as the swing rose with the first trills of a sexy, vibrant tune.

The music pulsed through the club, conversations ending abruptly as the guests craned their necks to get a good look at her. I couldn’t blame them; it was impossible to tear my eyes away.

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