Page 28 of I Hate Myself for Loving You
Oh, Hell’s bells, spare her from the sock game. She’d be fucked and feathered before she’d put his damned sock in her mouth again.
It had an unpleasant aftertaste that lingered.
“C’mere, pretty. Come sit next to me and let’s talk,” Lassiter coaxed with his cajoling tone and beseeching eyes.
Talk? Yes! Let’s have a real gab-fest.
Her ears perked as she took her place beside him on the floor where he sprawled out and patted his chest with a welcoming smile.
This man’s best friend thing was going a bit too far.
“C’mon, Princess. Come sit with me.” Again, he patted his chest, calling her to him.
Avery harrumphed and blew out a snort, flopping down on his chest and looking him in the eye.
Shoot, he was good looking.
“So, where’d you run off to the other night? You don’t look like you’re any worse for the wear because of it. As a matter of fact, your coat is so shiny and clean. What shampoo do you use?” he teased, stroking her back.
Her back foot thumped with a will of its own. Oh, dayuum that felt good.
“You like that?”
Yes, please, may I have another?
Her eyelids grew heavy, but as Lassiter prattled on, she fought to stay awake.
“So, have you given any thought to coming and living with me and Bud? Bud’s a special case, too, just like you.”
Special case? A special case of what? Lunacy?
“He needs me.”
Huh?
Tilting her head to the left, Avery hoped he saw the confusion in her eyes, because he was lookin’ kinda nutty.
“I know, you don’t understand, but Bud is special to me. His real name isn’t even Bud. It’s Drake. He’s my brother.” Lassiter’s handsome face looked into her canine one and he winked.
His brother? This vampire was short a bat wing. He thought a bird was his brother.
“It’s a long story, but I have a letter that says so,” he assured her.
From who? A letter that said Bud was his brother? Who would write a letter like that? The National Pigeons Society for Reunification of Vampires and Their Winged Counterparts? This was all too much.
It explained everything about this new, angry unapproachable Lassiter.
He’d gone bloomin’ mad.
As much as she missed him, as much as she wished it could be like it once was, it couldn’t. Because Lassiter Adams thought his brother was a flippin’ bird, and that was on par with the need for a nice comfy couch and a trained psychiatrist.
Maybe even medication.
In large doses.
But he was so damn cute, even as a complete nut.
Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a well-worn piece of paper. Obviously, he’d fingered it on many occasions. It was the kind you’d use in a spiral notebook, lined and frayed at the ripped edges. He held it up. “This was from my mother and father. It’s why I’m here, Princess.”
