Page 3 of Daring Her Vampires
“I know,” I whisper back.
He clears his throat. “I’m going to go.”
“I understand.” Rowen can only stand the loudness of the club for so long.
“Can I escort you home?” he asks as he slides out of the booth.
“Don’t worry about me. Roxanne will be here soon.”
“Alright, Doll.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. “Let me know the next time.”
“Of course. Text me.” He nods and walks away. I follow his progress to the front door. I always worry about him more than he does me.
Roxanne isn’t coming. She is spending some time with her sons, Kingston and Maverick. Rowen wouldn’t have left so easily if he had known I would be alone. His time in captivity changed him, but his protectiveness toward me started the minute we met.
I scoot across the seat, sliding my purse strap over my shoulder, and stand. I won’t find what I need here; it’s time to go home.
“Sally.” Looking to the left, I see Bash wading through the crowd, avoiding the dancers, his fierce scowl aimed their way. I tilt my head and enjoy the view. Bash is a four-hundred-year-old vampire with white hair, a muscular body, and a hatred for humans. We constantly give each other shit, and he likes to pretend he doesn’t like me. I know the truth. He’s blunt and would rather be at home with his mate. I respect the man he is and can appreciate his honesty. “Leaving already?” he asks as he stops at my side.
“I’m not feeling it tonight.” I wrinkle my nose.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, lightly touching my elbow.
“I’ve been having dreams,” I admit. Our friends see us trade barbs back and forth. They rarely see the other side of our relationship. I know Bash cares about me.
“Bad dreams?” He frowns, his hand tightening.
“Good and bad.” I tap his hand. “I’m fine. I just don’t know what they mean yet.”
“I’m here if you need to talk it out,” he offers, dropping his arm. “I can have Marie stop by.” Marie is his mate.
“Don’t worry. I’ll let you know.” His scowl remains, but he nods.
“Be safe. If you text, I’ll respond,” he snarls.
“Bash,” I gasp and touch my palm to my chest. “I thought you hated texting. Won’t your fingers fall off if you do?”
“Don’t push it,” he growls.
“Thanks, Bash.” I laugh, but sober quickly. “I mean it.”
“Me too.” He cups my shoulder briefly before disappearing. I shake my head and walk toward the door.
As I push outside, I wish I could fly home like vampires can. Alright, so they don’t exactly fly, but they move at such a high rate of speed, it seems like it. Instead, I unlock my car and sit my ass inside. Bash and Ryker love me, and the evidence of that is the great parking spot reserved for me. Anytime I’m heading to their club, I text, and they make sure it’s open.
I connect my phone to my car, pick my music, and crank it up. As I back out, the music fills the car. The best way to drive anywhere is fast and loud. My place isn’t far, but I’ll enjoy the beat while I can.
My friends give me shit about the group text. Living as long as I have, when you have technology, you enjoy it. It’s still amazing that you can send a message in a second and get a response a second later. Secretly, I think they love it. Who doesn’t want to be included in the latest news? Sure, Heath threw his phone across the room when he couldn’t opt out. Bash has replaced his phone five times since we met. They eventually give up and accept that they are part of the group.
They call me the queen of group text, and I’m okay with the title.
Not finding a man tonight to get lost in was disappointing. I own my sexual needs; I mean, Iownthem. Why shouldn’t I? Men have gloried in that shit since the beginning of time, so why can’t a woman? We have orgasms, and most of the time, we enjoy them with the right person. I hate it when a woman is called nasty names when her number of partners rises. Men get a slap on the back and a “good job.” I have needs. I want to have fun. Why should they get away with it? I dress in tight clothes. My body is mine, and I can dress it however I want. They can look all they want, but I don’t dress for attention. I dress for myself. My clothes make me feel good, and that’s all that matters. It’s my choice to allow you to touch. I don’t sleep with just anyone. They have to stimulate me in some way. Are you an asshole? If you are, you don’t get to spend time with me.
I once slept with a man who put his hand on the small of my back to guide me. Fuck, it gets me every time. That light touch was all it took. We had fun. I didn’t fall in love, and we went our separate ways. I won’t cry at your feet because it’s only for a night. You have to be really fucking good for me to get on my knees.
The ground is hard, and I don’t want to wobble on my bony knees to beg.
Begging could be possible if I found my mate. The universe should know by now not to send me someone non-beg-worthy.
