Page 31 of Gin & Trouble

“Do you want me to finish or have you heard enough?”

“Go on.” I motioned for him to continue his tall tale.

“Next thing I know you came in and she’s slamming the glass shards into my hands.” As if to prove his point he held up his wounded palm. “Five stitches and she—”

“Didn’t have a scratch on her, I know.” I’d replayed the events over and over, but I still felt like I was missing something. “If she cut you on purpose, why did she stick around to help you?”

“Hell if I know. Like I said, the woman is a psychopath.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I said, “She’s a little awkward, not a psychopath.”

He leaned in and thumped my ear. “Then why did she steal a bloody bandage?”

Here we go again.

“There’s no way she stuffed a bloody gauze pad into her purse.”

“Then explain why there were six wrappers and only five bandages?” His tone reminded me of a TV attorney grilling a witness. “I’m telling you, she’s a serial killer in training keeping souvenirs of her victims.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if marriage had made his brain go soft. Or maybe he was bored out of his tits and was making up bullshit to add a little adventure to his life. “I think the better question is why did you count them?”

He glanced around, likely to make sure no one was listening. “Bragging rights.”

“What?” And he thinks Julia’s crazy?

“I’d lost a lot of blood. I wanted toquantifyit.”

Yep. That settles it. He’s gone soft in the head.

Marco strolled into the tent. “Christ, are we talking about the vampire chick again?”

I threw my hands up. “Why would anyone take a bloody bandage?”

“Maybe she needed my DNA to clone me?” Enzo gave us a Gaelic shrug—palms up, goofy grin. “You know, to make a me that’s single.”

Marco froze and glanced between us.

I recognized his expression instantly. He’d either passed gas or he had an idea. “You’ve thought of something. Spill it.”

Frowning, he shook his head. “Nah, just wondering what Vampirella looks like. She must be hot to have you acting like a lovesick kid.”

“She’s the one from the video, right?” Enzo grinned the same know-it-all he’d had since we were kids.

“Let me guess, Zach told you?” I made a mental note to have a chat with Zach. What happened at the convention stayed at the damned convention—except when it went viral.

“Leo ratted you out.”

This freaking family. Nothing’s sacred.

Marco glanced between Enzo and me. “What are you two knuckleheads talking about?”

“You haven’t seen the video?” Laughing like a hyena, he pulled his phone from his chef’s coat. “Our little Dante is famous.”

“Screw you.” Not only had some asshat filmed me and put it online, other asshats had followed suit. A half-dozen videos, and an encyclopedia’s worth of memes featuring different parts of my body, currently made their way around social media.

The Magic Mike song started and Marco cracked up, but halfway through he stopped laughing and grabbed the phone. He replayed the video, paused, and replayed it again. When he met my gaze, I knew something was wrong. More wrong than my ass immortalized in memes.

Marco pointed at the screen. “This is Julia?”

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