I was a lady. I chewed it up quickly and walked toward the alley.
He was leaning against the brick wall of the restaurant in the typical bad boy fashion: one foot propped up on the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, and his head dipped down. All that was missing was the gelled-up seventies hair and he could have walked off the set of Grease. He had even taken off the black button-up, so he was wearing just a white T-shirt and jeans. It really did something for me, though. I loved Danny Zuko as a tween.
When I got close enough, he reached out and grabbed my waist, pulling me to him. I put my hands on his chest and explored the firmness of his muscular physique. There was no awkwardness as he dipped his head toward mine and our lips met. We both knew what we were here for. This was my favorite sort of hookup. No strings attached, just mutual satisfaction.
I let my hands roam toward his ass and squeezed as he trailed kisses down my jaw and to my neck. Oh, hell yes. This was just what the doctor ordered.
His fingers roamed my body and dug into my hips. I groaned at his skilled hands and his hot mouth. His lips stopped working against mine for a moment. “Do you really have a tattoo of Chris Hemsworth on your ass?” he asked with a chuckle.
“You heard that, huh?” I asked.
“Yep. I’m glad you escaped your date for the night. I got secondhand embarrassment watching him.”
I tugged at his hair and whispered over his skin. “Poor Mr. Sloth. He was a dud, but that’s alright. I’m really liking how my night turned out. Now why don’t you put those fingers to work and make me come, hmm?”
He smirked while grabbing my hips. “I’d really love to do that, but I can’t.”
I squinted my eyes at him. Was he talking about his lack of skills or…? “Why not?”
“Because my grandmother needs to feed, and I have to get to work.”
Feed? What the fuck did that mean? Who talks like that? He spoke like she was some goldfish sitting in a bowl on his countertop.
Oh shit. I jumped from one crazy asshole to the next. I was two for two tonight. Figured. Brunch tomorrow with Yaz and Ryan would require extra mimosas. At least I would have one hell of a funny story to tell.
I was about to stomp off and try to salvage the rest of my night when a feral, predatory growl bounced off the brick walls surrounding us. I spun around and slammed my back against his chest. “Wh-what was that?” I asked while looking around. It was dark, and I couldn’t really see anything, but every hair on my neck was standing up.
“I told you,” the waiter purred in my ears, “my grandmother needs to feed.”
Just as he said that, a pale woman with wild gray hair and wrinkles that looked like carved ivory appeared out of the shadows. She was barefoot and stepped on a broken glass bottle without flinching. Her toenails were yellow, and blood coated the concrete where she stepped. What the fuck?
She was wearing a nightgown and had ice blue eyes that practically glowed in the night. Despite her age, delicate stature, and the slight bend of her shoulders, she looked surprisingly threatening. Her smile was manic. She had pale lips that framed bright white teeth that looked impossibly sharp.
“Whoa. Okay, Granny, let’s not do this.”
I went to move, but the waiter’s hands clamped down on my shoulders, holding me in place. He was impressively strong. Every time I tried to move, he just held me tighter. My bones felt like they were two seconds from cracking under his grip. What the fuck kind of horror kinky fuckery was this?
My mind raced through all the true crime shows I’d ever watched, searching for some nugget of information that might help me. Okay, first rule was do not go with your attacker to a second location. Shit. Too late for that one, what else? I should try to get any information to someone who could help. As I was considering whether I could discreetly make a call from the phone in my pocket, I realized I didn’t even know the waiter’s name. I was going to fingerbang a dude who wrote me a five-word note on a napkin, and I didn’t even know his name. I made a mental note to discuss