FANGED

Chapter Eleven

We stood there for a while longer. Drake, lost in thought. Me, admiring my handiwork. Now, don't get me wrong, I am totally against condoning murder or, in this case, vehicular manslaughter with a side of accidental flambé, but this was self-defense. It's not like those fellas came knocking on my door to try and sell me Girl Scout cookies and I sent them navigating into the crater of death.

Although, I wish they had. I love Girl Scout cookies and I could really go for a sleeve of Thin Mints right about now. Yes...I eat them a sleeve at a time. Don't you dare sit there and look at me like you don't. Those cookies are like drugs and Thin Mints are my crack. You stand between me and a box and you're going to get shanked...just saying.

My stomach growled. At least I think it was my stomach. Either it was that or a low 747 just did a flyby. Drake turned to me with his eyes wide at the flamboyant sounds coming from my midsection.

"That was my stomach," I instantaneously defended, wrapping a hand around my middle trying to stifle the noise.

I didn't want him thinking I farted or something. I have no idea why as women we always feel the need to hide or shield our bodily functions from men. But, for whatever the reason...it's ingrained so deeply into our genetic make-up, we would rather blow up like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade balloon floating like Snoopy above the crowds than to emit a fart in front of a man. Let alone to do it in front of a smoking hot man you barely know.

Unless you've been dating for a while, then I say let it rip. Nothing says you're the love of my life than relaxing and tooting out your personal love song. It shows you're comfortable with them and you have chosen them to be your "one". Extra girlfriend points if you can make them gag a little.

"You're hungry," he muttered, opening his trench coat and slipping his guns into the hostlers hidden underneath.

My mouth watered, but not at the thought of food. I just received my first unobstructed glorious peek at Fang's ass uncovered by the coat. I had imagined it would be mighty fine, but nothing prepared me to see it wrapped in leather like a second skin.

Two perfectly formed mounds of firm joy. It was so perfect, I almost saluted it. I tried to avoid looking at it, but I only succeeded for a split second before my eyeballs were glued back and happily ogling away.

"Yeah...hungry." I nodded, doing a perfect impression of a bobble head.

The coat slipped back into place, breaking off my hypnotic ass trance.

"It'll be dawn soon." Drake looked up at the sky and then over at me. I discreetly wiped my mouth in case there was any traces of drool. "We need to make it to a safe house before sun comes up."

"Safe house?" I blinked, trying to erase visions of a vampire calendar featuring Fang and focus on what he was telling me.

But really? I could make a small fortune if I could snap twelve shots of him. I started sweating at the thought of him in a Santa hat wearing nothing but a smile and holding a sprig of mistletoe. Possibly posed in front of a roaring fire on a bear skinned rug. The firelight hugging his toned skin...

"Are you alright, Red? You don't look so hot," he asked, looking at me intently.

Wrong! I was feeling plenty hot at the moment. Pulling at my turtleneck, I cleared my throat and shook my head until my little fantasy disappeared faster than an shaken Etch-A-Sketch.

"I'm fine, Fang."

"Drake."

"Whatever," I muttered, heading for Gizmo. I could feel my face burning in embarrassment. Never a good look for a redhead. I needed to get some AC cranking, pronto.