Page 96 of Bleed

“Girl.” I give her a look that’s answer enough. “It was hot as fuck. You ever come so hard you passed out?”

Judging by the color rapidly creeping into her cheeks, I’m not the only one who knows how intense vampire-induced orgasms can be.

Taylor starts to hand my phone back, but pauses halfway. “You’re actually gonna follow up on this, right?”

“Sure,” I say, holding out my hand and wiggling my fingers.

She stares me down. “Bex.”

“Taylor.”

I stubbornly hold her gaze for another few seconds before relenting with a dramatic sigh.

“I hate healthy communication,” I mutter.

“I know.” She slaps my phone into my waiting palm. “But as your best friend, it’s my job to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Somebody has to be the responsible one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I roll my eyes, stuffing my phone into my pocket. “I’ll do it.”

“You promise?”

“… Yes.”

She narrows her eyes. “Bex.”

I sigh. “I promise.”

Only then does she look satisfied, sitting back and folding her arms.

A guy about our age suddenly appears beside the table with two fresh margaritas in hand.

“Ladies,” he greets, setting them down with an easy smile. “Figured you could use a refill.”

Taylor flashes the diamond on her left hand before he can get another word out.

His face falls in momentary disappointment, then he quickly swerves his attention to me, clocking my bare left hand.

“How about you?” he asks, wagging his brows.

Taylor cuts in before I can answer. “She’s taken, too.”

My head snaps in her direction, mouth dropping open in indignation. “No I’m not.”

Taylor levels me with a look. I scowl back for a long moment before cracking a smile.

Turning back to the guy, I shrug. “Sorry. You’re cute and all, but not tonight.”

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “Worth a shot.”

Rather than lingering in rejection, he takes it like a champ, wishes us a good night, and heads back toward the bar. Taylor watches him go, then turns back to me.

“You sure about that exclusivity clause?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, reaching for the fresh margarita.

Turning the guy down is one thing, but turning down free drinks? Never.

Half an hour later, we’re stumbling out of the bar arm in arm, the sky dark and the street washed in the amber glow of traffic lights and storefront signs. The summer air is still warm, carrying the scent of burger grease and exhaust. I laugh as Taylor’s heel catches the edge of a cracked sidewalk, steadying her before she can topple into me.