Cherry Stem

CHERRY STEM

Sotia Lazu

www.loose-id.com

Cherry Stem

Copyright © January 2012 by Sotia Lazu

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eISBN 978-1-61118-718-2

Editor: Venessa Giunta

Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs

Printed in the United States of America

Published by

Loose Id LLC

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San Francisco CA 94104-0809

www.loose-id.com

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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* * * *

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Chapter One

My mom always told me not to play with my food. I try to keep that in mind.

She never told me not to let my food play with me, however, so I would let tall, dark, and handsome—with gray eyes, a brilliant smile, and killer cheekbones—flirt with me to his heart’s content. Then I’d let him take me to his place.

Then I’d feed.

By the time he woke up in the morning, he’d remember having great, anonymous sex and nothing else.

That was the plan, at least. That had
always
been the plan.

Until things changed.

* * * *

I was just about to leave my apartment when there was a knock at my door. I opened it, and Dotty, one of the second-floor tenants, burst into the room. We weren’t friends per se, but she’d occasionally pop by for some girl chat. I’d told her I worked nights and that I needed my beauty sleep, so she wouldn’t disturb me during the day, but she’d never before come by after nine in the evening, either.

“I need your help.” She gasped for breath as she turned to face me, running a hand through her short, spiky black hair.

At nearly six feet tall, on the heavy side, and with a square jaw, Dotty never seemed to need anybody’s help.

“What can I do?” I secretly hoped whatever it was could wait until my stomach was full. Her outfit somehow made me doubt my hopes would be justified; she looked ready to go out. As did I, which I prayed she’d notice.

She bit her lip, then said, “The sitter was with Mark until now but she had to go, and my date—ummm.” She blushed. “I invited him upstairs for a drink and he’s in the car waiting.” She inhaled deeply, then blurted out the actual reason for her visit. “Can Mark stay here for an hour?” Finally taking in my short leather skirt and bustier that left little to the imagination, she pouted. “I guess not.” With a sigh, she turned for the door.

Even though she turned slowly enough that I knew she
expected
me to stop her, I felt bad. “Okay, but only for one hour,” I said to her back. I’d looked after him before.

The words had barely left my mouth when she opened the door again and let Mark, her pudgy six-year-old son, inside. “I owe you big-time,” she told me over her shoulder, blew Mark a kiss, and rushed out before I could change my mind.

“Why aren’t you wearing pajamas?” the boy asked, tilting his head to the side. “Did you just come back, like Mommy?”

I swear he would have had a brilliant career with the Spanish Inquisition had he been born back then. Since I always believed in treating children like adults, I opted for the truth. “Nope. I’m going out as soon as your mommy picks you up.”

“Why are you going out after dark?” His thin eyebrows were furrowed, the sharp expression looking out of place in the adorable roundness of his face.

“Why not?” I asked innocently. Ha! I could beat him at his own game.

“My daddy says only bad people go out after dark.” Crossing his arms in front of his easily breakable chest, he looked at me smugly.

I understood why his mother never asked her ex-husband to babysit. “Your mommy was out until now,” I said with a saccharine smile. “Is
she
bad?”

He apparently took offense, because he stomped his foot. “No!”

“Well, then, your daddy is wrong.” There. I’d had the last word. How would he beat that argument?

“But it was
day
when my mom went out.” Smug again.

I was tempted to try my brainwash gaze on him but thought better of it. Instead I said, “If you don’t talk again until your mom comes to get you, I’ll give you ten bucks.”

I saw him consider it. “Twenty.”

I should have started lower, but it was too late for that now. “Fifteen, and you never tell her about our deal.” Hey, I said I’d looked after him a couple of times; I never said I was good at it. I’d have to find another way to work around his questions next time. He was getting too expensive!

Dotty wasn’t late to pick him up. She was disheveled and grinning like the Cheshire cat, but not late. I grabbed my keys, stuffed them in the front of my bustier, all but tossed Mark to her, and was out of there.

* * * *

The Gridlock was one of my favorite bars, which meant I visited it only every couple of months. It wouldn’t do to be seen leaving with a different man every night, especially if said man didn’t remember me the following day.

Spacious and dimly lit, the Gridlock was decorated in shades of red and black. Drapes separated a few private stalls, and the upper floor housed the supersecret VIP area. Get your minds out of the gutter; the place wasn’t a sex club. The VIP area was only secret because celebrities often chose it to unwind when they needed to stay away from the public eye for a while—no orgies took place there as far as I was aware. What added most to the bar’s appeal, however, were its patrons: mostly young professionals who weren’t out to get wasted. Pretty people who took care of themselves, looked and smelled good, relaxed on leather armchairs, and the music was to my taste. As was the bartender, but he was off limits.

Heads turned as I entered, but I maintained my cool. The outfit I’d chosen was at odds with the surroundings, but by the time I’d left home, I’d been in too much of a hurry, and the club I’d initially had in mind was too far away. I might have gone through the trouble of finding another place that suited my attire, but a phone call earlier that evening had jarred me—always,
always
change your cell number after breaking up with someone, or they can bug you for years. I looked too cheap for the place, but it was too late to do something about it now. Holding my head high and keeping from swishing my butt too much, I made my way inside and pretended not to notice the glares a group of women in their thirties, in skirt suits and with perfect coiffures, threw my way. I was there for a reason.

I moved toward the bar with deliberately slow steps, only occasionally glancing around. Gaze not lingering on a face for more than a split second, I tried not to let anyone know I was looking for someone to fulfill my needs for the night.

I spotted the perfect guy within twenty-five seconds of scanning the room. I was sure I’d never seen him around before. Believe me, I’d remember if I had. He was a head taller than everybody else, and his shoulders looked as wide as my bed. He was leaning casually against the bar, holding a bottle of beer.

Even at a distance, I could see his eyes—fringed with long, dark eyelashes—were the same charcoal gray as his shirt. And they were locked on me. The first phase of the plan was complete: the prey had seen me and was attracted.

Phase two consisted of faking disinterest until he made a move. If I took the first step, he might deem me too easy, and that often wasn’t enough of an ego booster to make a man take me home, as I’d discovered in the past. Although, if I played my cards right, it might be more than enough to make him follow me into the ladies’ room.

With the rent deadline approaching, I needed money that night almost as much as I needed blood, so the ladies’ was not an option.

Oh, the blood thing reminded me, there’s something I should have said earlier.

My name is Cherry, and I’m a vampire.

Sadly, with society these days not really brimming with jobs for an ex-catalog model turned aspiring porn star turned vampire, I often found myself in need of cash. When that happened, I looked for someone to serve as a…
sponsor
rather than merely a blood donor. For the day, not indefinitely.

Despite having been in a couple of adult movies, I was never a sex-worker. Most of the guys I fed on got nothing other than the
promise
of sex. If they turned me on, I might do them as I fed, but I never did it because I thought I had to. Letting someone cover my expenses in the long run would change that dynamic.

So would falling in love with someone. A
breathing
someone, with a pulse and an expiration date.

It would screw things up majorly, which was why I’d never slept with a living guy more than once since I’d become part of the living dead.
The living dead
. It sounds so very ominous; however, some of us are nice.

But I’m digressing.

One of the coolest vampire powers is mind control, which some swear is the best way to a healthy relationship. I, however, prefer not having to wipe my lover’s brain clean every so often. A steady human boyfriend from whom I’d have to hide my true nature would, therefore, be out of the question.

Male vampires, on the other hand, mostly have relationship issues. The way I see it, knowing you’ll be around for a
very
long time makes you extremely picky as to whom you want by your side.

And they are patronizing, controlling assholes with superiority complexes.

And
they cheat on you.

I admit, I only know one of them that well, but I’m making an educated guess.

I approached the side of the bar farthest from the guy and ordered a Bloody Mary. Silly private jokes like that, lame though they are, always give me a weird sense of accomplishment. I know; I need therapy.

Drink in hand, I tapped my foot to the rhythm of the music and observed the crowd dancing—slowly swaying, to be more precise—while I mentally counted the seconds it would take for him to approach me. When he hadn’t moved any closer after sixty whole seconds, I turned and gave him the
squint
.

The squint is a leftover from my short days as a catalog model, before I decided on a major career change and made my first of two adult films. To achieve it, you narrow your eyes just enough to make your gaze look focused and promising. Overdo it, and you look myopic. Combine it with a slight pout, and you have guys eating out of your hand.

Or flashing you a smile, as was the case now.

His smile was dazzling. Straight, white teeth—I’m a
vampire
; we pay attention to teeth—and a lower lip that begged me to nibble on it. And
oh
those cheekbones!