Dead End Dating (15 page)

On the other hand, my choices were limited.

“Do you think he would be interested in going on a date?” Not that I was agreeing to it. But with Sunday looming, it was worth discussing at least.

“I’m sure I could get him to go along with it. He’s really sweet and it’s been forever since he’s had anyone to share a tapioca with. Does Mrs. Wilhelm like tapioca?”

“I seriously doubt it.” This was crazy. They had nothing in common save the fact that they were old. But he looked old and she didn’t. He acted old and she didn’t.

They had zero in common.

“That’s Uncle Bernie’s favorite food,” Evie went on, sipping her newest appletini. “He’s lost some weight and his dentures don’t exactly fit the way they should, which means they come out when he actually bites into anything solid. He usually sticks to soft foods and liquids. He’s big on liquids. Didn’t Mrs. Wilhelm say something about a liquid diet?”

I smiled. It wasn’t much, but I was willing to take what I could get. “Let’s make a match.”

“For the last time, I’m not going,” Nina One told me.

I sat in the penthouse suite at the Waldorf and watched her primp in front of the mirror the next night. “But I already set up the date. You’re meeting him in two hours.”

“No, I’m not.” She brushed her flawless skin with a hint of sparkle dust. “I’m going to Alain Ducasse tonight for dinner.” She smiled, revealing her straight white teeth and slightly protruding incisors. “I’m in the mood for French.”

“In particular, a cute French waiter named Jacques.” Nina Two sat on a nearby sofa, a glass of wine in one hand. “She’s been feeding off him for the past few weeks.” She shifted her attention to her blond friend. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to drain the poor boy dry.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” Nina One licked her lips. “But he
is
delicious.”

“You can’t do the waiter tonight. You’re going out with Wilson.” I bolted to my feet and paced around the coffee table. “I already told him you would be there.”

“That’s not my problem. I told you I didn’t want to go. I’m not looking for a mate right now.” She shuddered. “I’m having too much fun to devote myself to one man.”

“You don’t have to spend eternity with the guy. Just a few hours. Meet him and act a little interested. That’ll buy me more time to actually find him a real mate.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please, please.”

“I’ll go.”

My head swiveled toward the sofa. Nina Two shrugged and smiled. “He sounds like an okay guy, and I haven’t been out with an actual vamp in forever.”

“Because they’re all a bunch of chauvinistic narcissists,” Nina One said.

Nina Two shrugged. “Aren’t we all?”

“I might be a narcissist, but I believe in equal rights for all female vampires.”

“Which is why you’re still single,” I told Nina One.

“I have commitment issues.” She fluffed her blond hair. “That’s why I’m still single. Why devote yourself to one man when there are so many?”

“It’s called procreation,” I said. “As in survival of the species. Speaking of which”—I turned to Nina Two—“what’s your orgasm quotient?”
Ten,
I silently begged.
Just say at least ten and we’ll be in business.

“Five.”

“Close enough.”

“F
rank?” I came up short when I walked into my office Saturday night and found my latest project pacing a hole in my ultra-favorite Persian rug.

Okay, it was my only Persian rug, and had been a present from The Ninas to wish me well in my new business venture. Either way, I liked it and I wasn’t in a big hurry to have to replace it. “What are you doing here?”

He stopped. His head snapped up, and his watery blue gaze collided with mine. “What if she doesn’t like me?” he asked in a small, pitiful voice that made my chest tighten.

Or it would have tightened, if I wasn’t a badass, cold-hearted V-A-M-P.

“She’s not supposed to like you.” My own voice went soft despite the whole V-A-M-P thing. “You’re her warm body—sort of—and she’s your practice run.” I figured I needed to break Francis of all the blushing, and the best thing to do was send him out and get him used to social situations. Hence, my fantabulous idea to pair him up with Melissa Thomas, the human who’d come to Dead End Dating to find a date for her sister’s wedding. “Nobody has to like anybody. You should be charming enough so that everyone will think that she likes you and that you like her, but there’s no genuine
like
involved.” I stepped closer and my eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you wearing the contacts?”

“They make my eyes itchy. You want me to be calm, and I can’t be calm with itchy eyes.”

Okay, one mountain at a time. He was wearing one of the outfits we’d picked out. His hair was styled—or it had been before he’d run his hand through it about a zillion times while pacing my rug. Now it looked windblown. Casual.
Reckless.

I smiled and set my purse on the desk, along with the latte I’d picked up for Evie. I’d forgotten that she was leaving early tonight—her TiVo was misbehaving and she didn’t want to miss a
Lost
rerun, which she’d originally missed before I’d given her enough of a raise to have the TiVo reconnected.

Reckless was definitely a mesmerizing vamp trait.

“What?” he asked when I continued to stare at him.

“Just admiring my handiwork.” I came around to stand in front of him. “Even without the contacts, you look really good. Wrinkled”—I noted his new Dior tie which now looked ragged and limp because he’d tugged on it one too many times—“but good. How do you feel?”

“Nauseous.”

“Vampires don’t get nauseous. We have an iron constitution.” Unless you accidentally sank your teeth into a werevamp, but that was another story entirely. “Did you feed?”

He shook his head and started pacing again. “I couldn’t. I was too nauseous.”

“Frank, Frank,
Frank.
” I gripped his upper arm to keep him from delivering any more torture to the Persian. “You’ve got to remember our objective. We’re trying to hook you up, not get you arrested for attacking some poor innocent because you’re starved to death from nerves.”

“But you said this wasn’t a real hookup.” He turned a stricken look on me.

Good going, Lil.
Now he looked panicked
and
nauseous.

“It isn’t a real hookup,” I assured him. “I’m speaking figuratively. Tonight is just a chance to flaunt your new look, make eye contact, and get you used to being a hot commodity.” I added another soothing pat to his shoulder, and my palms cheered from the wonderful feel of his new shirt. What can I say? I’ve got a weakness for silk. “Even so,” I told him, “you have to feed. Otherwise, while everyone else is chowing down on wedding cake, you’ll be draining the maid of honor in the nearest linen closet.” I shook my head. “Dead End Dating rule number one: no biting. At least not tonight.
Nada.
Zip.” I walked around to my desk, retrieved a bottle of the imported stuff I kept in my office mini-fridge for desperate moments—Evie had her Godiva, and I had my O positive. I uncorked the bottle and handed it to him. “Don’t be shy. Drink.”

He hesitated and I motioned him on until he took a tentative swig. His cheeks instantly pinked and his breathing seemed to slow. “There.” I took a sip of the latte. “Now, don’t you feel better?”

He shrugged. “A little.”

“Good. Now take another drink and stop worrying. You’ll do just fine. Just be yourself.”

He took another quick gulp and nodded. “I can do that.”

“Sure, you can. Whatever you do, just remember to make eye contact with every female. And try not to use that whiny voice you use when you’re nervous. And don’t talk about Bob Barker or
The Price Is Right.
Or Britney. Or the twins. And whatever you do, don’t talk about scrapbooking.” I eyed him. “On second thought, nix the whole ‘be yourself’ idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s try a little role-playing. Who’s your favorite actor?” When he opened his mouth, I added, “He’s a game show host, not an actor.”

His mouth snapped shut and he seemed to think. “John Wayne.”

“Too old.”

“Jerry Lewis.”

“Too funny.”

“Rock Hudson.”

“Too gay.” I motioned him to take another drink and tried to quench my own thirst with another mouthful of latte. As if. I hadn’t fed yet, and the sight was making my tummy tingle. Francis did look positively yummy tonight.

Francis and yummy in the same sentence?

I shook away the disturbing thought. “Think of an actor who wasn’t around during the Great Depression,” I went on. “Someone who’s been popular in the last decade. Someone who epitomizes the good-looking, successful, sexy, alpha male.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really watch a lot of action-type movies.” He seemed to think and his gaze lit. “I did see
Blade,
though.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

“Perfect. We’ll use Wesley Snipes. Tonight, you’re not Frank. You’re Blade. Now let me see your Blade face.”

He made an expression that looked like a cross between a smile and a snear, and I started to feel a little nauseous myself.

“Okay, so forget the face. Let’s focus on the walk. You’re dangerous and cool and aloof. A real badass. Men fear you. Women lust after you. Now go.” I watched him strut across the carpet and did my best not to cringe.

“How was that?”

“Forget the walk. Let’s focus on the talk. Just keep your voice low and to the point. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try, but—”

“To the point,” I cut in. “The less said, the better.” He nodded and I smiled. “Now get going.” I steered him through Evie’s office and outside to the curb. I signaled for a cab and turned back to Blade.

He looked ready to throw up.

“Stop worrying,” I told him as he climbed into the cab. “She’ll like you.” Okay, okay, I fell off the big, bad V-A-M-P bandwagon. So sue me.

I gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Just relax and try to have some fun.” He actually smiled then, and I waved him off. “Go on and get out of here. DED rule number two: never keep a woman waiting.”

It wasn’t actually a rule, but I was sort of making things up as I went along, and it sounded good.

I sighed, sent up a silent plea to that Great Big Vamp in the Sky, and turned to walk back into my office.

I was just about to reach for the door when I felt the human a few feet away. He was staring at me—hey, I hadn’t worn my pink chenille tank top and boot-cut, low-rise Fornarina jeans for nothing.

The thing was, he wasn’t thinking about me or what he’d like to do to me. He wasn’t thinking about anything except a hot dog. To be more specific, a chili cheese dog with extra heavy onions and sauerkraut and—ugh. No wonder this guy couldn’t get a date on his own.

“Welcome to Dead End Dating.” I held the door for him, and he followed me inside. “I’m Lil Marchette, your Dead End Dating diva.” I’d learned from watching several marketing videos that it was best to mention your business name as often as possible. “And this is the Dead End Dating headquarters.”

“I’m Jerry. Jerry Dormfeld.”

“Well, Jerry, I’m glad you could come in and fill out a profile. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?” Normally, I wouldn’t have to ask, but I couldn’t read anything off this guy. Except the hot dog, that is. I could see him chowing down on a foot long, chili dribbling down his chin…I closed the window—actually, slammed it shut would have been a more appropriate description. “So, you’re looking for Miss Right?”

He nodded. “I’d really like to meet someone special.”

“You’ve certainly come to the right place. Let me show you into room A, and you can get started filling out the personality profile.” I ushered him in, retrieved a clipboard and the appropriate paperwork, and returned just as he slid into his chair.

“Wow, you’re fast.”

Duh. “What can I say? I’m on top of my game. So, Jerry, what are you looking for in a woman?”

Redundant question, I knew. Guys like Jerry—clueless, dateless, lonely guys like Jerry who lived for hot dogs and hot dogs—had but one criteria when it came to the opposite sex: a pulse.

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Someone nice?” I prompted.

He nodded. “Nice would be good.” He picked up the pencil and attacked the clipboard with the same determination I’d seen him use on the chili dog. “And she should be a redhead. With shoulder-length hair. Straight, not curly. And brown eyes. And no previous marriages or children. I don’t want anyone with extra baggage. Come to mention it, I’d prefer it if she didn’t have a lot of family hanging around. They can really get on your nerves what with calling all the time and showing up unannounced and butting in. I don’t like people who butt in.”

Okay, so I wasn’t as sharp as I thought. Jerry—one. Dating diva—zero.

“Just jot it all down in the Must Have section and I’ll do my best to pair you up in no time.”

“Good. Time is precious, you know.”

Yeah, yeah. Tell that to someone who didn’t have a few centuries to kill.