Dead End Dating Read Free Page A

the cop who worked in special investigations? The woman had a sixth sense that could have spelled major trouble for us if she’d started asking questions.”
    “She never asked questions. She just begged for sex.”
    “The vegetarian.”
    “America’s all about freedom of choice.”
    “The IRS agent.”
    “Okay, okay. I’ll hand them out.” He took the flyers and set them next to the cash register. “You really think this whole matchmaking thing will work?”
    I recited the statistics. “You’ve got a mega amount of single people and not nearly enough places to meet and greet. If you do manage to meet someone, you have no way of knowing what they’re really like.”
    Max gave me a pointed look.
    “I’m not talking about vamps. Obviously, we’re hypersensitive and a little more in tune when it comes to the opposite sex. But humans aren’t. And neither are werewolves or the dozens of Others out there.”
    “Maybe.”
    “There’s no maybe about it. I’m right on this. Say this girl goes out with a guy she happens to meet at the local coffee shop. She’s desperate to stop wasting her time, settle down, and find the right person, but he’s nothing more than a serial dater in an Armani shirt.” I shook my head. “It’s too hit and miss. On top of hooking yourself up, you’ve got blind dating, which is the most unproductive activity ever. ”
    “Since when did you become an expert?”
    “Since I’ve been on way too many blind dates.” His eyebrow kicked up a notch. “Okay, so I’ve been recording Dr. Phil. It’s strictly for research purposes. He’s a really smart guy.”
    “He’s a human.”
    “Nobody’s perfect.”
    He grinned. “Speak for yourself.”
    “Let’s face it,” I went on. “The world is full of lonely people in desperate need of intervention.” To make my point, I swept a gaze around the store, pausing on a girl who sat at a nearby computer. “Alone,” I told my brother before shifting my attention to a twenty-something man fighting with a copy machine at the front of the store. “Alone.” Another girl dawdled in front of the Liquid Paper display. “Alone.”
    I glanced at a born male vamp who leaned over a nearby color copy machine. I knew he was born because I could smell him. Born vamps had a wildness about them that gave off a sweet, rich, intoxicating aroma. From decadent fudge brownie to carrot cake with cream cheese icing. While the scents varied from vamp to vamp, they were always sugary, potent, and unmistakable. My nostrils flared. This guy smelled like a Twinkie. “Alone,” I gave the verdict.
    “How do you know he doesn’t have an eternity mate waiting in the car?”
    “Duh, he’s not wearing a commitment charm.” The charm was a small crystal vial that all committed vamps wore suspended on a chain around their neck. It held a drop of their significant other’s blood. While it looked like a hip piece of jewelry to the average human, it symbolized the sacred union between born vamps.
    Not that my brother had noticed. Men. Sheesh.
    I continued my prospective client search. A man stood near the computer terminals available for rent. “Alone,” I said again. A woman picked up a roll of packaging tape to go with the box she’d just retrieved. “Alone.” My gaze lit on the customer Max had just rung up. The man had paused in the Hi-Lighter aisle. “Painfully alone.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Because he already spent twenty minutes trying to decide between the neon green and the fuschia pink, and now he’s second-guessing his final choice.” I eyed my brother. “If he had a significant other, do you think he would be wasting time here ?”
    Max (FYI—chocolate cake drenched in caramel sauce) shrugged. “So maybe you’re on to something.”
    “I am.” I plucked a flyer from the top of the stack and turned to follow Mr. Hi-Lighter, who’d finally given up the debate and headed for the door. “Later, bro.”

“H ey,” I called out