The Last Vampyre Prophecy Read Free

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    Ralph is a twisted, egotistical, giant, womanizing asshole. He’s tried for two years to get in my pants and when he realized it would never happen he brings out the asshole card whenever I am around. But having two brothers I can dish it right back to him and that makes him hate me even more.
    Finally, the pastry coolers a re emptied and the machines wiped down. I grab my purse and wait by the door as Ralph sets the alarm. Two minutes later he strolls across the tiled floor and yanks my keys from the lock then shoves them into my hand.
    To o tired to fight I just sigh and wait for him to open the stupid freaking door. Once my feet hit the concrete I am heading west in search of my gloriously tiny apartment with no working heat but a warm comfortable bed.
    The foot traffic at this time of night is sparse. A stray flier for a local band whips around the ground in front of me and blows against my leg wrapping around my shin.
    I bend down and grasp it wadding the faded ink and throw it in the nearest trashcan.
    The frigid November air slice s through my meager coat and chills me to the bone. The resulting blast of winter air between each building takes my breath. Winter in New York City is cold but the last few weeks have been brutal—bone chilling cold.
    My pace quickens when the familiar brick building comes into view. Visions of me, a hot bowl of soup and a smutty ass romance novel plays before my eyes.
    George i s sitting on the stoop, as usual, and greets me a little too enthusiastically. I smile but keep my head downcast. Sometimes the man just gives me the fucking creeps. He is twice my age, recently divorced and apparently on the prowl.
    The stupid elevator has n’t worked in months so I lazily climb the four flights of stairs. The dead beat mom in 4-C is passed out again, I assume, because her kid is tearing down the hall on his bike, ramming the walls and screeching at the top of his lungs.
    I grit my teeth and shove my keys into the lock. Once I step inside and slam the door I tune the world out. Nothing else matters to me but my jammies and my smutty-ass book.
    If I can ’t—won’t—have a real life romance then turning the sizzling pages of the latest contemporary, orgasm-inducing novel will have to suffice.
    As I pour a glass of wine I remember my study date with Benton tomorrow and blush to my hairline. I don’t know what came over me but there is no way in hell I could go through with it. I contemplate my derisory excuses—The flu, or a sick parent or even the tired old headache line. One of those will have to be my option.
    Since I was young—ten years old—my ability to interact with the opposite sex was flawed. Boys had approached me my entire life but I felt awkward and blisteringly shy around them.
    I ’d considered my sexuality briefly in high school wondering if that was the catalyst but ultimately I knew that wasn’t the case.
    I still d on’t know what my aversion is but it’s crippling. I am a twenty-two year old girl who’s never even been kissed.
    Sometimes I cry over it. I see love everyday. Elderly people that would do anything rather than break the bond of their hands while walking through a door and young couples in love are the worst. They fan smitten eyes toward one another, then there are the lucky ones that have children. The love and adoration on their faces when they look at the partner that helped bring their child into this world. It just warms yet breaks my heart, every time.
    There i s just something flawed within me. I’ve never been able to connect that fissure. I am fundamentally lacking and it is a hard cross to bear.
    I sigh and yank my kindle off the table. When the screen whirrs to life I lose myself in someone else’s beautiful life for the next few hours…
    Gordon Ramsey’s harsh voice wa kes me and I blink twice realizing I am sprawled out on my lumpy sofa, the kindle still on my chest.
    I y awn and stretch climbing off the tattered fabric and pad