Nice Girls Don't Date Dead Men (13 page)

“I am intrigued by your offer. Can we discuss a down payment?” He grinned as his fingers danced along my spine, deftly manipulating the zipper. This was a matter of some concern, considering that (a) this wasn’t the kind of dress that allowed foundation garments, and (b) we were sort of out in the open. Released from their chiffon prison, my breasts spilled into his waiting hands.

“Do I look like the kind of girl who would do this sort of thing in a parking lot?” I asked, entering the battle for control of my zipper.

“Dick said you’ve gotten down and dirty in a parking lot.” Gabriel smirked.

“What happened to ignoring and disdaining Dick? Can we go back to that?” I whispered as he pressed me against the wall, pinning me with exquisite pressure. I could hear the ping of hairpins on the pavement as his fingers slid into my carefully arranged updo. Gabriel slipped his free hand under my skirt to tug at my panties. Unable to support me and strip me at the same time, he finally ripped them off my hips.

“You owe me a pair of good black panties,” I told him in mock dismay. My fangs extended, nipping at his bottom lip. He grinned at me, even as the pin drop of blood welled at his mouth. Maybe I am the kind of girl who will get down and dirty in a parking lot.

“I’ll just hold on to these, then,” he said, tucking them into his jacket pocket.

“When can we leave?” I murmured against his lips. “When can I take you home and—”

We both froze as the door swung open and our sensitive eyes were assaulted with light.

“Oh, my!” We turned to see Mama Ginger framed in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. And I was pinned against the wall. And the wreckage of my panties hung from Gabriel’s pocket like a frayed handkerchief.

“Mama Ginger!”

Gabriel set me down on my feet and held out his jacket to hide my efforts to pull up my dress. I burst into helpless giggles as I lost my grip on the bodice and the dress fell—no jokes about having nothing to hold it up, thank you—puddling at my waist.

“This isn’t funny,” Mama Ginger scolded.

“Maybe if I bash my head against something enough times, it will be.” I grunted as I once again secured my chest under my dress.

“Jane, I am ashamed of you!” Mama Ginger cried, pulling me into the doorway. She turned on Gabriel. “And you, I can’t believe you! If you weren’t in the wedding party, I would send you home. Now, you get in there and sit with the rest of the groomsmen.”

Gabriel was truly flustered. “Now see here—”

“I don’t want to see you near Jane for the rest of the night. When I was a girl, nice young men did not paw at young ladies in dirty alleys.”

When she was a young lady, Mama Ginger got cited
for mooning a busload of tourists in town for the annual lace-tatting convention. But Gabriel didn’t know that, so he looked appropriately chagrined.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, slinking back into the bar.

“And Jane, you just go on over to the bride’s table and sit down. But first, fix your lipstick. You look like a tramp.” My jaw dropped. “You heard me. Now, scoot!”

When I emerged from the bathroom, feeling far less clean than when I went in, Jolene, Zeb, my vampire friends, and some of Jolene’s uncles were doing shots at the bar. This included Uncle Zane, who sounded a lot like Boomhauer from
King of the Hill
. The only words you could understand were his curse words. And he cursed a lot. His twin brother, Dane, made a point not to curse, instead using elementary-grade curse substitutes. When I made my preshot toast, “Here’s to heavy security at the wedding,” Zane said something along the lines of “Like that will do any damned good.” Dane told Zane to watch his effing mouth in front of the effing ladies, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, come on, just say the words,” Jolene drawled, patting Dane on the back. “We all know what you’re trying to say, just go ahead, be a man and go for the guessto.”

I chuckled. “Either you’ve had too much punch or I think you mean gusto.”

Zeb snorted as he took another drink. “Well, Jolene’s not exactly a rocket scientist. She also says ‘foo pas’ instead of faux pas and ‘lie-berry’ instead of library.”

Jolene recoiled as if Zeb had slapped her. Zane and Dane looked at Zeb as if they were sure they’d heard him
wrong, then abandoned their drinks, returned to the werewolf side of the room, and glared at their nephew-to-be. Even Dick and Gabriel seemed uncomfortable.

Despite the disturbing pallor that had sapped her cheeks, Jolene gave a forced, tinkly little laugh. “It’s a good thing I have smart friends. I think I’ll just get some more punch.”

Zeb rolled his eyes and punched Gabriel’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing she’s got such a pretty face, because there’s not much going on behind it.”

I sent a significant look toward Zeb. He had that hazy, befuddled look on his face again, like someone coming out of anesthesia. He seemed to shake it off, his eyes blinking as he tried to follow Jolene’s path across the room. A brief flash of remorse crossed his features. Then it was replaced by some empty macho smirk. “You might want to go apologize to her.”

Zeb took another drink and crushed the cup in his hand before tossing it over his shoulder. “You’re right. Otherwise, I’ll be paying for it later. Am I right?”

Zeb slapped me on the butt and wandered away. My jaw dropped. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, but from the look on his face, I don’t think he was able to process whether Zeb had just besmirched my honor or butt-slapping was something we did when I was still human. Trust me, it was not. But I wasn’t about to goad my drunk vampire boyfriend in this tense atmosphere.

“What was that about?” asked Dick, who was watching Zeb with a mix of irritation and concern. “Zeb’s not usually such a—”

“Ash-hole?” Gabriel slurred, and swayed slightly.

Eager to change the direction of the conversation, I stared into Gabriel’s dilated pupils. “How did you get drunk so quickly? I thought our vampire constitutions kept us from being cheap drunks.”

“I’m not drunk!” Gabriel cried, indignant. “All I’ve had to drink was this punch Jolene’s cousins gave me. It’s delicious. It tastes like pineapple.”

“You were completely sober when I left you a few minutes ago.” I sniffed the cup and turned to watch as the bartenders poured two gallon jugs of grain alcohol into a galvanized metal tub with Kool-Aid, sliced apples, pineapple, and pears.

Like many a college freshman before him, Gabriel had fallen into the hooch trap.

Hooch is liquid evil. It’s about forty-proof, but the Kool-Aid and fruit cover the taste of the alcohol. So before you know you’re drunk, you’ve had about four Solo cups’ worth.

“Well, it’s a good thing you can’t eat the fruit,” I muttered.

“I think I’m going to enjoy this.” Dick chuckled, watching as Gabriel squinted at the neon bar lights. “Gabriel couldn’t hold his liquor when we were kids, either. He ruined the last good carpet at my house sicking up my daddy’s best bourbon. You should have seen how green his face got—”

Gabriel slapped a clumsy hand over Dick’s mouth. “Shh. Jane shouldn’t have to hear that story. It’s not a nice story, you can tell by looking at her face. I love Jane’s
face. She makes the sweetest little face when I take her—hey!” He pouted when I slid his hooch out of reach.

“I think I’d like to hear this,” Dick said, his expression serious.

“You, go outside and sober up,” I told Gabriel, shoving him toward the door. I turned on a smirking Dick. “You, stop thinking about my sex faces.”

Dick grinned. “I’ll just follow Gabriel outside to see if he throws up.”

“Worst. Party. Ever,” I grumbled as I searched for the bride-to-be.

Jolene was drowning her sorrows in beer weenies. I would tell her that she was going to eat her way out of a size 4, but she had that hypermetabolism going for her. Plus, you just don’t want to interrupt someone with superstrength when they’re stress-eating. So I sort of nudged a plate of chicken wings at her without making eye contact. I saw a biologist do it once on a tiger special, something about submissive gestures and keeping all of your digits intact.

Jolene tore into the wings with a sort of glum sniffle, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in her munching.

“I’m sorry Zeb said that,” I told her.

“Oh, he didn’t mean it.” She sniffed. “I know he’s just under a lot of stress right now, with the wedding and my family and everything. I mean, the poor thing’s been getting those headaches, and they make him cranky. It would help if his mama would ease up a little bit and stop being so …” Jolene paused, tears shimmering at the corners of her eyes. “Why doesn’t she like me?”

“Oh, honey,” I said, wrapping an arm around her. “She doesn’t like anybody. She doesn’t even really like me. She just likes to feel she has some control over the situation. She’s planned for me to marry Zeb for years, and she accepts change about as well as my mama. You just have to give her a few months. She’ll come around. Maybe a few years. Give her a few years.”

Jolene stuffed a nacho into her mouth and didn’t respond.

“Zeb loves you,” I offered.

She sniffed but was not cheered.

“Mama Ginger just caught me in a compromising position with Gabriel out back, half-topless and fully commando. That’s got to add a few points back in your column.”

Jolene brightened, stuffing three meatballs in her cheek. “Thanks. That helps.”

“What are friends for?”

Humans may mistake the wooing techniques of werewolves, particularly males, as predatory. Studies show that 10 percent of human-werewolf relationships begin with the male being maced
.

—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were

After the shipwreck that was the engagement party—
gah,
even I’m doing the
Titanic
thing now—I had to establish some special phone rules for Jolene.

For example, calling me several times during my midday sleepy time because someone is bleeding, unconscious, or on fire is acceptable. Calling me several times during my midday sleepy time because Mama Ginger tried to persuade the county clerk that Jolene and Zeb were actually first cousins and ineligible for a marriage license? Not so much.

Mama Ginger was well on her way to the Mother of the Groom Hall of Shame. Convinced that the Invitation Debacle hadn’t sent a clear enough message, she started making demands. She wanted her friend, Eula, who had never baked more than a bundt, to handle the
blue-and-white nautical-themed wedding cake for 200. She wanted Jolene to announce at the reception that the wedding coincided with Uncle Ace’s fifty-fourth birthday and to arrange for the DJ to play “Friends in Low Places” in his honor.

Mama Ginger also had very firm ideas about what she did not want for the wedding. For instance, Jolene’s aunt Lola runs a florist shop and had generously offered to make the floral arrangements. Mama Ginger claimed that she was allergic to pollen and insisted on silk flowers. She even went to the local floral outlet and bought out their supplies of silk daisies in magenta and yellow, nowhere near the delicate white lily arrangements Jolene wanted.

Mama Ginger had also eschewed the tradition of hosting the rehearsal dinner after Jolene’s mother declined another evening at Eddie Mac’s. Instead, Mimi offered to hold the dinner at the farm, since that’s where the rehearsal would be and it was rather remote. Mama Ginger said, “Hell, just plan the whole thing,” and decided to take no part in it.

When Mama Ginger tried to change the theme of the wedding from
Titanic
to “North and South,” I had to turn my phone off.

I had never seen Mama Ginger this fired up. Well, there was that time Zeb got cut from the Academic Team in high school and she slipped ipecac into the team advisor’s coffee. Poor Mrs. Russell was throwing up for three days and missed the state Governor’s Cup meet. The scary thing, then and now, was that Mama Ginger honestly
thought she was doing what was best for Zeb. Much like that cheerleader’s mom in Texas.

Zeb had problems of his own with Jolene’s far-too-affectionate cousin. Like most predators, Vance sensed a weakness. For all their grudged acceptance of Zeb, the pack did not appreciate Mama Ginger’s lack of affection for Jolene or her clear favoritism toward me. Vance was exploiting that, grumbling here and there among the relations that Zeb’s family didn’t appreciate the jewel they were getting. Oh, and that I was not to be trusted, because “no man can just be ‘friends’ with a woman, especially a vampire woman.”

If I’d had my phone on, I might have gotten a warning that Mama Ginger was planning to show up at my house early one evening “for a chat.” Translation: to pick apart my relationship and zero in on my soft emotional underbelly. The woman was like Hannibal Lecter in polyester pants.

Wearing my flannel reindeer pajamas and sipping my morning cup of Chock Full o’ Platelets, I was not prepared for company or the toxic apple cobbler she was carting into my house. I could only pray that Aunt Jettie didn’t decide to pop in at home. The first (and only) time Mama Ginger had visited River Oaks was for Jenny’s first baby shower. She lit up in the parlor and put the cigarette butt in a decorative urn that was on the mantel … which contained my beloved Great-Grandma Early’s ashes. Jettie, who was corporeal at the time, tossed Mama Ginger out on her ear and threw her straw handbag after her, telling her never to darken the door again. In retaliation, Mama Ginger started a rumor that
Aunt Jettie was secretly a vegetarian. It wasn’t nearly as damaging as she’d anticipated.