Read Your Coffin or Mine? for Free Online Page B

matches are die-hard Die Slut fans.” He seemed to think. “I’ll even make it three matches if you’ll hook up a docking station for my iPod.” I did have an entire stack of cards from Manhattan’s Most Wanted (not that any of them had probably heard of Die Slut, but I would cross that bridge later). Since they were all women, I needed to find an equal number of men.
    I eyed Word.
    He wasn’t exactly my ideal in the testosterone department, but with a good shampoo and some acne cream, he just might do.
    “ Three real dates?”
    I nodded.
    “In the same year?”
    “In the same month,” I told him. “ This month.”
    “You’re shittin’ me, right?”
    “Not at all. I’m Manhattan’s latest and greatest when it comes to matchmakers. I’m also a personal hygiene consultant and part-time wardrobe specialist, both of which,” I quickly added, “come with the profile.”
    He shook his head in amazement. “I haven’t had three dates in a single year, let alone the same month.”
    Why didn’t this surprise me? I smiled. “Consider it done.” I reached into Evie’s top drawer and pulled out a new client packet. “Just fill out this questionnaire when you finish up and we’ll get started right away.”
    He shoved his glasses back up on his nose and his gaze swiveled to the Krispy Kreme station set up a few feet away.
    I’d started offering free doughnuts with every profile several months ago as a temporary promotion. I’d tried at least a dozen others since—breath mints, pens, mugs, condoms—but nothing had gone over quite as well. The doughnuts were now a permanent fixture, along with coffee, tea, and the occasional insulin injection.
    “Can I have a doughnut, too?” Word asked.
    “If you hook up the speakers that go with the docking station, you can have the entire box.” Do I know how to bargain or what?
    I picked up Killer, left Word to his computer work, and walked into my office. I set the cat on the floor, opened the small latte I’d picked up, and gave it to the scrawny animal.
    Killer sniffed the lukewarm liquid and wiggled his whiskers before dipping his black head. He started lapping up the goody.
    A sliver of warmth went through me, followed by a grumble of hunger. I retrieved what looked like a wine bottle from my minifridge, settled at my desk, and popped the cork. The ripe scent spiraled through the air and slid into my nostrils and I closed my eyes. The aroma stirred my nerve endings and made my body tingle. I took a long drink, the cold liquid gliding down my throat. I don’t normally like my dinner cold (what vampire did?), but I was having trouble finding a microwave to go with my office decor.
    Lame, huh? But it’s all I had at the moment and it was a thousand times better than the truth: that I was desperately hoping I would eventually get used to the cold stuff. Then maybe, just maybe I could forget the warm, sweet taste of Ty’s blood and stop craving it.
    Stop craving him.
    Geez, I’d been doing just fine before I’d met the guy. I’d been the bottle queen. No playing Name That Blood Type as I passed cute guys on the street. I’d been happy. Or at least content. I’d had the utmost confidence that my own Count Right would come around someday.
    But then Ty had walked into my life and now all I could think about was sinking my fangs into him again. And having sex with him. And sinking my fangs into him while I was having sex with him.
    Not that I would. No. I was so over him.
    Or I would be just as soon as I reassured myself that he was okay. I needed closure. Then I could totally and completely forget him. I could enjoy my dinner again, and my afterlife would be back to normal.
    Hey, it could happen.
    I turned my attention to my computer, opened my e-mail account, and stared at my overflowing in-box. I’d just clicked on my first message when the phone rang. My eyes snagged on the latest Victoria’s Secret offer—ten dollars off and free body butter—as I snatched