Page 113 of The Good Vampire’s Guide to Blood & Boyfriends

Once they settled at the table, Brennan excused himself as politely as he could, pleading the bathroom. As soon as he was out of their view he picked up the pace and hauled ass to the bathroom, poking furiously at the phone to dial Nellie’s number.

The ringing taunted him, and he paced the length of the empty men’s room.

What could he have done? What could he do besides turn to Nellie and Sunny? This was the right choice, the logical choice. He should let the experts handle it.

“Wait, Sunny, what did that say?” came Nellie’s tinny voice over the speaker, and then a sharp beep.

Voicemail. Brennan glared at his phone like it was at fault.

“Nellie, I saw Dom in Boston, by the aquarium,” Brennan said. “Call me back.”

He dialed Sunny and got the same treatment, albeit with a slightly more self-aware voicemail greeting. He stopped in his pacing to stare in dismay at his phone.

He tried Sunny again. Nothing. His thumbs tore through the feed of the Facebook group, looking for a clue to what they were up to. They were nothing if not eerily responsive. Sunny especially.

He sent a last text with the restaurant info and what he’d seen and faced the bathroom door. That had to be enough.

Brennan had a family dinner to get to.

“So what do you study, Brendan?”

Cole took a sip of water like he wished it would drown him, but this was neither the first nor last time someone had made that particular mistake.

“History,” Brennan answered. “And sociology, and a minor in English lit—”

“Oh,history,” said Christopher. “That’s a tough field to get into. Tough degree to make use of.”

“Oh, sure,” said Deb, “Mary Bird from church, her son majored inhistory and now he works down at thePublix”—she lowered her voice like she was saying a dirty word—“slicing meats for thedeli.”

“Mom,” Cole tried to scold.

She shook her head, sniffed like he hadn’t spoken. “I can’t imagine it’s very fulfilling.”

“Or lucrative,” agreed Christopher.

Christopher and Deborah McNamara looked like a stock photo portraying 1950s gender roles. Where Cole’s dad wore a business-formal suit and tie, his mom was in a tea-length dress. Where Christopher seemed to wear a permanent scowl, Deb always wore a pleasant smile.

“Cole was smart, choosing something so useful. Business is really so versatile,” Deb said.

“He won’t have trouble getting a job, assuming he actually applies himself,” said Christopher, giving Cole a pointed look that Brennan didn’t care for at all. Cole shrunk into his seat beside Brennan, and Brennan reached to squeeze his hand under the table. Cole clung to his fingers with a death grip.

Dinner went on like that, Cole’s parents speaking in passive-aggressive language that left Brennan out of his depth while Cole grew steadily closer to hiding under the table.

As conversation went on, Cole’s voice grew tense, his words short, his grip on Brennan’s fingers tight enough to hurt if Brennan were human. Cole’s jaw did a rippling thing it only did when he was deeply pissed, or deep in thought. Now, it was probably both.

“What exactly do you plan to do with a history degree?” Deb asked pleasantly.

Brennan swallowed down his annoyance, his anxiety, and tried his best to sound like he had his shit together. Like he was hardworking and somewhat intelligent and even halfway deserving of their son.

“Maybe something curatorial, at a museum. But you need a lot more education, or internships, and they’re really selective.”

“Oh, we couldn’t be prouder of Cole for landing his internship for this semester,” Deb said. “He’s been working so hard, haven’t you, baby?”

Brennan blinked and swung his head toward Cole, who was fiddling with the edge of his cloth napkin, studiously avoiding Brennan’s gaze.

“His internship?” Brennan hedged. Cole had mentioned his parents pressuring him about it, but not that he’d gotten one.

“At the Boston branch of my company,” said Christopher. “I had to make some calls, but Cole will prove himself in no time.”