"Mary Janice Davidson - Betsy 01.5 - Dead Girls Don't Dance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Mary Janice)

strength, the beach shoes went flying, and then she sank her fangs into his

jugular.

"Ow! Hey!" Outraged, his big hands came up to push her away. "That's—are you

fucking biting me? That's so weird! And kinky! Now cut it out! Ahhhh. No, I mean

it… stop. Don't! Don't stop!" He grabbed her head, she hung on like a leech, and

they grappled in the sand for a few seconds. She could feel his throat working

beneath her lips as he babbled. "Seriously, this is so bogus! I save a dead

chick—sort of—and she chews on me? You just wait 'til the cops get here,

chickie, they'll, like, commit you or something. Ha!"

She broke away—something she had never done before; in fact, as early as a year

ago, she wouldn't have been able to break off until her thirst had been

satisfied—and said, trying not to whine, "Are you going to talk through this

whole thing?"

"What, I'm supposed to sit here and think about England?"

"They usually start screaming about now, and then they faint."

"Well, forget it." He jerked a thumb at himself. "Daniel Harris don't faint,
baby. No matter how much you chew on him!"

She stared at him. "Daniel Harris?"

"Yup. And I don't scream, either, except for that one time I saw a really grody

spider fall into the toilet when I was taking a whiz, talk about a shocker! I

didn't know pee could—y'know—crawl back up if you were surprised, but I'm here

to tell you—"

"Daniel Harris, St. Olaf college?"

"Uh… yeah." He peered at her. "Do I know you, Weird Babe?"

She sighed. "I'm Andrea Mercer."