The Last Person

“It was the period scene.” I laugh.

“He could have killed her, but he loved her. I wish I could find a man as accepting of my monthly cycles.”

“Um …” I glance up after arranging small piles of napkins around the trays. “He …” I can barely bring myself to say it. “Lapped up her blood.”

“Kelsey picked out an explicit novel last year, and everyone loved it.” Freya stands erect and parks her hands on her hips.

“It was a historical war romance. The hero didn’t go down on the heroine during her period.”

“Drayken is a vampire. It’s appropriate for the genre.”

I chuckle. “I’m not sure that’s ever appropriate.”

“Whatever. Hopefully your pick will go over better than mine.”

I feel confident my pick will rate higher than the vampire feasting on bloody—

Shaking my head, I wrinkle my nose. Nope. I can’t even think the words.

“Hello!” Brea and Piper arrive first as usual. They’re a little germophobic, so they want to fill their glasses and plates before everyone else contaminates the food.

Over the next few minutes, snacking and chatting turn into small clusters of mingling twenty-and-thirty-somethings as everyone congregates on the rooftop. A line of sun umbrellas shields us from the fireball of death in the sky. It’s still in the 80’s, but hopefully the temperature will dip another five or so degrees as we start our discussion.

“Okay. Let’s take our seats and get started,” I announce.

The small gathering, minus new guy Eric, sits on the lined up sofas separated by several long coffee tables filled with food and beverages along with a few paperback copies of the book, some with sticky notes marking spots in the first eight chapters.

“Let’s start with our usual opening by going down the line and everyone giving their one-word first impression of the book so far. I’ll go first.” I smile because this is hands-down the best story I’ve read in a long time. “Gripping.”

Everyone follows with a wide range of adjectives—intriguing, captivating, dynamic, sexy, emotional, intense, fascinating, engaging, evocative …

They like it so far. Freya shoots me a smile and a nod. I’m off to a much better start than her cunnilingus vampire book. These are my neighbors, my friends, my village. Of course I want them to like my taste in books.

“Great. So I have three different topics to discuss tonight. Let’s start with—”

The door to the right creaks open. Eric cringes. “Sorry, I’m a few minutes late.” He takes a seat across from me with his shaggy, slightly wet hair, prominent cheekbones, and perfect smile.

I inspect his ripped jeans, untied white sneakers, and tee that says “Fresh Out Of” with an image of two ducks at the end.

Cute.

I force my gaze from his odd shirt to his eyes. “We’re just getting ready to start discussing the prologue.”

“Wait! Eric needs to share his first impression of the book … with one word.” Freya smiles passing two different bottles of wine in Eric’s direction.

“Oh …” He takes the red wine and fills a glass. “One word, huh?” His lips twist as he finds an empty spot on the table to set the bottle. “Redundant.” He takes a sip of wine.

I narrow my eyes a fraction as a few other people chuckle like he’s joking.

Eric shrugs. “Has that word already been used? Repetitive works too. I don’t want to say predictable quite yet, but I’m a little suspicious that it’s headed in that direction.”

Clearing my throat, I tighten my low ponytail, trying to adjust it a little higher to keep my shoulder-length blond hair off my neck that’s suddenly feeling very warm. “Um … what exactly did you find so repetitive about it?” I play it cool like I’m not B. Ashton’s number one fan.

“The physical descriptions. In eight chapters, the characters’ hair and eye colors are mentioned seven times. It’s like the author thinks the readers aren’t smart enough to retain those little details. If their physical descriptions were an integral part of the story—like a tattoo with a hidden meaning—then I can see why repeating that would serve a purpose.”

“True.” Brea nods. “Now that you mention it. It is a little overkill.”

Clearing my throat again, I take a sip of wine and paste a smile onto my face. “I don’t think it takes away from the story. If anything, it keeps the visuals fresh, the characters stay vivid … almost real in the reader’s mind.”

Eric shrugs. “It’s just an opinion.”

Ignoring his brushoff, I continue, “Anyway … the prologue. It appears Jasmine is being chased into the woods. Who do you think is chasing her?”

“Her cat. He’s tired of eating off-brand food from a can.”

Everyone laughs at Greg’s comment, knowing he hasn’t read a single word of the book. Mel, his girlfriend, drags him to book club. Jasmine doesn’t have a cat, and everyone else knows that.

“I think she’s running from her boyfriend. In chapter three, she says he’s been aloof with her,” Tricia offers the first logical explanation.