Fangs for Nothing (The Fangover 2)

“Really? Are you sure?” He stood, slowly, and his male presence overwhelmed her as he rose, occupying her space and dominating her thoughts, unnerving her.

“Yes. I’m fairly sure.”

“How do you know?”

She was regretting that he wasn’t beating around the bush with charm and obscure entendres. “I just know.”

“How?”

He was going to make her say it. Irritated with his persistence, she told him, “I seem to have lost my panties. And I seem to be experiencing a certain soreness that is not from sleeping on the floor.”

Understanding finally seemed to dawn on him. “Ooohh. I see. Sucks we don’t remember, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not sure if it does or not,” she told him truthfully.

Johnny laughed. But his thumb traced across her palm teasingly. “I think it’s a damn shame, actually.”

* * *

“THAT’S ZELDA.”

Drake glanced back, surprised to see that Cupcake—or rather, Josie Lynn—was following him. Until this moment, she’d seemed like she wanted nothing more than to be far away from him, both last night and tonight. Yet, here she was. Maybe the allure of his bare ass had finally swayed her. Of course.

“You’re right, that is.”

She stopped and wrapped her arms around herself. She worried her full, pretty lower lip. “This is awful.”

He frowned. Yeah, it was definitely awful. Not remembering what happened to you for hours was not a good feeling. But he wasn’t sure why she was particularly worried about Zelda. Personally, he was far more upset that he’d very likely gotten a little taste of Cupcake and had not a single memory about it. He glanced over at the Amazon still sprawled on the floor.

If there had been any Zelda action, he was glad he’d blacked that out.

Josie Lynn stared at the unconscious dominatrix, looking almost—forlorn. Which struck Drake as an odd reaction.

“Listen,” he said, returning to her side, “I know all of this is overwhelming, but it’s really not that bad.”

Josie Lynn spun toward him, that strangely hopeless look in her blue eyes replaced by a flash of anger.

“Not that bad! This is so far beyond bad, I—I,” she threw up her hands. “I don’t even know what to say. You are acting like this is just another wild weekend in the Big Easy. Well, this may be normal for you, but it sure as hell isn’t normal for me.”

Drake looked down at himself. “And you think this is normal for me? I woke up in a sex swing in a dominatrix’s dungeon. I might have had sex with a woman that I just met last night. And now I’m arguing with that very same woman with my schlong hanging out. Believe me, this is not normal.”

She glanced downward, and to Drake’s dismay his dick reacted instantly, bobbing outward. Damn.

“Well I think we both know the part about sleeping with a woman you just met is probably a pretty normal occurrence for you.”

Something about the disgust on her face bothered him, even though he couldn’t really deny that fact. Hell, he was a single vampire in a band on Bourbon Street. Women just happened. But somehow her expression made him feel—bad. Sleazy, even. But why the hell should it?

Okay, the current outfit really didn’t help.

“You don’t know that,” he finally said, realizing he sounded more petulant than persuasive.

She snorted, a sound that, as much as Drake hated to admit it, sounded cute. “Well I do know that you came into the kitchen while I was working to try to get me to go out with you after the wedding. And I’m pretty sure you didn’t mean just for drinks.”

“That’s exactly what I meant. To apologize.”

“You mean for the unsolicited kiss?”

“Exactly.”

She gave him a dubious look. “You wanted it to be more than drinks. Admit it.”

“No,” he said. “Because that isn’t true.”

She made another face, one that hinted at dimples at either side of her mouth and made her lips look utterly kissable. His dick hardened more and poked out in front of him like Pinocchio’s nose when telling a lie.

He was telling a lie, too, and they both knew it.

But instead of continuing this conversation, which just appeared to be getting him in more and more trouble, he said, “I need to find some pants.”

To his relief, Josie Lynn let him walk away with as much dignity as his assless chaps would afford him.

But after walking a few feet, he realized he didn’t know where he was going exactly. Where the hell would he find pants—or any clothing—in this room? Now, if he wanted a ginormous purple dildo or a . . .

He tilted his head to study one of the items hanging on the wall. Was that a mace?

Yeah, he could find any item of sexual torture, but he was pretty sure a pair of size 34 Levi’s was not happening.

He glanced back to Josie Lynn, who stood in the same place, her arms curled around herself again as if she was cold.

Or protecting herself.

He moved back toward her, debating what he could say to her to help. She had that worried, almost defeated expression again, and despite her obvious dislike of him, he felt the need to comfort her. Of course that was all he’d been trying to do before their conversation went badly just moments earlier.

He paused, trying to think of the right thing to say, when he heard her say to herself, “This was not how this job was supposed to go. How the hell am I going to get the money now?”

Drake frowned. This job? The money? What was she talking about? Then a memory, although somewhat hazy, came back to him. One of the last he remembered from last night. Josie Lynn taking money. Taking money for what?

Could Josie Lynn be involved in whatever had happened to cause their memory loss? And now that he thought about it, where was all their stuff? His wallet was gone. His cell phone. Hell, even his pants. Maybe they hadn’t been just misplaced during a night of debauchery. And he imagined everyone else’s stuff was gone, too. Had this been a robbery of some sort? And was Josie Lynn somehow involved?

If she was, the plan had clearly backfired, at least for her. But she was involved in something. He knew he’d seen her take money and let some people in the back door. He thought about the people he’d seen, trying to remember what they looked like.

They’d looked like . . . Cher. Multiple Chers.

He frowned. Maybe the drug had already started to take effect at that point. Chers. That couldn’t be right.

He looked at Josie Lynn, who was again chewing at her lower lip and looking very, very anxious. Whether his memory of Cher en masse was accurate or not, one thing was for certain; he wasn’t letting Cupcake out of his sight until he got the truth.