I treat eating pancakes on patios like it’s a personality trait.

Brunch is my jam. I like the beach, shopping, carbs, and reading naughty books on the train during my commute. I wear pink. Lots of it. If Tinder were an olympic sport, I’d take home the gold. I can rock stilettos like they’re a pair of Nike joggers. I’m basically a basic bitch.

I’m in the prime of my life. I’ve got my dream job as the head of marketing at a sex toy company, and I’ve been steadily dating myself for the better half of the last decade. I’m thirty, flirty, and thriving, dammit.

Or at least I was, until some fucker had the audacity to turn me into a vampire.

I don’t do blood and doom and gloom. I sure as hell don’t like sleeping in a coffin, avoiding garlic bread, and these ridiculous vamp politics. And don’t get me started on Diego. He’s vampire royalty and a pain in my ass. A very sexy pain in the ass. When he’s not driving me crazy with all his rules, he’s turning my panties into Niagara falls.

I absolutely refuse to live the rest of my immortal life in some wannabe nineties grunge music video.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐒.