Pretty When She Kills (Pretty When She Dies #2)(21)

“Yeah, yeah. PC gamers suck.”

“Says the former WoW addict,” Jeff quipped.

“I detoxed when they made it too easy to level to sixty,” Benchley retorted.

“I know, I know. You played it since the beta. You did the grind to level sixty when it actually meant something. Yada, yada, yada,” Jeff teased.

“Don’t mock me,” Benchley said defensively.

“I don’t mock. I observe. Sarcastically.”

The bell over the door chimed as it swung open, a blast of hot air and a blinding flash of sunlight announcing the arrival of a customer.

“Fuck it’s hot,” Benchley gasped, cringing.

The door clanged shut.

As Jeff’s eyes readjusted to the cool, refreshing gloom of the bookstore, he saw Samantha standing just inside the doorway. Wearing a white skirt, a cute pink tank top, a white flower tucked in her hair, and obscenely high pale blue wedge heels, she whipped off her sunglasses dramatically.

“Fuck my life,” she declared.

“Girlfriend trouble,” Benchley whispered, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jeff muttered back.

“Did you hear me?” Samantha’s high heels clicked against the wood floor as she approached.

“Uh, f*ck your life is what I heard,” Jeff responded.

Samantha swung her enormous Betsey Johnson purse adorned with pink skulls and sequins onto the counter, then dramatically flopped forward onto it, burying her face in her folded arms. “Fuck. My. Life. In. The. Asshole. Without. Lube.”

“That sounds...painful,” Jeff said, lightly touching her blond head.

“Hi, Sam,” Benchley said, awkwardly waving at her though she couldn’t see him.

Samantha lifted one hand, gave a short wave, then let it drop back on the counter. “Hi, Shark-boy.”

Benchley blushed, trying not to stare at Samantha’s ass.

Jeff thought Benchley’s crush on the blond was rather sweet. He wasn’t worried about any competition. Though he and Samantha weren’t an official anything yet, he felt fairly certain that things were developing nicely. Leaning over Samantha, he pulled her bangs aside to try to see her face. She tilted her head just enough so that he could see one eye peering out at him.

“Bad day at the office?” he asked. “Did you work today?”

“I wish! And no.”

“Uh, Cian giving you hell?”

Samantha shook her head, lifting it. She rested her elbows on the counter and cradled her face in her hands.

“Amaliya being a bitch?”

“I hate her.”

“I know.”

“But it’s not her. Though it’s usually her.”

Benchley leaned against the counter, nearly toppling over the pens in the jar next to the cash register.

Jeff saved it just in time.

“So, uh, what is it? I can maybe...uh...help.” Benchley attempted to look nonchalant.

Samantha blew out a puff of air, her bangs flipping upward.

“Sam, maybe we can both help.” Jeff lightly touched her cheek. “C’mon, talk to us.”

“My life sucks, Jeff,” Samantha said, her eyes filling with tears.

“No, it doesn’t, Sam.”

“My ex-fiancé is f*cking Vampira and I’ve gone all Sixth Sense! My life sucks!”

“Okay, I get the Vampira reference, but not the Sixth Sense,” Benchley said, clearly confused.

“Me, too. Sam, honey, can you be a little clearer?”

Samantha wiped at her eyes irritably. “I’m so not going all Patricia Arquette. I refuse to! Because the next thing you know I’ll be all John Edwards-y and people will be banging on my door wanting the deets of their dead granny’s peach cobbler recipe!”

“Still lost,” Jeff said, wincing.

Samantha grabbed his t-shirt and hauled him toward her. Staring at him in the eye, tears streaking her face, she said, “I see dead people!”

“Cian and Amaliya?” Jeff queried, arching an eyebrow.

“No! Dead dead people!”

“She’s not real good on the being clear thing is she?” Benchley observed.

“She speaks Samantha-speak. It’s a variation of English,” Jeff admitted.

“Don’t mock me, Van Helsing!” Samantha fumbled with her purse.

“How many espresso shots did you have today?” Jeff asked, watching her shaking hands.

“Uh, four.” Samantha jerked out a folder and slammed it onto the counter. “And two margaritas at Polvos.”

“Did you drive here?” Benchley exchanged a worried glance with Jeff.

“No. I got a cab. So, Jeff, you have to take me home.” Samantha flipped the folder open and shoved it toward Jeff. “I am seeing dead chicks. Okay? Like...really dead.” She pointed adamantly at a printed article from the Austin-American Statesman.

Jeff picked it up and read it swiftly. It was a story with which he was passingly acquainted. A young woman went jogging one morning a few months before and disappeared. A picture of a pretty brunette was included and Sam kept poking it with one finger as he tried to read.

“Her! I saw her!”

“Cassidy Longoria?” Jeff glanced up at Samantha. “You found her body?”