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 basic.
I’m in the prime of my life. I’ve got my dream job as the head of marketing, and I’ve been steadily dating myself for the better half of the last decade. I’m thirty, flirty, and thriving.
Or at least I was, until some jerk 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 butt. A very sexy pain in the butt. 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.