Late to the Ball, by Jo Oldani Osborne

Alexy wiped down the bar waiting for dark. He was surprised when the pale beauty in white swirled in with a flourish. She had startled him as much as the last rays of sunlight.

He was enchanted.

It hurt.

“Ahm, a bit parched,” Sweet Sherry whispered huskily as she viewed the Blood Bank menu.

“A tasting — You ‘vish?” Alexy stuttered as he awkwardly set out the warming snifters. “Dis! ‘Vee have a ’72 Italian –“

Sherry took his pale hand raising it to her red lips,

“No, Lover — “ she said. He felt the thrall.

“You’re more my type.”


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