Free Your Coffin or Mine? by Kimberly Raye

another?”
    “Sorry. My building only allows two pets. Listen, they’re also going to do a five-minute interview tape, so be sure to wear something colorful.”
    “What about smelly?”
    Evie laughed. “You’re new to motherhood. Don’t worry. It’ll get easier. Just make sure you put fresh litter in the box every day and eventually the accidents will stop. There’s always an adjustment period.”
    I hate you, I mouthed to the cat, who continued to smirk. I dried my foot on a hand towel and grabbed a handful of toilet paper.
    “Aren’t you excited?” Evie asked as I padded back to the bed and scooped up my morning surprise.
    “Thrilled. I’ve always wanted a great big pile of poop.”
    “I’m not talking about that; I’m talking about MMW. Isn’t it just the greatest? To think you might actually get to meet Mark Williams in person.”
    “Mark who?” I deposited the cleanup in the toilet and flushed.
    “Williams. That cute weather guy. I just heard that he was picked by People magazine as one of their fifty hottest New Yorkers,” Evie told me as I walked into the kitchen and grabbed an unopened bottle from the fridge. My gaze snagged on the milk and I contemplated payback for Killer.
    Starvation.
    Mutilation.
    Painful death.
    Unfortunately, I got the heebie-jeebies from all three, so I ended up pouring a saucer of milk for the cat and nuking a glass of O positive for myself.
    “Since when does People pick fifty hot New Yorkers?” I leaned against the kitchen cabinet and sipped my breakfast while Killer lapped up the milk.
    “They’re doing it for every state. Sort of a tribute to local celebrities. The Big Apple issue comes out next week and will coincide with the first episode of the new MMW. I hope you make it.”
    “Uh, yeah, me, too.” Not.
    But while I had no intention of making the actual show, I wouldn’t have minded another go with the rest of the women who’d made the cut. I’d done my best to circulate last night, but with Ty on my mind, I’d only introduced myself to maybe half. If I went back, I could meet the rest and even branch out to the MMW staff, from the single, twentysomething receptionist with the dark roots to the divorced camera guy with the foot fetish. Talk about some needy candidates.
    Never fear, people. Lil is here.
    “So are you coming to the office or are you going straight over to the station?”
    “I’ll swing by and check in first. How are things going?”
    “Well, the reason I couldn’t call you right away is because the second I hung up with the MMW producer, I had three phone calls from women who didn’t make the cut. They want us to hook them up. I set up their appointments for tomorrow.”
    Great.
    “And your mother called.”
    Not so great.
    “She said she’d like you to bring at least one prospect with you on Sunday for the get-together.”
    I.e., the hunt.
    Forget backyard barbecues and homemade ice cream. Being eccentric as well as anal, my father refused to let go of tradition. He felt it his parental duty to see that his children were able to stalk and subdue, in addition to plopping down a twenty at the local deli for the bottled blood type of the week. That, and he liked to show off his latest golf swing.
    So we met each week at my parents’ Connecticut estate to watch his Tiger Woods impersonation and ravage the more than hundred acres in the name of sustenance. Since this was the twenty-first century and born vamps liked to keep a low profile, we hunted each other—the it person—instead of plundering nearby malls and sinking our teeth into unsuspecting shoppers. The pot of gold? Extra vacation days from Moe’s.
    Since my brothers were all gainfully employed in the family business, they lived for the hunt and the extra days off. Max had flown off to Spain for an entire two weeks with his extra days. Rob had cashed in his to buy another Porsche. And Jack had used his to go scuba diving in the Amazon with a set of twin bimbos named Lolly