“I need to get laid,” Niles Gule grumbled.
“Don’t we all?” The big, bald, ugly bartender shook his head. His blood-shot eyes surveyed the tall, elegant blond, not realizing he faced a vampire. “I’d think a guy like you could land a lady for the night.” He pointed across the smoky room at a couple of women playing pool. “Greta over there charges by the hour.”
Niles didn’t bother to correct the bartender’s assumption he could hire a hooker to solve his problem. He didn’t need just any woman. In fact, he wasn’t sure he needed to get laid at all. He was merely speculating. Sex had saved Bill Murray. Maybe it would save him.
Although Niles now made Baltimore his home, he’d traveled to Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania for Groundhog’s Day. To most of the world, February 2 was just a day like any other, but not so in the little…
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