“What did you say?”
Qhuinn shot a glare at the kibitzer—and then pulled back on the hard-ass. Bingo, he thought.
Standing next to him was a human male, about six feet-ish tall with great hair, a good face, and very nice lips. Clothes were not totally Gothed out, but he had some chains on his hip and a couple of hoops in one of his ears. But it was the hair color that really did it.
“I was talking to myself,” Qhuinn murmured.
“Ah. I do that a lot.” The smile was brief and then the guy went back to nursing his . . .
“What are you drinking?” Qhuinn asked.
A half-empty glass was held up. “Vodka-’n’-tonic. I can’t stand the fruity shit.”
“Neither can I. I’m tequila. Straight up.”
“Patrón?”
“Never. I’m HD.”
“Ah.” The guy pivoted around and stared ahead at the crowd. “You like the real stuff.”
“Yup.”
Qhuinn wanted to ask whether Mr. V&T was checking out the guys or the chicks, but he kept that one on ice. Man, that hair was amazing. Thick. Curled at the ends.
“You looking for someone in particular?” Qhuinn said in a low voice.
“Maybe. You?”
“Definitely.”
The guy laughed. “Lot of hot women here. You can have your pick.”
Mother. Fucker. Just his luck: a hetero. Then again, maybe they could share something and take things from there.
The man leaned in and offered his palm. “I’m . . .”
As the two looked at each other full-on, the guy let the sentence trail off, but that didn’t matter. Qhuinn didn’t give a shit what the name was.
“Are your eyes different colors?” the man asked softly.
“Yup.”
“That’s really . . . cool.”
Well, yeah. Unless you were a vampire born into the glymera. Then it was a physical defect that meant you were genetically broken and therefore an embarrassment to your bloodline and utterly unmate-able.
“Thanks,” Qhuinn said. “What color are yours?”
“You can’t tell?”
Qhuinn tapped the tattooed tear underneath his eye. “Color-blind.”
“Ah. Mine are blue.”
“And you’re a redhead, aren’t you.”
“How do you know that?”