Nothing sucks more than fake dating a vampire in this paranormal romantic comedy from the USA Today bestselling author of My Roommate Is a Vampire.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Jenna Levine’s My Vampire Plus-One, which is out September 17th 2024.
Amelia Collins is by definition successful. She would even go so far as to say successfully single. But not according to her family, and she’s tired of the constant questions about her nonexistent dating life. When an invitation to yet another family wedding arrives, she decides to get everyone off her back once and for all by finding someone–anyone–to pose as her date.
After a chance encounter with Reginald Cleaves, Amelia decides he’s perfect for her purposes. He’s a bit strange, but that’s fine; it’ll discourage tough questions from her family. (And it certainly doesn’t hurt that he’s very handsome.) For centuries-old vampire Reggie, posing as her plus-one sounds like the ultimate fun. And if it helps his ruse of pretending to be human, so much the better.
As Amelia and Reggie practice their fauxmance, it becomes clear that Reggie is as loyal to her as the day is long, and that Amelia’s first impressions could not have been more wrong. Suddenly, being in a real relationship with Reggie sounds pretty fang-tastic.
The impact when we collided made me drop everything I’d been carrying. My briefcase, the gloves I’d been about to put on, the stress I’d been carrying all day like a lead ball in the pit of my stomach—it all fell to the icy sidewalk. The paperwork I’d stuffed into my briefcase just minutes ago spilled out of it on impact, landing in a puddle of dirty slush.
I glared at the guy who’d just run into me.
“What the hell!” I snapped.
“Sorry.” The guy’s fedora was pulled down so low over his face it covered most of it, and despite what he’d just said he didn’t sound sorry. He sounded distracted, and his body looked coiled for action, like he was milliseconds away from running off in the direction he’d been heading when he slammed into me.
“I doubt you’re sorry,” I muttered.
The guy glanced down at my feet where my things lay, and seemed to realize, for the first time, that he’d made me drop everything. The slush puddle had made quick work of the Wyatt financial reports; everything was wet and would be impossible to read.
And—oh God, what if my laptop cracked when it hit the ground? I quickly scooped up my bag and shuffled through it to make sure my MacBook was okay. Fortunately, it seemed fine.
“I am sorry,” the guy said again. “But—look. Since you’ve kept me from where I was heading for nearly an entire minute now can you do me a favor?”
The gall of this guy. He could have broken my computer! “You’re asking me for a favor?” I was about to tell him exactly where he could stick his favors—
But then he tilted his head to the right at the same time he pushed his fedora a little further back on his head, and I got my first real look at him.
The words died in my throat.
Maybe the stress of too many consecutive late nights in the office was finally getting to me. That must be it. Or maybe it was just because I hadn’t dated anyone casually in over a year, or anyone seriously in more than five. Whatever the reason for it, in that moment, he looked more attractive than he had any right to look given the circumstances. He was fairly tall, probably about six foot two, but I was no slouch in the height department myself, and because of that—and because of the angle at which he’d been wearing his hat until this moment— it had initially been difficult to see much of his face. But now that I could see his face…
He had high, angular cheekbones. A strong chin that sported at least three days’ worth of dark blonde stubble. Light-colored eyes that looked, given his fair complexion, as though they might be blue. Though most of his face was still bathed in shadow from his hat, even with its slight repositioning, so it was hard to tell.
I’d always had a thing for blonde-haired, blue-eyed guys. A thing that sometimes ended up with me making decisions I’d regret later. Especially when said blonde hair and blue eyes came in broad-shouldered, slim-waisted packages.
Like Mr. Fedora Asshole over here.
The fact that I could now see he was wearing a black t-shirt beneath his trench coat that said BLAME BEZOS in bright red letters, as well as a pink gingham skirt that totally clashed with his coat and his hat, didn’t do anything to dampen my attraction. If anything, it just enhanced the dirtbag Chris Pine look he had going for him.
I closed my eyes and shook my head a little as I tried to get a grip. God, I needed a vacation. The minute tax season was over I was booking a flight to somewhere warm and sunny.
I tore my eyes from his face. This was ridiculous. I was ridiculous. “I am not doing you a favor,” I somehow managed.
“Please,” he implored. The distraction in his voice was gone; in its place was a raw urgency that stunned me. “It won’t take long. Please—can you start laughing? As though we are in regular conversation and I am in the process of telling you something very funny?”
I stared at him, reeling from the randomness of the request from this stranger. “I’m sorry, but… what?”
“I am trying to avoid some people.” His tone was pitched very low, his words coming very quickly. As though he had limited time to get them out. “I was trying to avoid them when I… when we… ” He gestured expansively between us, and then to the ruined papers at my feet.
“You nearly mowed me down because you’re trying to avoid some people?” This was absurd. Though that would explain his mad dash down an icy sidewalk at six-thirty on a Tuesday evening. Concern pricked at me despite my better judgment. Clearly, this guy was more than just passing strange. But what if he was also in some kind of trouble?
As if to validate my concern, he looked over his shoulder, the turn of his head frantic and jerky. When he turned to face me again his eyes were bright with what looked like genuine fear. “I’m sorry, I can’t explain further. But can you just like… laugh? That way, maybe they’ll think you and I have been lost in a riveting conversation this whole time, that I am not the man they are looking for, and they will just… keep going.” He paused, then bit his lip, considering my stunned reaction. “Or I suppose you could kiss me instead.”
My jaw dropped. “Kiss you?” I didn’t kiss strangers. Not ever.
A small part of me, though—probably the part of me that hadn’t kissed anyone in about a year and hadn’t had sex for what might as well have been an epoch—imagined what it would be like, kissing this bizarre stranger. He was hot like burning, despite his odd mannerisms. The confident way he stood, his manner of speech, the bold smolder of those bright blue eyes…
I bet he’d kiss like the world was ending.
I bet it would be fantastic.
He held up his hands in front of him in defense, as though he’d interpreted my stunned silence as outrage. “Or, don’t kiss me! That’s also fine! You see, this is why I proposed you pretend laugh with me. While fake kissing is a time-honored way to throw pursuers off the scent—and is also fun as hell, let’s be honest—we don’t know each other. And since you seem rather angry with me, I’d assumed you would rather pretend laugh with me than pretend to kiss me.”
He spoke so rapidly I could barely keep up. I had the unique sensation of listening to a record player playing music at twice its normal rate of speed. I stared at him, stupefied. Obviously, there was no chance I was going to kiss this guy, despite my moment of temptation. But laughing? When nothing was funny? That seemed almost as absurd. I took a semester of acting in college, but it had been my lowest grade at the University of Chicago. It was true what they said about accountants: most of us didn’t have much of a sense of humor; fewer had any acting skills.
“I don’t think I can pull off a convincing fake laugh,” I admitted.
“Sure you can.”
“Not when nothing’s funny.”
He looked confused. “There’s nothing to pull off. You just… laugh.”
His sincerity seemed so genuine that I knew he was telling me the truth about this bizarre situation. I didn’t think I could actually help him, but what did I have to lose besides a few extra precious minutes of time?
“Fine.” I muttered. I took a deep breath, then did my best attempt at a fake laugh. “Ahahahahahahahaha!” I cried out, even as I stood rigid as a board with my hands balled up into tight anxious fists at my sides. “Oh, you are so funny!” I added for good measure. I sounded ridiculous. I hoped none of my coworkers could see or hear me. This was not how someone gunning for partnership behaved.
As I continued fake laughing, the guy just stared at me. “You weren’t kidding,” he said, incredulous. “You really can’t do this.”
I glared at him. “I told you.”
“You did,” he conceded. And then a moment later, he threw his own head back—and laughed.
To anybody passing by, you’d think this man had just heard the funniest joke ever. His whole body vibrated with it, his hand floating in the air as though to touch me on the shoulder, only for him to snatch it back at the last minute and clutch at his stomach.
Fake it might be, but this man’s laughter was infectious. Before I knew what was happening, I was laughing too—at him, at the ridiculousness of this entire situation—without him even needing to prompt me. Without pretending. Everything felt light inside, in a way I seldom felt during tax season, and had never in my life felt with a stranger.
Excerpted from My Vampire Plus-One by Jenna Levine Copyright © 2024 by Jenna Levine. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
