Download Nice Girls Don't Have Fangs (Jane Jameson, Book 1) by Molly Harper PDF

By Molly Harper

Might be it was once the Shenanigans reward certificates that positioned her over the sting. while kid's librarian and self-professed great woman Jane Jameson is fired by means of her beastly boss and passed twenty-five money in potato skins rather than a severance money, she is going on a bender that is bound to develop into part Moon hole legend. On her means domestic, she's improper for a deer, shot, and left for lifeless. and because of the mysterious stranger she met whereas chugging neon-colored cocktails, she wakes up with a decidedly unladylike thirst for blood.

Jane is now the newest recipient of a present basket from the Newly Undead Welcoming Committee, and her life-after-lifestyle is taking a few being used to. Her lately deceased favourite aunt is now her ghostly roommate. She has to faux respiring and suffer sunlight hours hours to prevent popping out of the coffin to her kinfolk. She's pressured to forgo her favourite down-home Southern cooking for luggage of O detrimental. Her dating together with her horny, mercurial vampire sire retains operating cold and hot. And if all that wasn't sufficient, it appears like an individual in part Moon hole is making an attempt to border her for a sequence of vampire murders. what is a pleasant undead woman to do?

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Extra info for Nice Girls Don't Have Fangs (Jane Jameson, Book 1)

Sample text

She seemed to be moving in slow motion, her long blue-black hair swishing behind her in a shining curtain. She made capri pants and Crocs, a combination which I think should be outlawed in the state of Kentucky, look good. She was so…put together. She seemed comfortable as a vampire. Carefree, like someone you’d see in a nonthreatening shampoo commercial. I found myself following her, tossing one of everything that she chose into my cart. Fang-Brite Fluoride Wash, Undying Health Vitamin Solution, Basic Red, Razor Wire Floss.

It was just unseemly. If I could have found a polite way to heave this woman off my porch, I would have. Damn Mama and her hereditary devotion to hospitality. “Look, Andrea, I haven’t completely decided where I stand on the feeding-on-humans issue. ” “There isn’t one,” she insisted. ” She laughed and led me to the porch swing, where I sat as she tipped her head back. I opened my mouth, extended my fangs, and leaned toward her. I saw her pulse beating beneath her skin, her living, human skin. Every nerve ending was an opportunity for me to cause her pain.

I can’t help it if your grandma married all of the good-looking men in town. We were bound to cross paths sometime,” Jettie said, shrugging. She had a point. To recall childhood memories of my grandmother, I didn’t need the scent of oatmeal cookies or Ivory soap, just Designer Imposter Chanel No. ” My grandma Ruthie, Jettie’s sister, had been married four times, so many times that I started calling every old man I saw at the grocery store Grandpa. Mama put a stop to that after Grandpa Number Four, Fred.

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