The Reluctant Goddess (The Montgomery Chronicles Book 2) by Karen Ranney Page B

chosen wasn’t one of those, unfortunately. It was Dukes, a steak place where the dress code is practically western.  
    I wasn’t wearing boots.  
    The place was dark with flickering red candles on each of the dozen or so wood tables. Kenisha sat with her back to the wall, her eyes on the front door.
    I could barely see my hand in front of my face. If vampires needed to pretend to eat, this was the place. It was probably a vampire hangout for that very reason.
    Kenisha was dressed in what I considered her uniform: a dark blue blazer and a white blouse. Since she was sitting, I couldn't tell if she was wearing a skirt or pants, but my guess was pants and steel toed shoes.
    Her eyes widened a little as she saw us but she didn't say anything as we took the other three chairs.
    I recently read something on the Daily Mail Online describing a black model as a Nubian Princess. I wasn't exactly sure what a Nubian Princess was like, but I bet Kenisha would qualify. Her lips were full, almost pouting regardless of her expression. Her nose was flat and broad yet had the ability to flair when she was especially displeased. Trust me, I’d seen that expression a lot. Her complexion was not the coffee au lait I'd seen so often, but much darker, almost chocolate in color. Her high cheekbones gave her an air of queenly superiority. Or maybe that was the Nubian Princess coming out. Her hair was tightly braided and arranged in a bun at the nape of her neck.  
    She was studying Mike.  
    Gone was the flatness in her eyes, replaced by what I interpreted as interest. One eyebrow arched upward, marring the perfect brow and a corner of the pouty lips turned up.  
    I don’t care what she said from that moment on, the half smile gave her away.  
    “This is Dan," I said, motioning to my right. "And Mike," I added, gesturing to my left.
    "You really don't need bodyguards, Montgomery," Kenisha said.
    "They’re not bodyguards. They’re friends.”  
    We took a seat at the table. I sat across from Kenisha with Mike on my left and Dan to my right. I felt like I was in a testosterone sandwich.  
    I noticed, with a little bit of smugness, that Kenisha and Mike were giving each other the once over. Neither of them looked at me, which was a sign that my matchmaking skills were alive and well and living in San Antonio.
    Dan, however, sent me a glance, one that said we were going to have to talk about this later. Fine, as long as he spilled the beans about the disappearing humans.  
    "I wanted to talk to you alone," Kenisha said, when she could tear her eyes away from Mike.
    I smiled. "Trust me, Dan and Mike can hear anything. My life is an open book to them."
    They knew everything: the way Maddock wanted to latch onto me as an incubator and what I’d done to Il Duce to try to kill him. The only thing I hadn't come out and told Dan in so many words was the rape, but I suspected he’d figured that out on his own.
    She shrugged, a gesture that opened her jacket a little more. Mike's eyes fastened on her endowments, to the point I wanted to elbow him to get his attention back where it belonged.
    Her tone was brusque as usual. “I don’t know how it happened,” she said. “But your mother has escaped. She hasn’t even been arraigned yet and she just walked out of the jail.”
    I stared at her, wondering if I’d heard her correctly.  
    “In view of the last time you saw your mother,” she was saying, “I thought it was best to warn you.”
    My mother didn’t know where I was. My grandmother didn’t even know. I doubted my mother even knew about my townhouse. She’d never been there. I never bothered to invite her. Why stick your heart on your sleeve when you know someone’s just going to knock it off and stomp on it?
    It’s not that I was broken up about my mother. Ever since I was a child, I knew that she was different, that our relationship was not the type that other people had. Other girls actually liked their mothers, shared