Eric had to be out of his clodhopping mind if he thought Sookie was going to wear the outfit he’d picked out for her. No. Way. In. Hell. There were prostitutes that dressed classier than what Eric was expecting her to wear. Sookie threw the door open and marched into the bedroom.
“Do you see anything about me that says I want to look like a low rent Gothic hooker?” Sookie demanded. Her hands were on her hips, her chest was heaving as she struggled to control herself and that Viking son of a bitch was smirking at her. Smirking!
“You’ll look like a vampire’s pet,” Eric reasoned.
“It’s such a damn stereotype!” Sookie yelled back. “If I have to wear that hot mess, you have to wear a cape.”
“A cape?” Eric quirked an eyebrow.
“Yes. In pretty much every old Dracula movie I’ve ever seen, the vampire always has a ridiculous widow’s peak and a cape on. So if you want me to dress like I just escaped the Red Light District, you owe me a cape, buddy.” Sookie poked him in his chest for good measure.
For the first time Sookie got a taste of Eric’s intimidating side. His fangs were suddenly right there in her face. Eric was definitely in her personal space and not because he was feeling playful. She’d poked the bear one too many times, apparently.
“I’m doing you the favor, not the other way around. Any time you want to call this off, just say the word and I’ll arrange for another vampire to take my place,” Eric snarled at her.
Once again, Sookie didn’t back down, even though she was a little scared of him. She didn’t want to leave, she just didn’t want to wear the hooker costume. On the other hand, she was sure that he didn’t really want to get roped into her mess and he was doing her a favor. In her head she heard Gran telling her that she made her bed, now it was time to lay in it.
“Fine. You win,” Sookie relented, keeping her tone defiant.