My Blood Is Yours

"Snow! How was the dance?" Cindy asked, slapping the menus down on the hostess table and rushing to me.

Even in a uniform - white ruffled shirt, black pants, black tennis shoes, and a black half apron wrapped around her hips - she still looked like a model.

Her blond hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and she wore some shimmering shadow on her eyes and pink lip gloss.

"Hey, Cindy," I said, hugging her back.

"Spill. I need details." She released me, studying my face.

"The dance was fun. Dorian was amazing, but - " I glanced around the dimly lit restaurant. "Can we talk?"

"Is this about Dorian or Christopher?" She put her hands on her hips, a slight smirk on her pouty lips.

"Christopher."

"So, this is serious?" She went back around to the hostess stand, and I followed.

"Yep," I said, trying to sound like it was no big deal.