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About Afterlife or Bust
Lizzie is making the best of her life, er afterlife. She’s working hard being a doctor to all things supernatural and for the most part has managed to behave. With her daytime watcher in tow and a very enticing Master Vampire turning up the heat of their romance, things couldn’t be better.
Of course things could get worse and do. Being killed again was not part of Lizzie’s agenda and having to navigate the politics of all things that go bump in the night is just icing on the afterlife cake. But Lizzie has plans. She’s going to make her death worth living and she is going to drag everyone else along kicking and screaming.
“Nice scrubs,” Frank said, sounding relaxed for the first time all day, er night. I had to give him credit, he wasn’t laughing.
“Apparently, these were the only scrubs they could rustle up on short notice,” I muttered, determined not to give any one of the cretins I worked with the satisfaction of losing my temper. I pulled my very recently washed blonde hair into a braid and tossed it back over my shoulder in agitation.
“They’re cute,” Frank said with a big grin. Behind him, Furball was snickering. While the boys may not get along at the best of times, for some reason, when it came to me being the brunt of a cruel joke, they seemed to find camaraderie. I, on the other hand, was not amused.
“They have bunnies all over them,” I pointed out unimpressed, “which I imagine goes down well in a ward with patients under the age of twelve. This, however, is not the pediatric ward.” I tossed a glare toward Elvis and Abbie. Both were engrossed in their paperwork. I was so not buying it. I leaned up against the counter and crossed my arms to sulk.
Frank kept smiling, and I swear he was leaning closer for a kiss. Oh boy. Suddenly he stopped. Squinting, he moved in. Let me clarify, he leaned away from my mouth and closer to examine my top. Talk about disappointed.
“It looks like someone’s drawn on it,” he murmured. He fingered one of the drawings.
I huffed a sigh and picked up my files again, moving toward my next patient. Frank followed. There was no way he was going to let this one drop.
“Do the bunnies have fangs?” he asked incredulously.
About the Author
June Mayes is a Cape Cod born and bred writer who lived in London for 10 years before returning home. She’s a hopeless romantic with a passion for writing all sorts of genre. Her days are spent juggling family life, walking the dog, writing and reading books, more books and even more books!