It had been a long ride from Las Vegas. Most fares were short, cross-city trips that ferried drunk tourists from the Bellagio to Criss Angel shows to In-N-Out for burgers. The offer of a longer fare, one waaaay the hell out in BFE, wasn't appealing on its face, but the money was too good to pass up. As luck would have it, it wasn't a townie who needed a ride back to his parents' place after a twenty-first birthday blow-out: it was an old dude with manners. It was easier for a vampire to keep her teeth under wraps when nobody was connecting a Greta van Fleet playlist to her bluetooth.
She accepted the offer of pie to get out of the car for a minute before heading back to Vegas.
"Thanks." With a handbag on the crook of her elbow, Wren looked around the diner and counted pulses. The place smelled like pleather seats and warm syrup.