“What’s wrong with truckers?” he asked, pretending to be more offended than he actually felt. Daniel scratched at the beer logo and then flicked the cap into the street. “They’re gainfully employed. They’re nocturnal. They can go the distance. We have a lot in common.” The vampire snickered at himself. “God, I can turn anything into a euphemism. I need professional help.”

Not for the first time he heard a skittering sound and cast a paranoid look at the doorway, only to realize the culprit was a piece of windblown trash.