Ruthless Creatures (Queens & Monsters, #1)(6)

“When did they move out? I didn’t even know they were gone!”

Diane purses her lips as she looks at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, dear, but you do live in a bit of a bubble. One can’t blame you for being distracted, of course, with what you’ve been through.”

Pity. There’s nothing worse.

I glower at her, but before I can clap back with a smart remark about what I’m about to put her ugly perm through, Sloane interrupts.

“So the hot rich stranger is gonna be living right next door. Lucky bitch.”

Diane tsks. “Oh no, I wouldn’t say lucky. I wouldn’t say that at all! He has the look of a felon, you can’t deny, and if anyone is a good judge of character, why, it’s certainly me. You’ll agree, I’m sure. You remember, of course, that it was I who—”

“Excuse me, ladies.”

The waiter interrupts, bless him. He sets the bowl of guacamole on the table, puts a basket of tortilla chips beside it, and smiles. “Are you just having drinks and appetizers tonight, or would you like me to bring you dinner menus?”

“I’ll be drinking my dinner, thank you.”

Sloane sends me a sour glance, then says to the waiter, “We’d like menus, please.”

I add, “And another round.”

“Sure thing. Be right back.”

The second he leaves, Diane starts right up again, turning eagerly to me.

“Would you like me to call the police chief to see about having a patrol car come by at night to check on you? I hate the thought of you all alone and vulnerable in that house. So tragic what happened to you, poor thing.”

She pats my hand.

I want to punch her in the throat.

“And now with this unsavory element moving into the neighborhood, you really should be looked after. It’s the least I can do. Your parents were dear, dear friends before they retired to Arizona because of your father’s health. The altitude in our little spot of heaven can be difficult as we get older. Six thousand feet above sea level isn’t for the faint of heart, and god knows, it’s dry as a bone—”

“No, Diane, I don’t want you to call the police to babysit me.”

She looks affronted by my tone. “There’s no need to get huffy, dear, I’m simply trying to—”

“Get all up in my business. I know. Thank you, hard pass.”

She turns to Sloane for support, which she doesn’t find.

“Nat’s got a big dog and an even bigger gun. She’ll be fine.”

Scandalized, Diane turns back to me. “You keep a gun in the house? My goodness, what if you accidentally shoot yourself?”

Looking at her, I deadpan, “I should be so lucky.”

Sloane says, “Actually, since you’re here, Diane, maybe you could weigh in on the discussion Nat and I were having when you came over. We’d love to get your insight on the topic.”

Diane preens, patting her hair. “Why, of course! As you know, I have quite a broad array of knowledge on various issues. Ask away.”

This should be good. I sip my wine, trying not to smile.

With a straight face, Sloane says, “Anal. Yes or no?”

There’s a frozen pause, then Diane chirps, “Oh, look, there’s Margie Howland. I haven’t seen her in ages. I should say hello.”

She rises and hurries off with a breathless “Bye now!”

Watching her go, I say drily, “You know that within twenty-four hours the entire town will think we were sitting here discussing the pros and cons of anal sex, right?”

“Nobody listens to that crusty old bat.”

“She’s best friends with the school administrator.”

“What, you think you’ll get fired for loose morals? You’re practically a nun.”

“Exaggerate much?”

“No. You’ve dated three guys in the last five years, none of whom you had sex with. At least if you were a nun, you’d get to have sex with Jesus.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works. Also, I have plenty of sex. With myself. And my battery-operated friends. Relationships are just too complicated.”

“I hardly think your short, sexless, emotionless entanglements can be called relationships. You have to fuck a guy for it to qualify. And maybe, like, feel something for him.”

I shrug. “If I found one I liked, I would.”

She gazes at me, knowing my problem with men has less to do with not meeting someone I connect with and more to do with not being able to connect with anyone at all. But she cuts me a break and moves on.

“Speaking of fucking, your new neighbor is over there looking at you like you’re his next meal.”

“Literally. And not in the good way. He makes great white sharks seem friendly.”

“Don’t be so negative. Damn, he’s smoking hot. Don’t you think?”

I resist the surprisingly strong urge to turn and look in the direction Sloane is looking and take another sip of my wine instead. “He’s not my type.”

“Babe, that man is every woman’s type. Don’t try to lie to me and tell me you can’t hear your ovaries moaning.”

“Give me a minute to breathe. I got dumped only half an hour ago.”