“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.”
She snorts. “Yeah, and you seem really broken up about it. Next excuse?”
“Remind me why you’re my best friend again?”
“Because I’m awesome, obviously.”
“Hmm. The jury’s still out.”
“Look, why don’t you just be a good neighbor and go over and introduce yourself? Then invite him over for a tour of your house. Specifically your bedroom, where the three of us will explore our sexual fantasies while covered in Astroglide and listening to Lenny Kravitz sing ‘Let Love Rule.’”
“Oh, you’re going bi for me now?”
“Not for you, nitwit. For him.”
“I’m going to need a lot more wine before I start entertaining the idea of a threesome.”
“Well, think about it. And if everything works out, we could make it long-term and be a throuple.”
“What the hell is a throuple?”
“Same thing as a couple, but with three people instead of two.”
I stare at her. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Sloane smiles, scooping guac onto a chip. “I am, but that look on your face is almost as priceless as Diane’s.”
The waiter returns with menus and more Chardonnay. An hour later, we’ve demolished two shrimp enchilada platters and as many bottles of wine.
Sloane burps discreetly behind her hand. “I think we should cab it home, babe. I’m too buzzed to drive.”
“I agree.”
“By the way, I’m spending the night.”
“You weren’t invited.”
“I’m not letting you wake up alone tomorrow.”
“I won’t be alone. Mojo will be with me.”
She motions to the waiter for our check. “Unless you leave with your hot new neighbor, you’re stuck with me, sis.”
It was an offhand remark, made because she obviously knows I have no intention of leaving with the mysterious and vaguely hostile Kage, but the thought of Sloane hovering over me in worry all day tomorrow to make sure I don’t slit my wrists on the anniversary of my non-wedding is so depressing, it cuts straight through my buzz like a bucket of cold water poured over my head.
I glance over at his table.
He’s on his cell phone. Not talking, just listening, every so often nodding. He glances up and catches me looking.
Our eyes lock.
My heart jumps into my throat. A strange and unfamiliar combination of excitement, tension, and fear makes a flush of heat creep up my neck.
Sloane’s right. You should be friendly. You’re going to be neighbors. Whatever his problem is, it can’t be about you. Don’t take everything so personally.
The poor guy probably just had a bad day.
Still looking at me, he murmurs something into the phone and hangs up.
I say to Sloane, “Be right back.”
I stand, cross the restaurant, and walk right up to his table. “Hi. I’m Natalie. May I join you?” I don’t want for his answer before I sit down.
Silent, he gazes steadily at me with those dark, unreadable eyes.
“My girlfriend and I have had a little too much wine and we can’t safely drive home. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. We’d take a cab and pick up her car tomorrow. But she just told me that unless I leave here with you, she’s spending the night at my house.
“Now, there’s a whole long story about why I don’t want that to happen, but I won’t bore you with the details. And before you ask, no, I don’t usually demand rides from total strangers. But I was told that you bought the place next door to me up on Steelhead, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone and ask you for the favor of a ride home since it won’t be out of your way.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. A muscle in his jaw flexes. He says nothing.
Oh no. He thinks I’m hitting on him.
Feeling hideously self-conscious, I add, “I swear this isn’t a pickup line. I really am only looking for a ride home. Also, um…welcome to town.”
He debates with himself about something for a moment while I sit watching him with my heart pounding, knowing I’ve made a terrible mistake.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough. “Sorry, princess. If you’re looking for a knight in shining armor, you’re looking in the wrong fucking place.”
He stands abruptly, bumping the table, and strides away, leaving me sitting alone with only my burning humiliation for company.
All righty, then. Guess I won’t be popping over in the future to borrow a cup of sugar. Cheeks hot, I head back to our table.
Sloane gapes at me in disbelief. “What just happened?”
“I asked him if he’d take me home.”
She blinks, once, slowly. When she recovers from her astonishment, she says, “And?”
“And he made it clear that he’d rather have his dick slammed in a car door. Are we ready to go?”
She rises, gathering her purse from where it’s hanging on the back of her chair and shaking her head. “Wow. He turned us both down. You could be right about him being married.”
As we head for the front door, she adds thoughtfully, “Maybe he’s just shy.”
Or maybe he’ll turn out to be a serial killer and put me out of my misery.
Probably not, though. I don’t have that kind of luck.
3
Kage
It shouldn’t make a difference that’s she’s stunning, but it does. She’s so extravagantly beautiful, I almost laughed out loud when I saw her.