Number Neighbors - Emma Hart Page 0,8

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I hoped I never would, especially not on an eighty-something-year-old woman.

Now, let me make this clear: I was not against anyone wearing anything that made them feel confident, beautiful, or like an absolute boss.

I was merely against knowing my grandmother was wearing such a thing.

It was a vision I didn’t need, thank you very much.

“Oh, Hannah, I have a date for you.” Grandma folded her quasi-bra into a tidy little triangle and tucked it into the pocket of her cardigan. “He’s twenty-eight, a lawyer, and has no friendly exes or children.”

“Subtle, Grandma. Real subtle,” Immy said, twirling her wine glass.

I rolled my eyes. We all knew Grandma loved Mason and especially Maya, and she was making Fran’s wedding cake for the love of God.

The woman was all drama.

Well, ninety percent drama. The other ten percent of her was Jack Daniels.

It wasn’t a questionable mix at all.

“I don’t need a date,” I said for what was probably the five-thousandth time this month. “I’m fine.”

“With your cat?” Grandma asked with faux innocence.

“It’s not my cat. It snotted in my shoe before I came here.”

Grandma looked at my foot. “Why didn’t you change your shoes, then?”

“I did!”

“Oh. Then you need new ones, because they look like they’re covered in cat snot.”

The doorbell rang, giving me a welcome break in the conversation. At the same time, my stomach sank, because it meant the others were here.

Lilian, Evelyn, and Kathleen.

Which meant the night was just getting started.

AKA, time to pray for all our souls.

I did just that, shooting a quick prayer to whichever God from whichever religion may be listening right now. All three women came into the living room clutching books that declared they were Wuthering Heights.

The dust jackets weren’t fooling anyone. I knew the actual title of the book was Heather’s Discovery: A Sexual Journey, a memoir about a woman exploring her sexuality in the world of BDSM.

I was equal parts excited and terrified. Excited because they were branching out to non-fiction, but terrified they were getting lessons from this poor woman whose name was not actually Heather.

“How do you get the dust jackets to stay on the paperbacks?” I asked, picking Evelyn’s book up from the table right after she’d set it down. “And you do know that everyone knows you’re all smut peddlers, don’t you?”

“Open the cover. Sticky tack,” Lil answered, unscrewing the Jack Daniels. “And we know, but it’s fun to take the books to church and wait for all the prissies to open a book discussion.”

Kathleen nodded sagely. “This morning, Wilhelmina Porter-Scott asked us what we thought of the book, and Jen told them she was enjoying the voyeur scene.”

Grandma cackled. “Poor little Willy went bright red and did the cross over her shoulders. She’s not even Catholic, the silly old prune!”

I side-eyed her. “Are you aware that you’re an eighty-year-old bully?”

“Yes, dear, but you’re confusing me with someone who gives a shit.”

Well, that conversation was always going to end like that. I really should have known better than to ask that.

Immy shot me a look that said she could read my mind and passed me a glass of wine.

Yes.

Very helpful.

Thank you.

Lil passed the Jack Daniels around to the ladies and took her seat. “Let’s discuss Heather’s latest escapades! I know we only said it to wind up Willy, but I really did enjoy the voyeur scene. Especially because she didn’t know who she was doing it with! Blindfolded!” She shuddered.

I stilled. What on Earth had I gotten myself into this time?

“I thought that was a little strange,” Evelyn ventured, taking a sip from her glass. “Imagine having sex with, well, anyone. Do you really think she enjoyed that?”

“I don’t think it matters,” Kathleen added. “Sir was with her the entire time, and she could have safe-worded to get out.”

Grandma nodded. “All she had to do was say ‘marshmallow’ and she was out of there.”

“Her safe word was marshmallow?” Immy raised her eyebrows. “Who the hell is going to yell that while getting flogged?”

Excellent question.

“She wasn’t getting flogged, dear,” Evelyn said. “She was—”

“She knows what she was doing, Eve,” Lil drawled. “It was hypothetical.”

“Oh.”

Lord above. These women were something else.

I sat back and cradled my wine glass. I would have to break into that Jack if this carried on this way. I thought they would at least try to be restrained, but that was my mistake.

I knew better than to think that.

At least there was food.

Immy had been roped into preparing a charcuterie board, and luckily for my cheese-loving