I sat up on the sofa and scratched my head, which didn’t hurt too much thanks to the aspirin and water I’d consumed before dozing off. At least I had that going for me.
The throw Liz had been using last night was wrapped around me snugly, which made me appreciative of herthoughtfulness. I must have passed out while we were talking because I couldn’t remember her leaving. She obviously had, though, or else she’d be sitting next to me engulfed in flames. I shivered at the thought.
What to do now? I wondered.
Though I was frequently on my own during daylight hours, with Robert dead to the world in his sleeping chamber, the house felt especially lonely now that I was truly alone. The vamp I’d imagined myself one day marrying was gone, and my life would never be the same. I hated it.
And I hated thinking about Robert sleeping somewhere else with a certain buxom blonde vampire?—
“No,” I scolded myself. “Don’t even go there.”
I went into the kitchen to make coffee, but even the small task of scooping grounds seemed daunting in my depressed state. I was also feeling lazy. “Drive-thru it is,” I said to the empty room.
I cupped a hand over my mouth and exhaled. My breath could have stopped a pack of ravenous tigers in their tracks. If I went into public with my mouth stinking like that, even if I was just inside a car, I could potentially kill someone.
I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth and suddenly felt sick. Good thing I was so close to the toilet, which I hunched over just in time. No more wine for me, I thought, then amended the statement tofor a while. I straightaway felt better once I was done heaving up my guts, as if I’d expelled all the dizziness from my body.
Once I finished brushing my teeth, I ran an oversized comb through my hair, which looked like a rat’s nest. I was single now, I reminded myself resentfully, so leaving the house looking like hell wasn’t going to help my cause—not that I was even remotely searching for a new man. I probably wouldn’t for quite some time.
Because I’m such a classy broad, I wet my finger with spit and scrubbed the mascara from underneath my eyes, which was strange since I hadn’t worn any last night. When I thought about it, I’d actually washed my face a couple times since I’d last put any on. Where did the mascara hide? I wondered.
I drove to a different place to get my coffee, since my usual spot at Lakeside Plaza was the site of Nick’s murder. With it only being the morning after, I wasn’t quite ready to revisit.
I squinted my eyes shut as a vision of the crime scene jolted my brain—Nick’s stiff feet aimed at the moon, congealed blood drying on the pebbled sidewalk, all the looky-loos taking their videos. Nick’s eyes had been open when he was murdered. I knew this because my eyes locked with his lifeless blue eyeballs as the crime scene investigator pulled his head from the fountain. I could have sworn he’d winked at me.
I was probably going to need therapy.
More immediately, though, I needed coffee.
After a short drive, I gave the teenager on the other end of the drive-thru speaker my order, then pulled up to wait for my coffee. A line of cars sat in front of me, which I’d expected at that time of morning. Still, I let out a long-suffering sigh.Poor me, having to wait for my fancy coffee!First World problems, I was aware.
Irritation jabbed at my gut when I noted that the van in front of me was packed to the gills with six male passengers. The blue and white license plate declared they were from New York.
“I bet their order will take eons to fill,” I muttered like my name was Bitter Betty, just knowing that they’d ordered a bunch of pastries that required heating and complicated half-caff-half-decaf-half skim-half foam-two-and-a-half-pump-vanilla-flavored lattes purely to piss me off.
Where have all the real men gone?I raged on inside my head, gripping the steering wheel like I was trying to strangle it. Howfucking unattractive, men taking longer to order their damn coffees than the average woman took to get ready for a night out on the town!
I got a better look at the vehicle as it eased around the bend. It had seen better days. It was one of those old-school vans from the eighties, with more windows than an average house and long-faded brown and orange stripes that ran down the side. The ugly thing probably got five miles to the gallon, so it was a wonder they had any money left for coffee after driving all the way out to California from New York. Probably would have been cheaper for them to hire a private jet.
The passengers looked like they were members of a band, with edgy haircuts and kohl-lined eyes. Sure enough, a decal was pasted on the side of the van, bearing the group’s name.Grifter 5.
That was funny, with there being six guys in the van. Maybe one of them was the roadie.
I couldn’t see what they were wearing, but I would have bet their closets were bursting with an array of dark skinny jeans, leather pants, indie band t-shirts, and vintage sunglasses. They had that disheveled sort of look that automatically makes a girl’s mind drift to sex: tousled hair, reedy but toned arms, pouty lips drawn into a cocky, sly smirk. Like they’d just gotten done giving a harem of groupies the best screwing of their lives and were only taking a break to sling back a few shots of espresso before returning to the bedroom for round two.
Based on the band’s unenthused expressions, I surmised that I wasn’t the only one who’d tied on a few last night. I studied the driver, his pale elbow jutting out the open window, fingers tap-tap-tapping on the door along with the loud rock music blasting from the van. He looked like he wasreallyenjoying that cigarette he was sucking on, though its smoke was blowing back throughmy own window, making me nauseous. I wondered if he was the lead singer. That seemed like a lead singer thing to do, blowing smoke with abandon.
Too bad Liz wasn’t with me, I lamented. She loved band boys.The charming, stunning, exotic Liz, who will have no problem finding a new man,I thought jealously. I scowled at my haggard appearance in the rearview mirror. The circles under my eyes were packing more baggage than United Airlines. I sighed. Liz would probably have all their numbers programed in her phone by now, along with backstage passes.
Finally, they pulled up to the window.Here we go,I pouted, checking the clock on the dashboard.Let’s see if I can manage to get out of here by lunchtime.
I was pleasantly surprised when the barista passed two trays of simple hot coffees through the window. The driver, bless him and every gig he’d ever play, even paid via an app on his phone. The whole transaction took less than a minute, thus earning Grifter 5 a brand-new fan. I made a mental note to search for their website when I got home, so thankful that I’d even buy a t-shirt with their name on it.
The barista’s jaw dropped when I pulled up. I must have looked worse than I realized.
“Oh, wow! Awesome,” he gushed, bringing his hands together in a single clap.
“Um . . .”
