Nice Girls Don't Live Forever by Molly Harper

Author:Molly Harper [Harper, Molly]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
ISBN: 9781416589440
Amazon: 1416589449
Publisher: Bill
Published: 0101-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

10

The best way to get over a messy break-up is to spend time with a supportive group of friends. The best way to chase off a supportive group of friends is to talk constantly about your messy break-up.

—Love Bites: A Female Vampire’s Guide to Less

Destructive Relationships

To say I had some pent-up anger would be like saying Britney Spears had minor impulse-control issues. Love Bites encouraged me to channel those emotions in a positive direction, so I decided to pay Zeb’s contractor a visit.

The minute there was enough twilight shadow for me to move unscathed to the future site of Casa Lavelle, I ran through the trees at full speed. Zeb said that Buster, who was known for high-quality carpentry work before his interest in a perpetual buzz outstripped his desire for a growing clientele, took off at exactly five P.M. every day, leaving a pile of empty beer cans in his wake.

The battered green Dowdy Construction truck was parked in the shade of a huge elm tree, where Jolene had talked about hanging a tire swing for the kids. Buster was dozing with his mouth open, his old faded Cardinals cap perched over his eyes. Long and lanky, he looked like a young Don Knotts, complete with droopy eyes and a twitchy lip.

Somehow the construction site looked even more depressing than the last time I’d been there. The place was haunted by the ghost of “supposed to be.” Chalk outlines showing where the interior framework was supposed to be situated had long since faded into pale scribbles. Sitting in what was supposed to be the living room, a roll of insulation looked as if it was molding from exposure to the rain. Frayed plastic sheeting that was supposed to be protecting the framework flapped shroudlike in the breeze.

It looked as if Buster unpacked his tools every day and did just enough to make it look as if he was working, without making any actual progress. I stared at the sleeping Buster, my lip curled back. I let my fangs fully extend. This man had kept my friends dangling for months. He’d made Jolene cry. This was not going to be a happy meeting for him.

With one lithe, soundless spring, I hopped into the back of the truck and sat on the lip of the bed. I cleared my throat and hollered, “Buster!” startling him into consciousness.

“Wha!” he shouted, sitting up. “Whassat?”

“Wake up, Buster, we need to talk.”

“Debbie?” He yawned, scratching his head and blinking in the low purpling light of the setting sun. “Honey, I told you, I’m sorry I said that about your sister—”

Buster’s eyes slowly came into focus, and he realized that I was not his angry live-in girlfriend.

“Oh, hey, Jane,” he said, yawning again. “Whassup?”

“We need to talk about your timeline for completing the house, Buster. I mean, walls painted, hardware on cabinets, light switches screwed in place, everything. What’s your ETA?”

Buster cleared his throat and tried to use his “professional” voice. “Well, it’s hard to say. So much of that depends on when I can get materials and extra guys out here to do some of the work.

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