The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil #2)(29)

“You’ve always been nosy. Careful, Lorraine, you’re gonna put that nose somewhere it isn’t welcome one day and get it bitten off,” Jocelyn warned.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Lorraine replied airily. “What I know is, being how you are meant Toby Gamble scraped you off. Everyone in Matlock knows he’s got the patience of a gnat with women who aren’t worth it. Now others who don’t act like trash by treating people like trash,” Lorraine’s eyes slid to me before going back to Jocelyn, “well, they seem to be in it for the long haul.”

Hmm . . .

This might explain why this Jocelyn chick was always such a bitch to me.

“Not sure that haul is gonna be that long, he’s shouting at her on the street,” Jocelyn returned.

“He ever care enough in the nanosecond you two were together to fight with you about anything?” Lorraine drawled.

It was too hard.

I couldn’t fight it.

I made an abbreviated snort sound.

Jocelyn turned her head and glared at me.

“That’ll be eighty-nine, twenty-four,” I informed her.

She bent her head to dig out her wallet, which also had some designer logo stamped obtrusively all over it, pulled it out, unsnapped it, and as she was shoving her credit card in the machine she said cattily, “Nice smock.”

Lame.

“Do you have a Matlock Mart card?” I asked. “You might have some savings. I believe the St. Croix is on sale if you have a Matlock Mart card.”

“I don’t need to pay for my St. Croix on sale,” she retorted.

Well, that was just stupid.

I finished her up, tore off the register tape, folded it carefully and offered it to her saying cheerfully, “Enjoy your evening and thank you for shopping at the Mart.”

She snatched the receipt from me, put her hands to the cart my bagger had filled with her stuff, looked into the distance like I didn’t exist (nor my bagger) and strutted off.

I turned to Lorraine.

“Don’t mind her,” Lorraine said the second I caught her gaze. “She’s even nasty to her grandma, and her grandma runs the local orphanage.”

I felt my eyes get big. “Really?”

Lorraine started laughing. “No. Her grandmother is as mean as a snake. So is her mother. It runs in the family.”

“Right,” I muttered, not surprised, taking the divider off the belt and shoving it down the side.

“I’m Lora, by the way,” she introduced herself. “Jocelyn only calls me Lorraine because she knows I hate it. Though it was my grandmother’s name, and I loved her. Just not real hip on her name seeing as it makes me sound like I’m a waitress at a truck stop in Texas.”

I scanned but looked at her with a smile on my face. “Nice to meet you. And FYI, I think Lorraine is an awesome name. Old-fashioned cool. I’m Addie.”

“Yeah,” she started quietly. “I can imagine you know that everyone in town knows who you are and why. But I’ll just say, it cannot be described how sorry I am why we know.”

My smile faded, and I turned my attention back to scanning.

“I’m sorry, Addie. I was just trying to be real. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Being real is good,” I murmured, scanning a double loaf package of frozen garlic bread (totally my people). “And my son was kidnapped. It happened. He’s safe with his family now, so it isn’t a big deal.”

It was totally a big deal and we both knew it.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Yep.

We both knew it.

I kept scanning.

“She dated him for like, a hot minute,” Lora told me.

“I was guessing that,” I replied, still scanning.

“And she’s jealous like crazy of you because she wished Toby Gamble would fight in the street with her,” she continued.

“It wasn’t as fun as it sounds,” I muttered. And it absolutely was not. “And she’s off the mark. He’s my sister’s fiancé’s brother. We’re just family,” I carried on.

“Hun, I’m sorry. I’m single. Allow me to live vicariously through you.”

With her saying this, I looked at her after scanning some yogurt.

“And I’ll tell you what,” she declared. “I’ve had about five thousand Toby-Gamble-yelling-at-me-in-the-street fantasies since I heard that went down, and I cannot say which part I focus more on with each one. His behind. Or his beard.”

I couldn’t see his ass during our fight or I probably would have been right there with her.

“And here’s a genuine warning from a girl takin’ her girl’s back,” she continued. “About every female in Matlock has had the same, married or not, from ages of about eight to eighty. So if your line is clogged with women having a go at you, it’s just because we all wish we were you.”

I felt my lips quirk and shared, “Honestly, it really wasn’t that fun.”

She leaned across the check-writing desk toward me. “Is he hot when he’s angry?”

Hot?

Nope.

Scorching.

Totally.

Of course, at the time, I didn’t think that (well, part of the time I did but most of the time I didn’t think at all, which turned out to be a disaster).