“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 ass, the pensioners were far too into their discussion about Heather’s latest escapades to care that I was eating all the Goldfish crackers and Edam cheese.

What? They went surprisingly well together.

After listening to them arguing over the merits of voyeurism for a solid five minutes, I peered into the cat box at a sleeping but snotty Lucifer, then disappeared into the kitchen with my empty wine glass.

The canary yellow clock on the wall—one of Grandma’s new finds from wherever the hell she found her questionable décor.

I had no idea how Immy put up with it.

Maybe she spent more time at Mason’s these days. God only knew I would.

I poured a small glass of wine and leaned against the counter. I didn’t have long until I had to be home in time for my late night texting date, and I also needed to make sure Lucifer ate a little something and had some water before bed.

I tapped my finger against my lips. Maybe I needed to take Isaac up on his offer to take a look at the kitten. Being able to say ‘he’ or ‘she’ would undoubtedly be an improvement on ‘it,’ and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t dying or anything.

I knew nothing about cats. Except that they were assholes, but everyone who’d ever been on the internet knew that.

Even people who didn’t know what the internet was probably knew that.

“My God,” Immy said, walking into the kitchen with a heavy exhale. “They get worse every week.”

“I’m dreading their next book pick,” I admitted. “They seem to be getting sexier and sexier.”

“No kidding. I’m worried they’re going to look into field trips to local sex toy stores or something.”

“Stores?” I raised my eyebrows. “I’m worried they’re going to hunt down sex clubs and put their study into practice.”

Immy shuddered as she refilled her glass, almost spilling the last of the wine onto the countertop. “Shh, Han. Don’t say it that loud. They might hear you and actually do it.”

I wrinkled my nose. The last thing I wanted to do was give those horny old ladies any ideas. Knowing them as well as I did, none of it would stay as ideas.