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“No!” Val slams her hand against the table, causing the champagne glasses to shake. “Because why do people leave her apartment the next day with marks on their necks.”

All that’s missing on her head is an aluminum foil hat.

Mariah huffs. “Ever heard of sex?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not sex.” Val leans in with wide eyes. “It’s fang marks.”

Mariah and I give each other a look. Val has been concerningly obsessed with her new neighbor. It’s becoming borderline worrisome because she’s starting to believe the insanity that she is spewing.

“Oh, don’t you bitches give each other that look!” she yells over the music blasting in the club we are in. We’re in a VIP Lounge courtesy of Mariah’s man. Not only is he a demon, but he’s a rich one too.

“Baby, I love you,” Mariah says, patting Val's hand like she's soothing a toddler, “But you thought your last neighbor was a werewolf because he always left his house the night of a full moon.”

“That was a pattern, Mariah.”

“Unlikely.”

Val wiggles a finger in our faces. “But not zero.”

In the last two years, Val has had five different neighbors because she comes up with some crazy theory then harass them nonstop. They are driven to the brink of insanity until they just decide to break their lease.

According to her, she has had a werewolf, witch, wizard, elf, and a fairy. Now, her terror continues with a vampire.

“Okay,” I cut in, because if I don't we'll be here till sunrise. “Purely hypothetically. If your neighbor is a vampire, what's your plan? Garlic bread under her welcome mat?”

She narrows her eyes. “Don't mock me.”

“I'm not mocking, babe. I'm trying to help. I want to know if I need to invest in a stake for you.”

Her eyes widen and she points at me like I've finally said something useful. “See, she takes me seriously.”

During Val’s rambles, I became pathetically sober.

Time to shake things up.

“Anyways ladies, staying in this corner is boring,” I complain. “Let’s hit up the bar on the first floor for some shots then hit the dance floor. That’s where the real magic happens.”

Without waiting for them to acknowledge what I said, I walk up to the bar and slam my hand down, getting the attention of the bartender. “Can I get six more green tea shots and a whisky sour?”

The bartender looks scared of me.

Good.

I’m not nearly drunk enough and I just know those two shots and whisky sour will get me there.

I’ve been so stressed with work lately and this is the first time in a while that I’ve been able to get a breather.

On top of a demanding job, my mother is starting to bother me about finding a husband.

Yeah, right.

I’ve written off romance.

Scratch that.

I’ve written off men.

Life would be so much easier if there was some way to know if the man you’re dealing with is wasting your time or if he’s your soulmate.