Page 22 of Mismatched

“I’m not sure—wait, edible?”

She nods, snatching up several bottles and reading off the labels. “Let’s see, we’ve got banana, watermelon, chocolate... ooh peppermint is always great for extra sensation.”

I stare at the shelves. The colors blurring. The scents of each of those foods swirling through my nostrils.

She eyes me with a kind, albeit knowing gaze. “Want me to just tell you the most popular?”

“Please.”

She plucks a relatively plain-looking clear bottle off the shelf and hands it to me. “Go with this one. It’s got avocado, a hint of lavender, and best of all, a nice, silky feel. Also, it’s vegan.”

“Okay...” I say, turning the bottle over in my hand.

“You give her a good full-body rubdown with that,” she says, walking me to the registers, “and as long as you’re not a total douchebag, I’m pretty sure she’ll forgive whatever you did.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, deciding it’s safer not to plead my case. And anyway, now that she’s summoned the image of Lydia’s oiled, naked body in my mind, it’s hard to think of anything else.

“Good luck with the missus,” she says, handing me a black plastic bag.

I give a terse nod, but as I walk out to my truck, I’m feeling more optimistic than I have since Monday. I can walk this back. We don’t need to make a baby—for now—we just need to reconnect.

I pull out my phone and shoot Lydia a text.

Will you go out with me tomorrow night?

CHAPTER NINE

“I don’t know, maybe this is over the top,” Caprice mutters.

We’re standing in an aisle at Great Buy, being surveyed by a wall of low-profile home security cameras. But my best friend is just sort of staring forward, not really looking at any of them. Her hair hangs loose and wavy, partially obscuring her light-brown face, and there are dark circles under her eyes. She keeps checking over her shoulder even though we’re the only people on the aisle.

“If it would help you feel safer, or even just help you sleep, I don’t see how it could hurt,” I say gently.

“But it doesn’t actually do anything to solve my problem.” She sighs. “Maybe I just need to move.”

I squeeze her arm. “You love your apartment. And your building. It’s a safe place. And you don’t know if this asshole even really knows where you live.”

She grits her teeth. Whoever sent the email she received last night wants her to think they do. After Caprice published her initial article about Unmatched, she was contracted to write a series of follow-ups and related articles. I’d thought she was done with them, but apparently a new one came out yesterday. Within hours, she had a brand-new email. Which, in a single sentence, managed to feel much scarier than all the others so far.

Single girl—fifth floor—careful when you open the door.

“Hi there.” A pasty white guy who looks about twenty years old approaches us. He’s wearing a bright blue Great Buy shirt and ill-fitting khakis. “Can I help you ladies with the security cameras?”

Caprice gives me a look like this is the last conversation she wants to have with anyone, let alone some bro who hasn’t even finished college, so I clear my throat and step forward. “Yes.” I glance at his name tag. “Brad, can you tell us if any of these doorbell cameras can be installed in an apartment?”

“Hmm. Not many of them, depending on your building’s restrictions. Most require drilling into a wall.” He scratches his chin, then raises his eyebrows. “But actually, we have a new device that might be perfect. It replaces a peephole.”

Caprice perks up a little. “How does that work?”

“You just unscrew the existing peephole and remove it,” Brad says, picking up one of the boxes in front of us, indicating a diagram on the back. “Then this fits through the empty space and attaches on the back of the door. It’s a good solution if you can’t actually drill any holes.”

“So, does it like, record anyone outside even if they don’t necessarily knock?” she asks.

He nods. “Yep. You can adjust the settings to pick up as much or as little activity as you want, and control how long the videos are stored. You can even speak to visitors through your phone if you’re not home.”

I glance at Caprice. “Then you’d at least be able to screen everyone who comes by.”

“Yeah.” She exhales and takes the box. “Okay, that’s something. I’ll give it a try.”

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