Page 107 of The Love Losers

“Are we sure he didn’t just give whatever it is to her?” I ask, rubbing my forehead again.

“Reasonably,” Nicole says. “She’s been selling his shit on Facebook marketplace. Cashmere socks. A stupidly expensive bowling ball. You name it.” She breaks into cackling laughter. “I put in a low-ball offer for the bowling ball, but she turned me down. I did buy the socks for Damien.”

Damien laughs, then says, “We should have enough to dunk them, even if we can’t prove she’s the one who stole your phone and impersonated you.”

“But we might be able to press on the old thumbscrews to get her to confess to that and the website,” Nicole adds.

“Rosie and I had talked about meeting her and—” I glance at Emma, whose eyes are sparkling. “The volleyball for drinks on Wednesday night. But he sent me an email trying to confirm, and he was under the impression our meetup was supposed to be on Thursday. The bartender must have sent me a text about Thirsty Thursday.”

“Yep, definitely Nina,” Nicole says.

“Must be,” I agree, feeling both relieved and pissed off. She made it very clear that she didn’t want me, that all of the allurements that had made her want to marry me weren’t worth enough for her to put up with my personality. And now here she was doing her damnedest to ruin my life again. “If it was her, she probably doesn’t expect us to show up on Thursday.”

“Which is why you’re going to email the Volleyball back tojoyfullyconfirm. And where will we be meeting you on Thursday evening?”

“Yes,” my mother says. “I think Emma and I would also enjoy a chance to get away from the decorators. We should all go. It sounds delightful.”

“Uh, I’d prefer to handle this myself,” I say.

“You won’t even know we’re there,” Nicole says dismissively. “Besides, your sister owes me another chance at a drink-off.”

“What?” Emma asks, sitting up straighter.

“I met you last month in Charlotte,” Nicole says. “I challenged you to a drink-off, but you have a surprisingly high tolerance for alcohol. I think I said my name was Ingrid, but I honestly don’t remember.”

“Why?”

“I’m terrible at remembering names.”

I nod to her. “They were helping Mother with something.”

Emma doesn’t seem totally convinced, but she shrugs. “I guess I got to listen toIrenesing karaoke, so it wasn’t a total loss.”

“Exactly,” Nicole says. “So we’ll sit in a back booth and only step in when the time is right. We can set a code word.”

“Volleyball,” Emma suggests.

“Hell, yes,” Nicole says. “Volleyball it is. Bar name and time.”

It’s not a question, and I don’t feel the need to fight them on it. I’ve spent most of my adult life fighting my battles alone, and where has it gotten me? Maybe Rosie’s right, and it’s time to let other people fight with me.

“I need to speak with the P.I.s privately for a moment,” I announce, looking at my mother and sister.

My mother sighs. “By all means, take my phone from me.”

She releases another gusty sigh as I do just that, taking the phone out into the creaky hallway, closing the double doors, and then walking up toward my room. I know my mother and sister well enough to know they’d try to listen in if I stayed too close.

“What about Rosie’s fingerprints?” I ask as I walk. Because I need them to take care of this for her. And if they can’t, I need to figure out a way to do it myself.

“Our guy has agreed to do it,” Damien says. “Tomorrow morning. He doesn’t anticipate a problem.”

Relief gusts through me. They’re taking care of another obstacle that threatened to keep me from Rosie. Maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe…

“Thank you,” I say, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Oh, don’t get all teary-eyed on me,” Nicole puts in. “I had enough of that shit over Christmas. Let me tell you. Do not watchThe Santa Clauseif you don’t want to have to go around all night pretending you’ve been chopping onions.”

“Thank you,” I say again. Because I don’t have much to add to that. “I appreciate your help more than I can say.”

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