Page 68 of Love in Training
“Right, of course.” I rub my hand over my face. “Can I request the report for that case too?”
“It’ll be redacted, but sure. I guarantee, though, if you ask around, you’ll find plenty of people just like her.”
I am so antsy to run by midday, Rufus almost can’t keep up on our way to the park. It’s the weekend and crowded when we get there, of course. But we fall in with the other joggers along the gravel path, running intermittent sprints around both lakes and the fire station on the north end of the green space. I do jumping lunges the last half mile until my thighs feel like they’re going to scream and fall off. After a brief stop at a drinking fountain for both of us, Rufus sacks out in the grass to watch me stretch.
I must’ve sent twenty emails this morning. I reached out to every contact I had from the original Unmatched feature. Every jilted wife and girlfriend, every person who’d even claimed to have a connection to the dating site. This included Marisol Lopez, a friend of Lydia’s whose marriage did not survive after my first article went to print. She wasveryhelpful the first time around, but has been frosty ever since.
I’m staring at the sky, debating between walking the dog to Lydia’s to drag her out for coffee or heading home to do some upper body lifting, when a strange number rings on my phone. These days, unknown callers tend to put me on guard, but I always have one very good reason to answer rather than let them go to voicemail.
“Bruh.”
“Reece! You are not going to believe the weather we’re having here.”
This is a joke. Since Theo can never even hint at his actual location, he makes shit up every time he calls.
“Let me guess. You’re sipping a cocktail on a beautiful white sand beach, it’s ninety degrees, the waves are gentle, and a gorgeous girl in a grass skirt is waving a palm frond over your body to keep you cool.”
“You ever consider a side hustle as a psychic?”
I snort.
“Good. Cause I’m legit down in a shelter riding out a category four hurricane.”
“Oh, hey, Hollywood called,” I deadpan. “They said to keep your day job.”
He snickers. “Just checking in—I only have a few minutes.”
This is also bullshit. Theo never calls without a reason. But I play along.
“Not much to report here. Except next time you want to crash, you’ll be sleeping on my floor, courtesy of the patriarchy’s best friend.”
“So, you and Rufus are warming up to each other?”
I glance at the dog rolling in the grass by my feet. “No comment.”
But then the air shifts ever so slightly over the line, or the satellite, or whatever.
“Listen, sis, I just had to call because I read a fascinating article about this rich lady in Denver who outed her husband for being a total cheating douchebag.”
And... there it is. I sit up in the grass, looping Rufus’s leash around my wrist and adjusting my earbuds. “Sounds like quality reporting.”
“It was excellent. I only have mild concerns about the author’s sanity.”
I let out a slow breath and drop the pretense. “I think we’ve hashed this out before? You literally chase down bad guys with guns for a living, and I... write words. Whose mental health do we question?”
“Have you looked at the comments section? What the fuck are you doing?”
I close my eyes. “I don’t know, trying to live my life. Have a career.”
Failing at both?
“What’s the stalker situation?”
I pull myself to my feet and Rufus jumps up, taking his position at my flank. “With all due respect, Theo, you’ve got to let me handle this. You can’t micromanage my safety from wherever the fuck you are on the other side of the world.”
The line is quiet for so long, I’m afraid the call might’ve dropped.
“I already lost my best friend, Caprice,” he finally says. “If something happens to you...”
