“You know one of these days that trick won’t work, right?” I say, laughing as I pack my bag and grab a bottle of water.
“Listen, if he’s going to go through all the numbers and actually find me,” she says, and now I hear her walking. “Well, I’m going to have to marry the man.” Now both of us laugh out loud. “I mean, maybe I’ll just throw him a bone.”
“Or you’ll ride his bone,” I say, and she laughs.
“Okay, enough of that,” she says. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” I say. “It’s always sad when Zoey leaves.”
“God, I swear the minute you get off birth control, your eggs are going to be fighting to be penetrated,” she says, and I hear her stir her coffee.
“That just made my uterus cringe,” I say. “Anyway, I’m on my way to do Nico a favor.”
“What?” she asks, shocked. I walk out of the house and get into the car, connecting the Bluetooth. “I mean if you are going to have a favor owed to you, Nico would be a good one.”
“I know,” I say, putting the address in the GPS and then buckling my seat belt. “But Nico called in a favor.”
She whistles now and then takes a sip of her coffee. “Not a bad favor to have. Who is it for?”
“Ralph Weber.” I don’t know why I think she won’t know his name, considering this is what she does.
“Shit, the one who lost his wife in childbirth,” she says. “Dude, that was fucking heartbreaking. I still remember they posted a picture of him at the gravesite with his daughter in his arms.” I close my eyes and try not to think about the hurt he must have felt. I also don’t want to look it up online and break his trust in me.
“What do you know about him?” I ask, and I want to kick myself, knowing she is going to know something is up.
“Wait,” she says. “What do you want to know about him?”
“Ugh, okay, fine, I met him a couple of days ago when Evan was down and threw a barbecue at my house,” I say.
“Sick invite,” she throws in, laughing. “Proceed.”
“He came over, and there’s something about him,” I say, and then I shake my head. “And his daughter has to be the cutest kid I’ve seen after my Zoey.”
“Jesus, you’re already smitten with him,” she points out. “If we were in high school, you would be doodling his name with hearts.”
“I’m not smitten. He’s a jerk,” I say. “Well, he’s a jerk and then not a jerk. I don’t know. It’s confusing.”
“Well, raising a kid that looks exactly like your dead spouse would put you in the fucked-up category.”
“Did you ever meet her?” I ask. I don’t know why it’s bothering me.
“Never,” she says. “He usually came to things solo.”
“What?” I ask, almost shocked. “Why?”
“No clue. I also know that he never really answered any personal questions. It was about the game. He did thank everyone all the time for everything. But he’s Canadian, and they are always saying either sorry or thank you.” She chuckles. “You know how it is, Canuck.” She makes fun of me.
“Those Canadians.” I shake my head. “Anyway, I’m on my way to his house to hash out details.”
“Oooohhh, making a service call.” She whistles.
“Why is it that everything you say sounds provocative?” I ask as I pull up to his house.
“I have no idea,” she says. “But there has to be a reason that I have a mostly male audience.”
“That’s because you think you have a dick in your pants,” I remind her, and she laughs.
“I’m the Alpha,” she says, and I can see her with a huge smile on her face. “Anyway, I’m coming over one day this week after work. We can talk then.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say. “Also, bring back my black heels.”
“Oh,” she says. “Um . . .”
“You owe me five hundred and eighty-five dollars,” I say.
“Why would you buy such expensive shoes?” she shrieks.
“Why would you lose such expensive shoes?” I counter.
“I was making a getaway,” she says. “I guess I could call and ask him.”
“Do you even know his name?” I ask, and she doesn’t answer. “Or where he lives?”
“Fine, I’ll buy you another pair. God, next time tell me no,” she says to me.
“Next time, stay out of my closet,” I counter. “Okay, I’m here. Wish me luck.”
“Don’t fall for him,” she says. After I hang up the phone, I get out of the car and grab my bag. I ignore the way my stomach flutters, and I ignore the way my palms are getting clammy. I ignore it all until I ring the doorbell, and he answers the door.
He’s changed clothes. I don’t know why I’m surprised since I did, too. He stands there, his white shirt pulling across his chest. “Hey,” he says with a smile. “Thanks for coming.” He moves away from the door to welcome me inside, and I smile and step in. “Welcome, keep your shoes on,” he says. I see he’s not even wearing socks.