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Even so, I was me.
And women were missing.
So I replied, “Yeah. Okay. Why not?”
* * *
It was later.
Luna was gone.
Cleo and I were lying on my bed.
I was in my nightie, on my back, upside down in bed, my heels resting on my scallop-topped, pale-yellow padded headboard.
Cleo had her butt aimed toward my face and her head on a pillow.
Ice queen mode during cuddle time, friendly puppy when a strange lady carrying a Hermès bag was walking out of my apartment toward us after breaking into it.
Figured.
I had my head turned to what I’d meticulously been building on my wall.
It had taken me a year after I’d cottoned on to what I thought was a pattern before I kicked it up to high gear.
But I was no detective.
I had a ton of info on that wall and zero idea what any of it meant.
“What the hell am I doing?” I muttered to myself.
My phone rang.
I reached for it on the pink, peach and yellow butterfly print comforter on my bed.
The screen told me it was an unknown number.
But I took the call because…
Why not?
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe.”
My belly dipped.
It was Cap.
I rolled to the side, into Cleo, and came face to face with a dog butt.
I lifted up on a forearm and looked at my Alexa on the nightstand.
It was ten to ten.
I fell again to my back and asked, “Is your thing over?”
“Yeah.”
