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Her eyes widen. “That sounds like a problem.”
“Believe me, it is.”
She leans away and then crosses her arms over her chest.
“The truth is, my bio is just a front. What I’m really looking for is a one-night stand.”
Rose lets her hands fall into her lap. She stares at them. “Normally. I hate liars,” she says, glancing up at me. “But like I said, I can be flexible.”
I signal the server to close out the tab.
Rose holds her hands up, palms facing me. “You don’t have to be in such a rush.”
I wonder if she heard what I said about one-night stands and judging by the smile on her face, I’m afraid she did. “You never know,” she says. “This evening could lead to more.”
* * *
The third woman,Callie, is pushingmaybetwenty-one. In fact, I’m not confident she isn’t actually jailbait. I don’t know what it is about women and lying about numbers, but here we are. When I ask why she lied, she says it’s a bad habit, the way one might chew with their mouth open or leave the lights on when they exit a room.
“What can I say,” she smacks. She’s chewing a wad of gum like it’s going out of style. “I like older men.”
“That’s obvious.” I consider the ages of the victims. “What else do you hate?”
“Oh,” she says, rolling her eyes from side to side. The chewing never stops. “You know, anything traditional, work included.”
“Work included?”
“Well, I do have six hundred thousand Instalook followers.”
“Impressive.”
“Right? I like to think of myself as an influencer, but brand deals were slow this year.” She speaks in a pouty voice, that makes me want to find the nearest fork and stab my eardrums until I can no longer hear.
“It’s okay though,” she continues. “It’s turned out to be a good thing.” She pauses long enough to fidget with her hair. It’s almost like the talking and the chewing and the twisting a strand around her finger is too much to do all at once. “A really good thing, actually! It’s given me more time to focus on meeting interesting people face-to-face. Like you!”
“That is interesting.”
The server arrives. Callie orders a margarita on the rocks, and she gets carded. The female server gives me the stink eye. “We’re networking,” I say, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t spit in my drink.
After “barely legal” leaves, Nadia shoots me a text.Stay put. Something just came through. She is right around the corner and is up for meeting you.
I said three dates. So I text back the best one-word answer in the entire English language:no.I’m exhausted. On average, women speak about twenty thousand words per day to a man’s seven thousand. I’m easily upwards of ten.
Nadia responds, telling me she has a feeling about this one. Then she asks if I called the internet company, a not-so-subtle reminder that I need to solve this case. God, I hope that whoever this woman is, she can carry the conversation.Send me her profile,I write back.
* * *
My phone vibrates.Finally, a reply from Nadia.Some investigator you are, just pull up the app. BOLO for a woman with red hair and green eyes.She ends the message with three eye roll emojis.
Unfortunately, there isn’t time for her suggestion because I’m pretty sure the woman I’m waiting on just walked through the door. Only she doesn’t have red hair and everyone on the internet lies.
Her eyes do a quick sweep of the place and when they land on me, something hits me, something that feels a lot like a round kick straight to the gut. It feels like a throat punch in the wrong part of my body.
Immediately, I know it’s her—my blind date—even though Nadia’s description was off. She has caramel-colored hair, and she’s tall and leggy, even without heels. She’s also drop-dead gorgeous and definitely way out of my league.
When she offers a shy wave from across the room, my stomach sinks. Maybe I was hoping for a little disappointment, I don’t know. Something akin to the others. This one, she’s different. She’s perfect, even without opening her mouth. Somehow I know this is true. She reminds me of Nadia’s version of Beacon, where everyone is a ten, and not a two, like the version I’ve come to know.
She makes her way over and as she gets closer, there’s something about her, something familiar. I note her white blouse and knee-length skirt, but I can’t immediately place her.
