* * *
Once home, I changed into jammies and made a hodgepodge dinner of crackers and cheese, popping in a lemon sorbet wax melt to transport the apartment to the tropics. My wine-filled mug and couch finished the after-work therapy, and I wasn’t moving unless the place went up in flames.
Obviously, my diet of champions wasn't helping old jeans fit, but I didn’t care. Hopefully, I'd meet a sex god that would burn off the extra inches someday, but in the meantime, it was cracker city.
I flicked on the news, attempting to do the adult thing, but after the second political story in a row, it was straight to Forensics. I was a glutton for punishment, sure to end up terrified at every bump in the night after, but I always came back for more.
As usual, it ensnared me, the story of a teacher murdered in her apartment. It was a violent episode with lots of knife action and a lot of who-done-it.
Was it the loving, devoted boyfriend?
No, it couldn't be. He was so sweet and loyal. He walked her dog on his lunch breaks and bought her flowers. The actor playing him wore a cardigan for crying out loud. Guys in cardigans didn't go around stabbing people.
It had to be the landlord. He was a creep with a handlebar mustache and greasy jeans. He had a pocketknife and key, too, ready to slash and dash. Who cared about motive? He had a borderline mullet and evil eyes.
Things got shifty when the boyfriend's financial troubles surfaced, owing thousands in gambling debt. Suddenly he wasn’t Mr. Sunshine anymore.
Did she find out about his lies?
Did she threaten to break things off or expose him?
How do you murder someone in a cardigan?
I clutched my blanket close, the music tempo picking up along with the stakes.
What about the landlord? Guys with mustaches like that were murderers or 70s porn stars.
Stranger danger!
But the boyfriend... he had all the motive in the world.
But that mullet!
I couldn't take it.
BEEP BEEP.
The chime of my phone sent me flying upwards, springboarding poor Hank off the couch. It took a moment to steady my breath, hands shaking from the jolt of adrenaline. I reached for my phone, swiping the screen alive with a still-trembling thumb.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a psycho murderer, just my Privately pal. We had been chatting almost nightly, the mystery man making the worst of days better with a few laughs.
Bear: How are you doing tonight, Jewels?
Oh, ya know. Just about had a damn heart attack.
Jewels: I'm hanging in there. How are you?
Bear: Can't complain. Winding down after a long day.
Jewels: Same. Just me and some Pinot tonight.
I wouldn’t reveal I was chugging it out of a mug or using it to wash down junk food. Ordinary people didn’t double-fist crackers and cheese on a Friday night.
Bear: More of a Bowmore 15 man, but I can appreciate Pinot. Long day?
Jewels: Yep. Super busy and a lot of changes at work.
Bear: Hate that. Hopefully, for the better in the long run?
Jewels: We'll see. It’s been rough so far.
Bear: Some constructive criticism could help if they appreciate the input.
I chuckled, taking a swig of wine. Criticizing Barrett to his face would be deadlier than telling a pregnant mama you didn’t like the name she selected.
Bear: How's the Pinot treating you?
Jewels: Quite nicely. How's the Bowmore?
Bear: No glass tonight, unfortunately. Have to be up bright and early.
Jewels: On a Saturday? Goody two-shoes over there.
Bear: I'm running the Cayuga Trail tomorrow. I need to beat the rain. Any weekend plans?
Jewels: Catching up on some things. How about you?
There was no sense revealing my riveting life of lounging around in pajamas with an eReader and my cat.
Bear: Other than running, I have to catch up on reports.
Jewels: Do something fun too.
Bear: I'm talking to you, aren't I?
Smooth, buddy. Smooth.
I wanted to know so much more about him but didn’t want to force it out. What made him tick? Why was he single at thirty-six? Was he divorced?
There was no sense beating him over the head with questions when I had more than enough issues of my own. God knows what he'd do if he caught a whiff of canceled wedding plans. It always made people treat me differently, and I didn't want their pity.
Bear: Do you have any fitness routines you stick to?
I bit down on a hunk of cheddar and almost choked with a laugh. The only fitness I was into was fittin' dis ass into my old jeans. Eventually.
Jewels: I used to jog and do barre, but I had some lifestyle changes.
That was one way to put it. More like I couldn’t show my face at that gym again. Justin was a member. Yuck. Breaking up with a gym and finding a new one was just as hard as a partner.
Bear: Ah, barre is killer. It'd be nice to be able to do some of those crazy stretches.
Jewels: A lot serve no other purpose than giving you a wedgie.
I made the fatal mistake of wearing a thong to my first class, trying to avoid panty lines in leggings that bared every nook and cranny. Rookie mistake. I had fabric so far up my tailpipe after warm-ups I wanted to cry. I spent most of the class dropping into plié after plié for relief.
Bear: So any crazy things to get out of the way? Any dark looming secrets? A life in crime? A love child?
Ha. As if my life was scandalous enough to have any dark secrets outside of never wearing a bra at home.
Jewels: Not really. No love children. No top-secret missions or crimes. You?
Bear: Damn. Me neither. We suck at scandal.
Jewels: Indeed. Ever been arrested?
Bear: Once.
Oh shit. How did he get on Privately with a record?
Jewels: WHAT? Mr. Goody Two Shoes was arrested?
Bear: Yeah,
