CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

 

MEG

 

SHE WATCHED HIM WALK BACK up to his house. He had the easy loping stride of a cowboy or a surfer. He kind of went at his own pace without any awareness of his angular body.

She patted her pocket again. She’d have to make sure she had the glass. Or more. Best to be prepared when dining with Jack.

Meg wasn’t sure which excited her more. The idea of maybe sleeping with him or the danger of knowing he might try to make her a victim.

It had been a long while since she thought of herself as a victim. And the challenge of fending off that possibility while being aware that it was something he might be planning was intoxicating.

“You’re fucking nuts, woman,” she said to herself.

She remembered his dog. Why did he have a dog? Most people like him hurt animals.

“Probably to look normal,” she said. “And maybe for instances like this, Meg. He can talk to the dog and not himself.”

She got on her hands and knees and did touch-ups with the wipes. Then she logged onto her work account and checked in. She did freelance editing and wrote for some magazines regularly. She was crazy but she was also a hard worker.

A lot of her dates showed up with wads of cash to impress, so that often supplemented her indie income. The house down payment had come from her mother’s death benefits.

Cirrhosis of the liver. Yeah, big shock.

She answered one of her clients, checked her bank balance, and looked at the messages she’d gotten from her dating app.

Cupcake had been a bust. She’d have to find someone else who caught her fancy.

There was this guy. Todd. A big ruddy guy with a buzz cut. Bright blue eyes and a smug look. He was the kind of guy who was big and buff at the moment but eventually would pork up, no doubt. You could tell by the shape of his face and neck.

“Poor baby.”

“Hi there! I wanted to say hi. You’re very pretty. I’d love to take you out for a drink. I’m looking for a special lady.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Special lady” was basically a generic term for getting laid. Preferably right away.

Just like Cupcake he’d used his full name. She set about to googling.

Looking at him didn’t spark any wariness in her, though. But you never know.

A quick search of him and his area offered up absolutely nothing on Todd Smyth. Nothing. Not long ago or recently.

She swiped away from him.

“Sorry, man. Not my type.”

The next message was her type. A dark-haired, dark-eyed, tall man. First name: Michael. Last name: Flay. He had a record of attempted assault on a female student from the sister school of his former Catholic high school. Charges had ‘later been dropped’ which meant the archdiocese had taken care of their boy. The girl had moved to another state.

His second set of charges came from a college party. A girl claimed he’d drugged her and had sex with her while she was unconscious. Michael Flay claimed she’d been drunk and had come on to him and that the sex was consensual. Shockingly (not really), he had more witnesses than her and he was given a slap on the wrist and a warning to be more careful.

Because girls, you know, can be so dangerous.

“I can,” Meg whispered.

She read his message—typical hi, I’m so and so and work at such and such. Then she answered him, smiling the whole time.

“Not sure of my schedule yet but I think soon I can take you up on that drink if you’re still interested.”

It didn’t take him long to say yes.

“Great!” she typed. “It’s a date! I’ll be in touch.”

First Jack. And if she survived that, she’d tackle Michael Flay. Possibly literally.