Page 43 of Love Expert

He writes each word in extreme shorthand.

Chlhd drmz.

Then, “Oh look. She even says here how, psychologically, women rewatch old movies and TV series, because it’s a form of self-regulation.”

He drags his finger across the board.

Regz. Fav Movies.

“So ask her what she likes to watch! Better yet,” he glares over his shoulder at me, “tee up one of those damn shows, ship your kid off to Uncle Ramone’s for the night, and just…” Aggravated, he throws his hands in the air. “Watch it with her! Jaysus, why is this so difficult?”

“Because I already made my move! I said I didn’t wanna go out with those other chicks, and there was a moment where she and I basically had the house to ourselves, so I asked if she wanted?—”

“To fuck,” he cuts in. “You offered to fuck. Women who wanna talk about emotional regulation, movies, and childhood dreams, probably aren’t interested in an angry fuck, you dumb bitch.”

I settle back in my chair and scowl. “What’s with all the name-calling?”

“I’m frustrated! You’ve been a complete potato head since she turned up at old Mrs. Sava’s house last month. You like her, Billy. You want to have a conversation with her that doesn’t include arguing, and at some point in the future,mayyyyybe, if the time is right, you wouldn’t mind taking her to bed. Instead, you keep screaming about how love is for losers, and, ifshewon’t fuck you, one of her set-ups will. No decent broad with half a potato in her head is gonna respond positively to that bullshit. If you keep puttingemotional ignoramusand ‘I’m just here to risk an STD’ energy into the world, then all you’re gonna attract are emotionally ignorant, STD-ridden women. Meanwhile, your son’s already working on his own game. He sure as hell ain’t gonna help you with yours.”

“I am not in competition with my son.” I fold my arms and exhale an unhappy grunt. “He’s eight. He’s not a threat.”

“Wanna bet?” He tosses my phone back onto the table. “Don’t be surprised if the kid’s hatching a plan tooffyou sometime soon. He’ll skip-hop his butt across to the nice lady next door’s house, probably draft up some power of attorney documents, a custody schedule, maybe even a will, so when you die under totally suspicious circumstances, the house comes to him, and in the meantime, he’s already living with thepuuuuurtyMaggie Sava and her stuffed cat. He took fresh donuts to school today. Did you know that?”

“He…” I frown. “What?”

“Remi texted me. Your kid’s at school devouring fresh donuts and making sounds like Maggie’s mixing cocaine in the batter, and when anyone asks about it, he said Ms. Sava gave them to him.”

“When? He hasn’t even seen her today!”

“He’s got her cooking for him in secret,” he chuckles, his shoulders bouncing with laughter. “He’s not sharing the goods with you, andDetectiveCaster has no fuckin’ clue what’s happening right under his nose. That’s gotta be embarrassing.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I snatch up my phone and unlock the screen. Navigating to our chat, I sneer at the ‘let’s conduct business via text from now on’ bullshit. Instead of hitting reply, I hit her name and bring the phone to my ear.

“Aw shit. You’re calling hernow?” Ramone stabs the board with the tip of his finger.Stab-stab-stab-stab. “It’s too soon, Billy! You haven’t learned enough yet.”

“Shut up.” I plug one ear and listen to the dial tone in the other. I wait… wait… wait… wait…

“Hello?” Maggie’s breath comes out on a fast exhale. Like she’s running a marathon, or… doing other things. “Hi. Billy?”

“Maggie?” Noise carries through from her end of the line. Feet shuffle. Life is busy. “Where are you?”

“Oh, shoot!” She drops something heavy wherever she is. “Dammit. Crap!”

“Are you okay?”

Ramonestab-stab-stabsa section on the board that reads, “How are you feeling? Don’t talk about angry sex!”

“I’m okay. So sorry,” she speaks to someone else. “I’m such a klutz. Thank you.”

“Where are you, Magnolia?”

“I’m at a work thing.” She moves through a noisy section of wherever she is, past chattering people and through a door that leads outside until the sounds of puttering cars and a soft breeze replace the constant hum of conversation. Finally, she exhales. “Is everything okay, Billy? I’m kinda busy right now, so if it’s not an emergency?—”

“I mean…” Scowling, I run a hand through my hair. “It’s not an emergency. I was just calling to?—”

Ramone frantically taps the board.

“Ask how you’re feeling.”