Page 11 of Frosty Felicity
CHAPTER FIVE
The Sleuth and the Single Life
Brett placed the radio down and put the cruiser in drive. It was Tuesday evening, and his shift was coming to an end. He’d been on duty for twelve hours. There had been a call regarding a suspicious vehicle, a bike pilfering, petty theft at a gas station, an unruly intoxicated person harassing patrons outside a bar, and the usual highway and side street speeders, as well as domestic calls, for threats of violence often involving drugs or alcohol. Now, he could say goodbye to such things, at least for a few hours.
He did his standard routine—stopped by the gas station to fill up the cruiser, then returned to the precinct, got in his own car, and headed home. Streetlights glowed bright as he navigated the streets, watching crimes in progress. No one knew who he was when he was in his own vehicle, and it was amazing to see how much more relaxed people were—doing their dirt unashamedly, at least the ones who didn’t recognize him.
As he kept on driving, he felt his stomach rumble. Rather than go home to microwaved food, he made a detour to pick up a burger and fries. He waited in the drive thru at Burger King, placed an order for a large diet coke with light ice, hamburger with no pickles and onions but extra tomato, and large fries. Once he had his order, he drove home to the sounds of Greta Van Fleet’s, ‘Heat Above.’ He parked his car in the garage and couldn’t believe how cold it was. The temperature seemed to have fallen drastically in that short period of time. The frostiness in the air had a nasty bite, chilling him to the bone.
He quickly entered the house, turned off the alarm, and hit the lights with a slap of his palm. Pumping up the heat, he undressed to his boxers, and settled on the living room couch, greasy bag in hand. He opened the burger wrapper on his lap and dumped out the fries on it, getting situated as he mindlessly watched some documentary on aliens on the A&E channel. Taking a bite of his food, he barely tasted it, exhausted as he was, down to his soul. Even his tongue refused to put in much work. Throbbing muscles, headache, body aches… I’ve got to get more rest. These long shifts are gettin’ to me.
He wasn’t even sure he could get up the stairs without falling down them and sleeping then and there. Perhaps it was best to stay on the couch. His phone buzzed, and it took all of his energy to pick it up and take a look. He rolled his eyes when he saw it was an email from the dating app he’d been suckered into signing up for. A few of his cop friends had told him he needed to check it out, but it wasn’t his speed. Being single for the past few years had its ups and downs. Initially, after his divorce, he’d taken some time for himself. He’d gone through the stages of grief about the ending of his marriage. That had been one of the worst times in his life, but he’d made it through. He survived.
Then, after that, he sowed some wild oats. No regrets.
Regardless, the party came to an end. Not because he ran out of women to have his way with, but because oddly enough, he found himself beginning to become unsatisfied. Brett had been a jock in high school and he’d always been popular with the ladies, but as he got older and went to college, he’d changed. The things that used to matter to him didn’t anymore, and he longed for stronger connections. It didn’t take long for the act of counting the notches on his belt began to get stale, and he then decided to date with intention, versus just to screw and disappear. He was well aware of the reputation police officers, military men, and firefighters had—that they were sex machines, ready and willing to fuck anything that moved. Women truly did love a guy in uniform, and because of that, the city became a candy store of feminine delights. But enough was enough. He’d turned a new leaf—but said leaf had fallen from a dying tree. It seemed that when he was ready to get serious again, to try and find someone special, he ran into nothing but problems.
Some women he went out with were talking about marriage and how many kids they wanted on the first date, and demanding to know his intentions when he barely knew their names. Others were strictly into getting dicked down and didn’t want a commitment at all. Where was the happy medium? Dating was not how he recalled it in high school and college. Back in those days, it was easy. You approached a girl you liked, got her number, called her and went out. You spent time together, talked on the phone, maybe got to know her friends and family, and then, if you felt something for her other than just like, you made your next move and secured the deal. Became exclusive.
Now, everything seemed jumbled up. People met up not at a restaurant, café, or bar. They went straight to the hotel, or each other’s bedrooms. He’d had his share of one-night stands, so he understood the desire to get one’s rocks off and vanish, but hell, sooner or later, he had to choose to grow up… to develop and become the person he truly wanted to be.
If I can’t look up to myself, nobody else can.
He was only thirty-four but felt like an old soul. Things had gotten so bad, he didn’t know if he’d ever find someone to get serious about again. He was picky, granted, but he didn’t think his expectations were unreasonable in the least.
His eyes began to droop, and before he knew it, he saw nothing but black.
*RING! RING! RING!*
“What?! Huh?!” He looked at his phone and hated himself for selecting that old fashioned ringtone now. It had sent him spinning on the couch, in full defense mode.
“Hello?!” It was almost ten P.M., so it was probably the ‘fart’ guy again, ready to fart the alphabet or a lullaby.
“Uh, hi… This is Felicity Fontana. I, um, you asked me to—”
“Oh, yeah, yeah…” He closed his eyes and rubbed the wrinkled skin between his brows. “I remember you. You called. Great.”
“Yeah. Which came first? The squirrel or the chicken?”
He burst out laughing, lounging sideways on the couch.
“I guess the chicken. Well, hell, I don’t know. Do you always call people this late and then go right into a comedy routine?” he teased.
“It’s late? Oh, damn… it is.” She paused. “I can call back tomorrow. Yeah, I’ll call back tomorrow.”
“No… it’s fine. Do you work late?” He yawned as he sat up. “I do. I had fallen asleep. I haven’t been home that long, actually.”
“Well, I’m a pharmacist, and sometimes I get off work around six. Sometimes seven. Not exactly late, but later than a nine-to-fiver. I like to ride my exercise bike after work, and then I… never mind… Anyway, yeah, I’m a bit of a night owl.”
“No, what were you going to say?”
“Say when?”
“You said, ‘I bike after work, and then, never mind.’ What was the never mind?”
“I like to sleuth.”
“Sleuth?”
