Page 74 of The Rules of Dating

“To my mother’s gallery. She was just robbed.”

***

“So your mother said you recently had a showing here at the gallery?” the detective said. He had a small leather flip-up notebook in his hand.

I nodded. “Last weekend.”

Colby and I had arrived at the gallery fifteen minutes ago. My mother seemed to have already shifted from scared to bitchy, which actually brought me some comfort. The masked thief had made off with her wallet, which had less than a hundred bucks cash, but she was currently on the phone canceling all of her credit cards.

The police officer nodded. “And some of the people who came to that show were suspicious?”

My nose wrinkled. “What? No. Why would you say that?”

He pointed over his shoulder with his pencil. “Your mom said that particular night brought a different kind of clientele than she normally has. She seemed pretty certain that the man who came in tonight was also here that evening.”

My eyes widened. “Really? I thought she didn’t get a look at the guy?”

“She didn’t. But she mentioned there were some people with gang affiliations present.” He flipped a page back in his notepad. “One of them named Devin something?”

My jaw hung open. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, why?”

I felt the burn of anger traveling up my face. “Devin is not affiliated with a gang. He’s a well-known tattoo artist and was my mentor for years. I’m sure the people at Bowery Mission, over in Tribeca, will vouch for him since he volunteers there cooking for the homeless three days a week.”

The police officer’s forehead creased as he looked down at his pad again. “What about someone named Lenny Prince?”

I felt like there was fire in my veins. “Lenny is a street artist who was exhibiting the same night Devin was here. The same night I exhibited. His wife is a traffic court judge in Brooklyn. I’m sure she keeps him from breaking into galleries to steal wallets. I hate to tell you, but the only crime either of those men committed was thinking my mother supported their work. You see, my dear mother thinks anyone with tattoos and a lifestyle that doesn’t mimic hers is a hoodlum.” I took a deep breath. “If you really want to know who might want to harm my mother, I’m afraid you’re going to have to interview half of New York City. I’m pretty sure she insults most humans.”

The police officer and I looked over at my mother. She was talking on her cell as she fingered the strand of pearls around her neck. He turned back and folded his notepad. “Thanks for the info.”

“Is there anything else you need from me?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Then I’m leaving. Good luck with her…”

Colby had been waiting by the door, playing with his phone. He stood when I approached.

I put my hands on my hips. “I want to go back to your apartment and grind myself against your erection until I get myself off while fully clothed. Are you good with that?”

His brows shot up, but he got over the shock really quickly. “Absofuckinglutely.”

“Good, let’s go.”

***

Unfortunately, my gusto didn’t last. My anger morphed into disappointment during the Uber ride back to Colby’s. But Colby was really good at reading me and gave me the space I needed until we walked into his apartment.

“How about I finish dinner?” he said.

I smiled. “That would be great.”

He moved around the kitchen, taking the things he needed from the refrigerator and putting his sauce and a pot of water back on the stove. When he was done, he lifted me back onto the counter where I’d been sitting earlier and spread my legs so he could stand between them.

“Talk to me.”

I shook my head. “I fell for her shit again. I thought she was scared and needed my help. But really she just wanted me to give the police details on some of my friends who’d been at the gallery so they could investigate them as suspects.”