Page 39 of Over Her Dead Body

This is what mature adults call restraint.

I used to be very good at it.

My phone lights in my lap.

Todd: Still alive?

I stare at the message.

Then I laugh once, badly.

“Good news?” Owen asks.

“Depends how philosophical you’re feeling.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Todd?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Which Todd?”

“That is a rude question.”

“It is a necessary one.”

I turn the phone facedown. “Not tax Todd. Not Pilates Todd. Just Todd.”

“You hate Pilates.”

“I know. That’s why he didn’t last.”

“None of them last.”

He glances at me, then back at the road. “Maybe there’s an airport-pickup Todd. Aim higher.”

“Tax Todd was very useful. Even you thought so.”

“You said he talked about depreciation after sex.”

“He was still useful.”

“Your standards are inspiring.”

“They’re called dating apps, Owen. Not marriage apps.”

Also, none of them were particularly memorable in bed, which makes the last twenty-four hours feel like an especially personal insult.

Apparently the universe can return one useful quality in a man.

It just prefers him legally dead.

Owen’s hands tighten on the wheel.

If I weren’t trained to notice provenance, damage, restoration, and men pretending not to react, I would miss it.

“It’s just fun,” I say. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

“Right,” he says, and this is a thing we do.