Page 4 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)

“He approached our table carrying a steak knife. My training kicked in before my brain caught up.”

“And she didn’t appreciate your protective instincts?”

“She didn’t appreciate being on a date with someone who treats dinner service like a potential security threat.”

Red makes more notes, her expression thoughtful. “Calvin, can I ask you something directly?”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you looking for someone who’ll help you forget your past or someone who can accept all of it?”

The question catches me off guard. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

“Most people in your situation want one or the other. Either they’re looking for someone so normal and peaceful they can pretend their previous life never happened, or they want someone who won’t be scared off by the reality of what they’ve done and who they are.”

I consider her words while studying the collection of successful match photos on her wall. The couples look genuinely happy, but more importantly, they look like they’re being themselves with each other. No pretense or carefully maintained facades.

“I want someone who won’t freak out if I accidentally shed my skin at an inopportune moment.” The words come out before I can stop them, and I immediately regret the admission.

Red just nods like I’ve said something perfectly reasonable. “Gila monster?”

“How did you—”

“The way you positioned yourself in your chair, the way you checked ambient temperature when you entered the room, and the faint pattern on your forearms when you’re thinking hard.” She grins. “Plus, you mentioned shedding, which narrows down the possibilities.”

I look down at my arms, surprised to see the orange-black patterning that appears when I’m stressed or emotional. “I thought I was keeping that under control.”

“You are, mostly, but shifter biology has its own timeline, especially when we’re dealing with change or uncertainty.

” She sets down her tablet. “Shedding at awkward moments is barely in the top ten weirdest shifter dating issues I deal with. Trust me, we’ll find someone who thinks your reptilian traits are assets, not problems.”

The confidence in her voice is reassuring in a way I wasn’t expecting. “What kind of assets?”

“Reptile shifters tend to be patient, observant, and excellent at reading situations. You’re probably calmer under pressure than most people, you have better temperature regulation, and I’m guessing your night vision and reaction times are significantly above human normal.”

“All true.”

“Those are attractive qualities to the right person—someone who values competence and reliability over flashy romance.” She turns back to her tablet, scrolling through what appears to be client profiles.

“Actually, I might have someone perfect for you. Dr. Rebecca Lawson, crocodile shifter, and a research scientist.”

The tablet screen shows a photo of a woman with dark hair pulled back in what was probably meant to be a professional bun but looks more like organized chaos.

She’s clearly mid-lecture, gesturing with hands that are partially shifted into clawed form, while a woman in the background—probably her assistant—looks on with the resigned expression of someone who’s seen this before.

“She stress-alphabetizes lab specimens and has been known to accidentally bite through lab equipment when she gets excited about research results.”

Something about the image makes me smile.

The woman looks like she’s completely absorbed in whatever she’s explaining and passionate enough about her work to shift without noticing.

There’s a genuineness to the moment that’s been missing from every carefully posed dating profile I’ve seen. “What kind of research?”

“Genetics and regenerative medicine. She’s brilliant, dedicated, and recently single after a series of men who apparently thought her career was too intimidating .” Red looks up from the tablet. “Sound familiar?”

“What makes you think we’d be compatible?”

“You both have careers that require precision and dedication. You both understand what it’s like to be judged for aspects of yourself you can’t change, and you both need someone who appreciates competence and intelligence over conventional romance.”

She shows me more photos of Dr. Lawson in her lab coat examining genetic samples, Dr. Lawson at what appears to be a scientific conference looking simultaneously bored and brilliant, and Dr. Lawson with what looks like a large iguana wearing a tiny bowtie.

“She keeps a pet iguana named Galileo and emergency raw meat in her lab refrigerator. Her last boyfriend suggested she ‘tone down her ambition’ if she wanted to find a mate.”

The casual way Red delivers this information tells me she’s dealt with similar issues before. In my world, competence and dedication are survival traits. The idea of someone being criticized for excellence seems fundamentally backward.

“She sounds intense.”

“She is. The question is whether you find that attractive or intimidating?”

I study the photos again, particularly the one where Dr. Lawson is clearly explaining something complex while her hands gradually shift into their crocodile form.

Most people would be disturbed by the casual mixing of human intellect and reptilian biology.

It strikes me as perfectly natural. “I think I’d like to meet her. ”

She claps her hands together like I’ve just made her day. “Excellent! I have a feeling you two would click. Let me call her and set up something.”

While Red makes the call, I continue studying Dr. Lawson’s photos. Something about her reminds me of the best officers I served with, who were completely focused when working, intense about things that matter, and devastated when someone underestimated their capabilities.

“Rebecca? It’s Red from Romance Expected. I have someone I’d like you to meet… ”

The conversation that follows sounds promising from my end, though I can only hear Red’s side. Dr. Lawson apparently has questions about my background, my “security consulting” work, and whether I’m “the type who gets upset about reptilian biology in professional settings.”

“No, he’s definitely not that type… Yes, he’s a reptile shifter, too… Gila monster… I think you’ll find him very understanding about the pressures of a demanding career… ”

When she hangs up, she’s grinning like someone who’s just solved a particularly complex puzzle. “Dinner tomorrow night at Scales and Tails—it’s a shifter-friendly restaurant with reinforced furniture and excellent soundproofing. Seven o’clock.”

“She agreed?”

“She’s curious about you. Apparently, most of her recent dates have been what she calls ‘aggressively normal humans, who think shifter biology is something that should be managed rather than accepted.’”

I can relate to that particular frustration. “She doesn’t mind the security consulting?”

“She asked if you were the type to get paranoid about everyday situations. I told her that depended on your definition of paranoid.”

“What did she say to that?”

“She laughed and said anyone who works with hazardous materials understands the value of appropriate caution.”

The response surprises me. Most civilians hear about my background and either romanticize it into something from an action movie or treat it like a character flaw that needs fixing.

The idea of someone who might appreciate tactical thinking as a practical skill rather than a psychological problem is genuinely appealing. “Red, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How do you know this will work? What makes you think two people with complex professional lives can build something normal together?”

Red leans back in her chair, her expression growing thoughtful. “What makes you think normal is what either of you needs?”

The question stops me cold. I’ve been assuming that civilian integration means becoming someone fundamentally different, whose life doesn’t involve tactical assessment and controlled violence, but maybe the goal isn’t to become normal.

Maybe it’s to find someone who appreciates exactly who I am, reptilian biology and mercenary background included.

“Dr. Lawson sounds like exactly the kind of normal I need,” I say finally.

She grins and hands me a business card with the restaurant’s address. “That’s the spirit. Just remember, she’s as nervous about this as you are. You’re both trying to figure out how to build something real in a world that doesn’t quite know what to make of either of you.”

I pocket the card and stand to leave, filled with anticipation. It’s not the tactical awareness that comes with mission preparation but genuine curiosity and excitement about what tomorrow night might bring. “Red, thank you. This is different from what I expected.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“Good different. Definitely good different.”

As I head back to the street, I’m looking forward to meeting Dr. Rebecca Lawson in a way that has nothing to do with operational objectives or mission parameters.

For the first time in years, I’m curious about someone—not because of what they might know or what threat they might represent but because of who they are.

Maybe Dr. Martinez was right about this civilian integration thing. Maybe it’s not about becoming someone different. Maybe it’s about finding someone who appreciates exactly who I already am.