Page 3 of Crocodile Tears
I take a long sip of coffee, letting Margo’s fierce loyalty warm me more than the caffeine.She’s right, of course.The pattern is becoming too obvious to ignore, but admitting that means accepting that I might be fundamentally incompatible with… most of the dating pool.
“So what do you suggest?Join a convent?Become a hermit scientist who only interacts with lab equipment?”
Margo’s eyes light up with an idea that I immediately recognize as potentially dangerous.“Actually, I have a better suggestion.”She pulls out her laptop and starts typing with the kind of focus she usually reserves for genetic analysis.
Within seconds, she’s bypassed what looks like several security warnings—something I definitely need to address later—and pulled up a website with a cheerful red background.“Romance Expected,” she says, turning the screen toward me.“It’s a dating service specifically for shifters.”
I stare at the website, which features testimonials from happy couples and promises “matches that understand your true nature.”The tagline reads: “Because normal dating sites don’t account for scales, claws, and full moon schedules.”
“Margo, I’m not that desperate—”
“You’re not desperate at all.You’re selective.There’s a difference.”She scrolls through what appears to be success stories, each featuring couples who look genuinely happy rather than like they’re settling.“Look, Dr.L, you’re a crocodile shifter who’s brilliant, driven, and occasionally accidentally destroys lab equipment when idiots upset you.You need someone who thinks that’s amazing, not someone who wants to fix you.”
I watch her navigate the site with suspicious ease, bypassing several more security warnings that definitely shouldn’t be bypassable by civilian users.“Margo, how exactly are you accessing these restricted reviews?”
She shrugs without looking up from the screen.“Former life in hacktivist circles before I went legit in science.Old habits.”
“Old habits of cybercrime?”
“Old habits of thorough research.”She shoots me an innocent grin that doesn’t fool either of us.“Don’t worry.I’m not doing anything illegal.Just… thorough.”
I make a mental note to review our lab’s cybersecurity protocols immediately after this conversation—possibly after I figure out what to do about my dating life and definitely after I stress-eat my way through the emergency raw steaks I keep in the lab mini-fridge.
Speaking of which, my stomach growls, and I remember I never actually finished breakfast thanks to Trenton’s helpful life advice.I open the mini-fridge and pull out one of the vacuum-sealed packages labeled “B.Lawson—NOT LAB SAMPLES” in my most official handwriting.
“You’re stress-eating raw meat again,” Margo says without judgment.“That’s either a very bad sign or a very crocodile sign.”
“Both.”I tear open the package and take a bite.The protein helps settle my nerves, though I’m aware eating raw steak in front of my research assistant probably doesn’t help my case for being “traditionally feminine.”
“See, this is exactly what I mean,” she says, gesturing at me with her coffee cup.“You’re literally the only person I know who keeps emergency raw meat in the lab fridge, and instead of being horrified, I think it’s practical planning.You need someone who appreciates your unique approach to life.”
I chew thoughtfully while she continues scrolling through testimonials.One couple catch my attention—a bear shifter paired with a swan shifter, both grinning at the camera with the kind of happiness that looks genuine rather than posed.
“How does this even work?”I ask despite myself.
“You fill out a profile, they do some kind of compatibility assessment, and then they match you with people who complement your… specific needs.”Margo clicks on another page.“Look, they have a whole section for professional shifters who’ve had trouble with traditional dating.”
The section she’s showing me features testimonials from doctors, lawyers, and researchers—people whose careers apparently make them “too intimidating” for conventional dating.One woman, a bear shifter who runs her own accounting firm, wrote:“Romance Expected understood that I needed a partner who wouldn’t be threatened by my success.They matched me with someone who finds my ambition attractive, not intimidating.”
“I don’t know,” I say, but I’m still reading.“Dating services feel so calculated.”
“Dr.L, you approach everything else in your life with scientific precision.Why should dating be different?”
She has a point.I’ve never been one for leaving things to chance, and my track record with organic relationship development is currently sitting at a spectacular failure rate.
My phone buzzes with another text, this time from Trenton:“Rebecca, I think we should talk about what happened this morning.That behavior was completely unacceptable.”
I show Margo the message, and her expression shifts from encouraging to murderous.
“Oh, hell no.”She snatches my phone and starts typing rapidly.“I’m handling this.”
“Margo, don’t—”
“Too late.”She hands the phone back with a satisfied smirk.“I told him Dr.Rebecca Lawson is too busy revolutionizing medicine to discuss his fragile masculinity, and if he has concerns about shifter biology, he should take it up with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission.”
I stare at the message she sent, torn between horror and admiration.“You’re going to get me fired.”
“I’m going to get you respect.There’s a difference.”She turns back to the laptop.“Now, about this dating service… What do you have to lose?”
