Every Other Saturday by M.J. Pullen

good run in weeks. He missed it, and, more acutely, he missed the conversation. Every time he’d seen Max lately, it had been with Lianne and the kids. Which was great, but he needed some guy time, too. In the last two weeks, Aaron had called him several times, but Dave had ignored the calls. He wasn’t ready for that, whatever it was.
    For someone in a traditionally male industry, Dave often felt like he was swimming in estrogen. When he wasn’t arguing with Debbie, he was playing Pretty Pretty Princess or singing the Frozen soundtrack with Lyric. Now he had to prepare himself for seventeen more Saturdays of women asking him the same getting-to-know you questions, while they cut chicken wings with a knife or grinded against his crotch. Not to mention the new complication waiting for him right now: Julia Mendel. Bossy, intriguing, emotionally damaged Julia.
    Suddenly, the thought of facing another woman’s scrutinizing eye was too much for him. Dave turned the truck abruptly around, heading back to the entrance to the park. It was closed for the night, but he parked by the locked gate anyway. There was a slightly smelly pair of shorts in the gym bag on the passenger floorboard, along with his running shoes. He put these on quickly and stripped off the Oxford shirt before locking the truck and jumping the fence.
    It was half a mile around the playing fields and through a small wooded area back to the gate. After three laps, his chest began to loosen. He punched the air as he ran, trying to exert more energy and clear his mind of all female-related thoughts. By the time he emerged from the woods on the fifth lap, he felt better. Until he saw the flashing blue lights next to his truck.
    “Fuck.” He panted. He forced himself not to speed up or slow down, but followed the path just as he had been, making as much noise as possible so he wouldn’t take the cops by surprise. Being shot while jogging in the middle of the night was not how he planned to die.
    “Sir, is this your vehicle?” a deep voice asked when he was a few yards away.
    “Yes, sir,” Dave said.
    “You understand the park is closed? It’s clearly posted.”
    “Yes, sir. I do.”
    He could see the officer now, a man about ten years older than Dave with a gray mustache and a blue county police uniform. “You want to explain what you’re doing in a closed park after sundown, with your vehicle illegally parked?”
    Dave thought simple answers were the best in this kind of situation. “I was jogging.”
    “Jogging? Have you been drinking tonight?”
    “No, sir. Well, yes. I had a couple of beers but that was hours ago.”
    The man squinted, appraising him. Maybe deciding whether to give him a breathalyzer. Dave stepped closer, into the light of the streetlamp. He could see the officer’s face change. “Don’t I know you?”
    “Possibly. I’m Dave Bernstein. My ID is in the truck if you need it.”
    The officer’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah. Dave from the Cave, right?”
    “That’s me.”
    “Wow. I love your blog. Read it all the time.”
    “Thanks, man. I appreciate that.” He extended his hand over the gate; the officer shook it.
    “Liked your dating video. Took a lot of balls. My wife and I got divorced seven years ago, and I still haven’t figured it out.”
    Dave nodded. “My first date was tonight. I was just trying to clear my head and figure out what to write about. I’m sorry for jumping the fence.”
    The officer looked down at the gate between them, then at Dave’s truck, and then back at Dave, closely. He seemed to make a decision. “Come on back over. I’ll let you off with a warning. Next time, you’ll have to wait for the park to open at seven, though.”
    “Of course,” Dave said.
    “I recommend a twenty-four-hour gym for late-night woman problems.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The radio on the officer’s shoulder chirped and he bent his head to listen. He waved a hand at Dave as he returned to his patrol car and sped away,