“Long enough to wonder how you didn’t commit a murder. You’re a nicer person than me.”
“I thought about it, but can you imagine the cleanup?”
“Blood, everywhere. And this place is bordering on unbearable as it is.” He grabs his drink and cradles it in his hand. His skin is a shade pinker than it was a second ago, and the flush creeping up his neck is cute. “Can’t say I’m a fan of bodily functions associated with death.”
“Glad to know you aren’t going to hack me into a million pieces. You’re adverse to the side effects.”
“I’ll just bore you to death by talking about comic books. They wouldn’t be able to pin the murder on me.”
“Do you have a favorite?” I ask. “Comic book. Not alibi to get away with homicide.”
“Watchmen,” he answers right away. “It’s technically a graphic novel, so I’ll also add inThe Amazing Spider-Man: The Night Gwen Stacy Died.”
“I always likedKraven’s Last Hunt.”
He blinks at me. “You read comic books?”
“Do I not look like I would?”
His eyes roam down my body, and a deep sound tumbles from his mouth. I warm under his attention and play with the cocktail napkin to give my hands something to do.
“Do you want the honest answer?” he asks, and I nod, desperate for it. “You’re pretty.Verypretty, and also the first woman who hasn’t made fun of me for liking superheroes. I’m wondering if my friends put you up to this as some sort of dare, because I’m not sure what the hell I did to have someone as gorgeous as you rattle off comic book titles at me.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I have no clue who your friends are.”
“Probably for the best.”
“Is there bad blood there?”
“None at all. They’re way more outgoing and attractive than me. The life of the party. If they were here, you’d want to talk to them instead.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m having a lot of fun talking to you,” I say, and he blushes again. “And I’m sorry people have made fun of the things that bring you joy.”
“It’s not any worse than what you put up with tonight. You like sports, don’t you? Homeboy you were sitting with told you that you don’t belong in that world, and that sucks.”
“How do you know I like sports?”
“You started talking faster when you pointed out a basketball game was on.”
“I didn’t know I was so easy to read,” I say.
“I’m a good listener,” he says.
“You’re also a good eavesdropper,” I joke, and he smirks.
The bartender sets down my drink and dessert, and I sigh.
“Thank you.” I cut off a bite of cheesecake and groan. “Oh my god. This is delicious.”
“I’ll leave you to it. I don’t want to interrupt the best part of your night.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say quickly. “The cheesecake is good, but talking to you is better.”
“You’re only saying that because you ate a meal with a dude who once wore Sperry shoes to a black-tie wedding because he wasbros with the groom. It’s not a fair fight.”
“You don’t wear boat shoes to events where the dinner plate costs two hundred bucks a head?”
“Fuck no,” he says. “Crocs only.”
