“I don’t, but I have faith in humanity.”
I shake my head slowly, hating that she doesn’t realize how fucking dangerous this all is. “Lulu.”
“Oliver,” she replies as her car tells her to turn in half a mile.
“There could be a serial killer waiting for you at this house.”
“If the serial killer is named Kara who needs her pantry reorganized, then it’s entirely possible.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I tell her.
“I know. I’m not joking. I know how to protect myself, Oliver.”
“So, if I’m on the other side of the door, you can protect yourself against me how exactly?”
“My dad taught me how to fight.”
“I’m bigger and stronger than you are.”
I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation. The girl is a buck fifty soaking wet, and I have easily a hundred pounds on her. She’s tall for a girl, but that doesn’t mean she has the muscle mass to overtake someone with my height and strength.
“I carry.”
“Carry what?” I dip my gaze to her bag that looks like it’s her mobile office, with a laptop, folders, and more shit than I could ever imagine carrying around.
“You know.”
“You have a gun in there?” I point to the black bag that’s neatly organized, but so overfull that there’s no way she can easily access a weapon in a moment of terror.
“Yes.”
I raise an eyebrow as I look over at her. Never in a million years would I have thought she had a gun on her. “Where is it?”
“In there.”
I grunt. “No shit. I mean, where in there?”
“Under the laptop.”
I drop my head and press my fingertips into my forehead in a slow rhythm, trying to stave off the headache that’s right behind my skull. “You need to carry it on you or have it in a pocket that’s easy foryou to get to, Lou. There’s no way you’ll have time to move your laptop out of the way before the person strikes.”
“I’ll move it to a front pocket. Would that make you happy?”
“It’s not about my happiness. It’s about your safety.”
She’s barely listening to me because she’s paying more attention to the navigation system than to me. This conversation isn’t going the way I wanted or wished, and my words are totally falling on deaf ears.
“We’re here,” she says as she pulls into the driveway of a house so big, I can’t even imagine the bill to heat the place in an extra-cold winter like this. “Do you think a murderer is in there?”
“Have you watched any true crime documentaries?”
“No,” she says as she shuts off the engine. “I prefer rom-coms.”
“Shocker,” I mutter. “We’re going to watch a few documentaries together.”
She faces me, her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
I turn my entire body toward her, resting my back against the door. “So, you understand the reality of what’s out there.”
