“I love Sandy.”
He says it so seriously that it’s my turn to stare.The side of his mouth twitches in amusement when he asks, “Do I pass the test?”
“Depends.How do you feel about scary movies?”
They were noticeably absent from his list, and while I can overlookThe Fast and the Furious, it’d be a major red flag if he doesn’t watchanyhorror.
He shrugs.“I’m partial to one every now and then… I’d watch more with the right person.”
I’d like to be the right person.
I’d start off gentle, maybeScreamorNightmare on Elm Street.Eventually, if things got more serious, we’d graduate toCreeporSinister.Break up the gore withTwo Weeks Noticeas a palette cleanser.
“Is this your first one of these?”I ask after the silence—the one caused by me fantasizing about having a three-way of films with this guy—extends.If I want that to become a reality, I’ll have to, you know, find out more general information about him.
“Yeah, I, uh—” He leans in, and I match his movement.We’re close, like six inches close, and I can smell his cologne, or his shampoo, or his bodywash.Or maybe it’s a mix of all three.Whatever it is, it’s woody and smoky and spicy and it makes me take a long—hopefully subtle—breath through my nose to try and memorize it.
“I work a lot.”
My eyes are drawn down to his clasped hands as he talks.His thumb is mindlessly circling one of his knuckles and… Huh.That’s new.I try not to squirm too obviously in my seat.
“I don’t have much free time, but I got some time off recently and thought what’s the worst that could happen?”
Didn’t I tell myself the very same thing earlier in the night?Although there is one scenario that always comes to mind.
“We could get murdered.”
I say it without thinking.Shrugging in a “Whattaya gonna do?”kind of way as I lift my gaze to meet his, expecting a thoroughly amused expression and my first taste of a low, husky laugh that would give me a greater appreciation for the deep rasp of his voice.
But I don’t see it, and he doesn’t laugh.
He doesn’t laugh at all.
CHAPTER 5
“Nothing beats a first kill.”
—Not50 First Dates
Wes justblinks.So I blink.We blink, and then his lips pull down into the smallest of frowns.
“Maybe that’s just a general female fear,” I say.
He leans back from the table, his brow furrowing, and I feel like this is a good time to explain that in my household—one where Laurie and I have had to find a middle ground between our two divisive interests (aka true crime documentaries)—murder is spoken about in the same way one might discuss what should go on a grocery list.
“Sorry… Um, I watch a lot of horror movies and listen to a lot of true crime podcasts, so when someone says, ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’‘Murder!’is just my knee-jerk reaction.”
He doesn’t respond.
I probably shouldn’t have performed jazz hands on the word “murder,” but here we are.There is a chance he missed it, though, because his eyes are fixed on a spot on the table, that somber expression firmly back on his face.
That should be my sign to change the topic to future travel plans, favorite foods, preferred sex positions, but does that stop me from going further down the murder spiral?
Not a chance.
“I mean, I don’t know if there’s a speed date killer out there.”
Wes’s eyes flick up to mine, the formerly soft brown depths hard and unreadable.
