I tap my fingers on the side of my glass containing the brown fizz I’m a little obsessed with since arriving here. Dr. Pepper is something I have been missing out on. “I’m good with my soda.”
“You don’t drink?”
“I’m human—without fluid, I would die. But I’m assuming you mean alcohol, and the answer to that is no, I do not drink. At least, not often enough to count.”
The smell of warm popcorn fills the apartment. He grabs a glass bowl and empties the entire bag of cheddar popcorn into it. Cheddar is far superior than butter, and I hate him a little for getting something else right. He snatches a carton of vanilla Häägen-Dazs and a small spoon before taking his haul to the couch. I lift a brow in surprise. How very boring. He’s now slipped back down.
Hunter quietly hums to himself and connects to the Zoom meeting. Although he sits with his back to me and the screen is hidden behind the couch, there’s no mistaking Honor’s voice. He’s in a book club with one of the few people I can stand? I feel affronted and weirdly put out that I didn’t know and wasn’t invited, despite my reading only consisting of the latest tech advances and some alien podcasts I utilize as a guilty pleasure.
But Honor is a romantic at heart. Does that mean the gruff tattooed biker who licks vibrators reads romance?
“How’s Ghost?” Honor asks.
“I’m fine,” I shout. She already knows that, since she checks in with me twice a day.
“Hey! Are you joining us?”
Not likely. “I wasn’t invited.”
“Well—”
“No. I don’t want a pity invite to your cookie-cutter romance book club.”
Hunter snorts. “Stick around and you might get an education.”
I was about to retreat to my bedroom—Melissa miraculously got the blood off the mattress and changed the sheets—but disappearing now would seem cowardly, and I don’t want to give Hunter the satisfaction. Guess I am stuck here listening to two people who inserted themselves into my life debate the finer points of unrealistic couples and their idiotic choices that makes you want to strangle the pair of them. I’m basing this off the few romcom movies Honor made me suffer through on movie nights.
“Hunter, you made it! We missed you last week.”
That’s Helen Alderidge, Honor’s mother-in-law. I recognize her voice from the few times we’ve met. She’s a formidable woman who has my admiration for being a no-nonsense, drama avoiding, business guru. She’s a widow, but from the brief snippets Honor’s let slip, she is not lacking for male partners.
“Sorry, ladies, I got distracted. But I have finished the book.”
There’s a little chatter back and forth, all females except Hunter.
“What’s the likelihood serial killers really do have a secret network?” Honor asks.
Umm, what?
“They are typically lone creatures,” Hunter answers, “but in their case, they are ethical serial killers who bond over their hobby.”
“They are clearly soulmates. The author did an amazing job making sure only they could ever work as a couple. It goes beyond killing for the other; they are two very unique murderous creatures who can only be fulfilled by each other,” Honor adds in a soft voice.
What kind of romance is this?
“Did you see the twist coming?” Helen asks excitedly. I zone out from my own work and focus on a story I haven’t read or heard of, now morbidly curious of how this could be considered a romance.
“The lobotomized guy?” Honor asks. The what, now?
“That was a total surprise,” an unfamiliar voice adds.
“I saw it coming,” Hunter says.
I can’t help but roll my eyes. Of course he did.
“Was the ending satisfying? I wanted a little more, if I’m honest,” someone adds.
I peek over my shoulder. How many women are in this club?
