Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
"You really are a killer, aren't you?"
Has he suddenly lost his mind? Or his memory, at the very least? That we both know what it means to kill is the main reason why Thomas has set us up for a blind date, duh.
"And what makes it even more incredible is how you have no idea of what you're doing." He looks at me with chagrin, and it's my first time to feel intellectually disadvantaged. What, darn it? What am I missing?
"It's your cheeks—-"
Aaargh!
This guy is unbelievably fast, and before I even realize he's done something that can get his fingers yanked out of their sockets, he's already managed to lean forward, pinch my cheeks, and chuckle as he leans back against his seat...and out of my reach.
"What do you think you're doing?" I hiss.
"You only have your cheeks to blame." He shrugs as he says this, and I'm weirdly distracted by the massive breadth of his shoulders. "Seeing them all rosy like that has been fucking killing me."
The penny finally drops, and my skin doesn't just start crawling.
The last time I felt this strongly was when I learned about Brenda and my brother-in-law being murdered. It was like having rage completely consume me, but this time...
Shit.
I feel like I've been thrown into a horrifying ocean of shit, and I'm just as horrified at the possibility that I might even hear more of those cringe-worthy lines in the future.
"How can you say that and still consider yourself sane?" I ask seriously. "It's the grossest thing I've ever heard."
"I know," he says with a grin. "But it got the job done, didn't it?"
What job? Is he an assassin now, and his first assignment is to have me die in disgust?
"You looked like you wanted to throw up when you realized you were blushing, and while you do look cute when you're grossed out—-"
Did he just describe someone like me as...cute? Not beautiful, but...cute?
"The thought of you suffering didn't actually sit that well with me—-"
Oh no.
"So I figured I should do something about it."
This is bad.
All those unexpectedly sweet and terribly misguided gestures of his finally make sense, and I look at him with genuine concern. "You're a killer with a soft heart."
"And that's a bad thing in your book?" His lips twitch at the end, but that only makes me worry over him more.
"It is very much a bad thing, yes." I look around us, and all the empty seats only adds to my gloom. "I know you've booked all the seats in this train, and I thought at that time it was great foresight on your part."
"Isn't it?"
"I thought you were doing it to have as few witnesses as possible, in case one of us ends up killing each other."
"But instead, you realize...what?"
"That you just wanted to avoid having any innocent people get hurt, what else?"
He starts to grin, but I shoot the attempt dead with a glare.
"There is nothing funny about this."
His gaze turns contemplative, and I see his hand start to move.
Oh no. Don't do it. No, no, no.
But he does end up doing what I fear: he's rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, and my body's reaction is also as I fear.
Sexy.
It's completely baffling why I find this gesture or this posture - oh, I don't even know what's the proper way to call it. The only thing I know is that my heart races like an idiot when I see him like this, and now it's even worse, with how he's also gotten my stupid toes to curl.
"You seem to understand how my mind works pretty well—-"
And that disturbs him, naturally. No one in his right mind would be happy when finding out their mind is an open book to someone like me.
—-while I can't even figure out why you wanted us to meet here. I want to be the one who understands you the most."
'Keep your enemies close, and your blind dates closer' is what he's basically saying, and no words have been truer.
"I get what you're saying," I feel obliged to acknowledge. "I know how you see me—-"
"I doubt you do."
"There's no need to lie," I assure him. "I really do get that you see me—-"
"As my future wife?"
"As a potential threat—-" I say at the same time.
Uh. Wait. What?
I stare at him in confusion, and he laughs.
"You don't believe me?"
"I'm not even sure what to think at this point—-"
"I can help you there," he says easily. "Just think of me, and we're good."
No, I am not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing my lips crack even the slightest—-what the heck?
I tense up when he suddenly leans forward and clasps his hands over the lacquer table like what he's about to say will get heads rolling.
"Now that we know where we each stand, shall we get back to discussing your reasons for choosing this place?"