Page 7 of While You Sleep

Me: Gross. I bet he feels terrible.

Dean: If he doesn’t now, he will soon. What are your plans tonight?

Dean wasn’t the kind of guy you fucked with, and he didn’t sugarcoat it, but I like that he didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t.

Me: I have a date. Not sure about my outfit, though.

Dean: This the same guy you went out with last week? Things getting serious?

Me: It’s only our second date, even if he’s insisting it’s our third…

I finished the text with the rolling eyes and a laughing face emoji.

Dean: Show me the outfit.

I chewed my lip.

Should I? We’d been talking for two weeks, and he hadn’t said anything weird. He’d been honest to the point of blunt. No, I hadn’t known him long, but I trusted him. His social media profile picture was of him with his dog, not that you could see his face, he had his back to the camera, the pair of them looking out at a sunset. It was cute. Serial killers didn’t have pictures with their dogs and sunsets as profile pictures, right? And he already knew who I was, he’d seen my driver’s license.

I stood back and snapped a picture of myself in the mirror, then hit send, a weird little flurry of nerves zooming through my belly.

Me: What do you think? Too obvious?

His response came back almost immediately.

Dean: You look fucking hot, Soph.

I bit my lip as the little flurries turned to zaps of electricity. Yeah, I liked the way he said things. He just seemed so real—and he thought I was hot.

There was a knock at the door.

But Dean wasn’t here. He hadn’t asked me out, Brian had.

Me: Thanks! Gotta go! He’s here!

* * *

Cillian

I stared down at the picture she’d just sent. I hadn’t been able to stop staring at it since it came through five minutes ago.

I zoomed in on the counter. Condoms.

She was on a date, looking like that, and she had condoms in her purse. What I wanted to do was follow them, then shoot him in the head as soon as I could get him alone.

But that wasn’t an option. I had to play this carefully.

I scanned what she’d said again. He’s insisting it’s our third…

I didn’t have any personal knowledge when it came to dating. I didn’t date. But I knew what a “third date” meant. I’d heard the reference and its meaning enough in movies and TV shows. Preppy was expecting to get his dick wet.

There was another bang outside my door, and I strode over and yanked it open. The guy who’d puked on the carpet was stumbling around fucking shit-faced. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed my fist into his face, once, twice, a third time. “You’re a disgrace,” I said, then tossed him aside.

Declan jogged up the stairs. “Jesus.”

“He’s fine.”

My brother used his foot to roll the guy to his back. “Oh aye, he’s just grand. At least he’s still fucking breathing, I guess.” Dec shook his head. “Why are you here again?”

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