Page 10 of Falling for a Killer

“And you stole me kind of, so I’m like a really terrible birthday present.” She takes a sip of coffee as she watches me intently. “Most guys just want video games or power tools.”

“Pretty sure guys want blowjobs more than power tools, but what do I know? What do girls truly want since we’re sharing secrets from the other side?”

“Any man who has to ask for a blowjob as a birthday present isn’t with the right woman.” Her eyes drop to the table, right over my crotch. “And women just want to be seen. Sometimes that means orgasms we don’t have to reciprocate, sometimes it means being gifted something someone noticed we needed or wanted without having to be told. Sometimes it means just being taken care of for once. Every woman is different. Best to pay attention to yours.”

Great advice. I shift in my seat and wonder which type of woman she is. Probably all of those things. “Noted. So was Ryan your only partner?”

“Not even close. I had my fun — maybe too much — and I had two sort of serious relationships before him. He’s the only one I considered marrying, though. He completely hid his true personality from me, and I don’t know how to come back from that. I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to trust anyone again.”

“I get it.” I don’t, not fully because I can never really know her struggles, but I know how it feels not to trust. “Maybe that’s something that only comes with time?”

She shakes her head. “Maybe. What about you, Killer? Tell me about your girlfriends.”

“Ah, there’s not much to tell there, Jojo. I dated a girl in high school, then another one in my late 20’s, but I was mostly just passing the time. It usually only took me a couple dates to knowthey weren’t what I was looking for. None of them bullied me,” I joke, but she still seems stuck on the fact that I called her Jojo.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

I can’t help it, I smile so damn wide my cheeks hurt. How long has it been since I smiled? Weeks? Months? And yet she’s already made me do it more times than I can count. Goddamn, I was lonely.

“Do what?” I know exactly what she means, but her expression is too cute for me to relent this soon.

“Quit trying to find nicknames for me. They’re all terrible, and you’re terrible for trying.” Yet as she raises her coffee cup to take another sip, I swear I see a smirk behind the mug.

“That’s not fair, you call me big boy. I don’t think you’d like it if I called you little girl so I figured I’d have to try a few out until I found one that stuck. We can’t all get it on the first try like you, Joseph.”

It takes her a few seconds, but it’s worth it when she finally reacts. Her nose scrunches up and her French-tipped middle finger finds its way in front of her face. “Okay, Jillian.”

“Jillian? Don’t like that one. Eat your food, grouchy.” I can tell she isn’t someone who likes being told what to do, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. “You can mainline your coffee after.”

“And you complain about me being bossy.” Yet, she obeys me. Her grey mug ends up back on the table and she eats half a piece of bacon in one bite, making it impossible for me to look away.

Her showing up here and changing everything is karma for my sins, but the more time I spend with her, I find myself confused as to what type of karma it is. I did something undoubtedly wrong, yes, but I did it to someone who deserved worse than that, so is it possible the universe might actually be rewarding me?

Or am I just fucking delusional at this point?

I guess time will tell.

Six:

Cake

Cleaning only takes so long. There are only so many ways I can rearrange my drawer and re-fold blankets before I have to admit to myself that I’m stalling — and why? Killian is hot, he’s charming, and he’s right out there in the living room.

So why am I hiding? He has a gun, sure. One he agreed to put away. He said I can’t leave, yes, but I wasn’t going to. And even if he turns out to be the serial killer or the guy who killed the senator, who cares? He’d have either killed me by now or shoved me in the bunker downstairs if he was planning on hurting me, especially since I have no desire to call him out about it. If I don’t bring it up, he has no reason to be suspicious or angry with me. So why am I being so fucking weird?

Maybe because itisweird to just accept this situation. It’s borderline pathological, actually.

Normal people would be crying, hiding, begging for mercy... and here I am wondering what it would feel like to let him put me on my knees.

This is ridiculous.

Cursing myself under my breath, I walk out into the living room and sit down on the chair to the left of the couch he’s sprawled across. “Hi.”

“Hi.” The fire is fuller than it was, and I hate myself a little for thinking about how nice it is to have a man around to do those things. I’ll never admit it out loud though. “You get all settled back there?”

“Yeah.” A few times. “Where’s your stuff?”

He nods at the duffle bag on the floor. “There. Also have clothes downstairs, but I packed light.”

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