Page 16 of Web of Lies
"He's not much older than you," I say, rolling my eyes.
Kyle chuckles as he sinks into the couch, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Aww, look at you. Always ready to defend your beloved Hunt."
"Shut up. You know he's just my boss. Nothing is going on."
Kyle cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward with that smug grin of his. "Didn't say there was. But now I'm starting to wonder."
"Kyle." I groan, dragging out his name. "I'm not in the mood for your antics tonight."
His teasing smile softens. "Rough day?"
I nod, swallowing hard as I glance down at the folder on the table before sitting down on the sofa next to him. "I'm just tired. Mentally, emotionally. Everything feels like a mess right now."
"Hey," he says, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. At the touch of his rough fingers against my skin, a familiar warmth pools in my chest, and I look up at him. "I'msorry, Baby. You know I love to see you all riled up," he adds with a soft smile.
He slides his arm around my waist, and I melt into him, resting my head on his shoulder. His scent hits me right away; his shower gel and sharp cologne mixed with the faint bite of cigarette smoke. It’s warm, familiar, and so completely him. The kind of smell that settles into my chest and makes me feel like I can finally breathe. With a quiet sigh, I wrap my arms around his stomach.
"I hate you," I whisper.
"No, you don't," he says, his voice smug. "Especially not when I bring your favorite food."
I pull back and glance at the takeout bag on the table. "Kimchi stew?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I take it back," I say with a chuckle. "I love you."
He releases me with a scoff and starts opening the food containers. "Should I be concerned about how easily you can be wooed with food?"
"No need to." I sit up straight, grab my laptop and the document, and place them on a side table. Then, I get up and head to the kitchen. "It takes a lot more to woo me." I fetch a beer for each of us before joining Kyle on the sofa again. I reach for the remote and search for one of my comfort horror movies, then put it on.
"What are we doing tonight? Wanna go out?" he asks.
"No. I want to keep it calm," I say, grabbing my container and setting it in my lap. With my other hand, I lift my beer toward my lips for a sip.
"So stay in and fuck?" he says without missing a beat.
The words hit me mid-sip, and I choke, sputtering into the bottle as the fizz burns my throat and nose. Coughing, I set itdown fast, glaring at him through teary eyes. "You—" I rasp. "Could you try being a bit more of a gentleman, just once?"
"Nope. Wrong guy if that's what you're looking for." He smirks, clearly pleased with himself.
"You're insufferable," I mutter, bringing a spoonful of food to my mouth.
"Thanks. I get that a lot." I glance at him, and he is clearly trying to fight back his smug grin. "Then tell me. What can I do to make you feel better?"
I chew, swallowing before speaking. "Honestly? You were already on the right track. I want to stay in, relax, and see where the night takes us."
For a second, he falls silent, the playful look in his eyes softening. His smile evens out, less cocky and more gentle. "We can do that."
"Thanks." I nod and lean back into the cushions, my thigh pressing against his. My gaze drifts to the TV just as the movie’s intro plays. A shaky handheld shot of a girl sprinting through the woods. The camera cuts fast, the killer’s silhouette following her until a flash of steel catches the light and blood splatters across the lens in a dramatic spray.
"You know," Kyle says mid-bite, casual as if we’re watching a cooking show, "the way the blood is gushing out is pretty unrealistic."
I give him a side-eye glance, trying to ignore his comment. Of course. I finally found a man willing to watch horror movies with me as if they were cozy sitcoms. But the downside is that my movie partner is actually a killer. To me, these movies are pure entertainment. They're gritty and thrilling, with the perfect mix of suspense and gore. For him, it’s like work. He instantly knows whether every stab, scream, and spray of fake blood is authentic or overdone for shock value. Sometimes it’s fun, like when he explains how someone might really react or what would actuallyhappen. I’ve learned things I never thought I’d know. But at other times, like now, I want to simply lose myself in the story.
I tilt my head and rest it on his shoulder. "Can you not?"
"What?" He smirks around his fork. "I’m just saying, if that much blood sprayed out—"
