Page 49 of One Killer Night
“Is this because you’re an onion?”
“An onion?” I chuckle, using the blanket to cover myself as I shift to look at her. “What does that mean?”
Goldie grins, playing with a strand of her hair.
“It means you have layers, Noah Adler. And they all need peeling. You’re always so quick with a head nod to answer any question. Or a dreamy stare that makes everyone forget what they even asked. You’re definitely a man of few words. Which means getting to all the good stuff takes time ... and work. So, I think, just maybe, a ‘meet the Monroes’ is making you feel a little too vulnerable?”
“Ooo,” I grunt, putting my hand over my heart, hating and loving that this is her opinion.
After all, true happiness is being seen ...That is, unless you’re trying to hide.
I smirk, reaching for her waist. “First off, onions make people cry and give them indigestion. I demand a new vegetable before this conversation goes any further.”
She bites her bottom lip, trying not to fall for my charm.Good luck, killer. I’m laying it on thick.
“Onion,” I scoff, grinning and instantly captivated as I watch her mouth work into a pursed seduction before she frowns like she’s deep in thought. But when I open my mouth to speak again, her finger presses to it so she can take the floor.
“Artichoke,” she says resolutely.
I can only raise my eyebrows, urging her to elaborate because she won’t let me breathe.
“Because it’s layered, good for you ... and the heart’s the best part.”
The way she’s looking at me—a little unsure with an equal measure of hopeful—makes my chest want to cave in.
Goldie gives a little shrug. “Does that get me to the second thing you were going to say? Because you said, ‘First off.’”
I circle her wrist and drag it away from my mouth as we stare at each other until I break the silence. Finally, being serious.
“Killer, I’m not scared of your parents asking me questions. Even though I hate talking about myself. And it’s not that I don’twantto meet them ...”
“So then why won’t you come?” she rushes out.
But I have to look away from her because sometimes she makes me feel so exposed that I’m not sure I can say what I need to.
“Because you scare the shit out of me, Goldie. You make me want shit I didn’t think I could have.”
My eyes lift to her frown. She’s not understanding, so I reach up and cradle her face. “They mean so much to you. And I guess I haven’t made it obvious enough, but you mean so much to me already. I’m falling for you every day, more and more. So, if I fuck this up ...”
She throws her arms around my neck, knocking us back down on the bed as she rushes out her words. “You won’t. I promise.”
Her hair is wild, draped down around us as her eyes stay locked to mine.
“Say you’ll come. Make it my belated Christmas miracle.”
The smile always hiding in wait when I’m around her comes into view. Who the hell am I kidding? There’s no reality where I say no to her. Even if it turns me into a liar.
“Okay. Okay,” I gripe, pretending to be exasperated. “I’ll come”—my hand slips between her legs—“but only after you do ... twice.”
“Stop being so nervous.”
“Easy for you to say. They already like you.”
Goldie stares up at me in the hallway just inside her door, her bright-green eyes lit with humor as I let out a long, audible exhale and adjust my shirt collar, feeling like I’m suffocating.
She grins, running her hands over my ribs and around my back, hugging me.
“Relax. You’re going to do great. I thought you said you felt better after your talk with Chase yesterday?”
