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My left eyelid twitched, something that happened when I was annoyed or angry.

“Actually,” I said, calling out to the server before she could walk away, “I’ll have a Blue Moon draft, no fruit.”

When I refocused my attention on Tyler, I found his lips pressed in a thin line, clearly unimpressed that I changed the order.

“I just assumed you’d want something low calorie. Most women I’ve been on these types of dates with have all wanted something similar.” A tight smile pulled at his lips. “It’s okay, though.”

“Yeah, it is,” I responded with my own razor-sharp grin, “because I don’t like vodka.”

“Whoa,” Tyler scoffed, holding both hands up. “You don’t have to get all emotional about it.”

“I’m not emotional.” The opposite, in fact. I was calm. After years of being gaslighted by Josh, I was well equipped to stop it immediately. “I’m just standing up for myself and what I want. So, you mentioned you’re in accounting. Tell me what you love about your job.”

Worst. Question. Ever.

Thirty long minutes later, I’d almost finished my second tall draft and had yet to say a word. He really, really liked Excel. While nodding along, feigning interest in his one-sided conversation about the software program, I scanned the crowded bar, hoping to see a familiar face.

Anyone who would save me from this agonizing death by talking of cells and pivot tables.

Hope sparked, making me sit up straight, when I met the gaze of a veteran officer I’d seen around the precinct. Only for that hope to be dashed, my shoulders rounding in defeat when he simply dipped his chin in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the group he’d been talking to.

With a sigh, I tapped my phone screen to check the time, hoping we had shifted into warp speed at some point and this date was almost over.

Nope. Forty-two minutes and counting since I sat down.

“You worried about patients?” I jerked my gaze to Tyler, who gave a pointed look at my phone. “Isn’t that why you’re checking your phone mid-conversation?”

First, “conversation” indicated two parties speaking. That was not the case here. Second, was it lying if you omitted the truth just a smidge? Sure, I could toss out that my job was touching dead people all day, every day, and I liked it….

Shit, I really needed to rephrase that stuff. Even in my own head, it sounded creepy.

“I’m positive they’re fine,” I stated honestly. Theywerefine, tucked into their individual coolers for the night.

Knowing I needed to divert his attention from asking more questions about my work, I went with a standard first-date question. “So, did you grow up in California?”

“No, I actually grew up in Texas,” he responded with an eye roll. “Glad I got out of there when I did. Backwoods hillbillies.”

“Oh, I grew up in Dallas….” I trailed off when it was clear he wasn’t stopping his own backstory.

Maybe I should tell him I touch dead people just to get this over with.

Blowing a semi-quiet raspberry in annoyance, I pressed an elbow to the top of the table and plopped my chin in my palm. My eyes glazed over as he continued to tell me his life story. It didn’t take long for my focus to narrow in on the large mole on his neck.

Has he seen a dermatologist about it?

Damn, when was the last time I had a full scan to check for skin cancer?

I should call and schedule an appointment. Or book online right now.

My fingers twitched to swipe the screen and get this one now-nagging item off my to-do list.

“Don’t you think?”

“Hmm?” I distractedly responded.Damnit, what was he talking about?

“I said we should limit who moves here. Set up a screening process.”

The last swallow of my now-warm beer caught in my throat. Covering my mouth with a loose fist, I coughed, trying to clear my airway.

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