Date With Danger: A Killer Romantic Comedy/Mystery and Suspense

Chapter 1

I, Amelia Quinn, have hit rock bottom. I suppose I hit it a few months ago, but I’m still rolling around on the jagged shards because never in my life did I see myself reverting to this.

Meeting someone from a dating app. Is there no end to my shame?

Okay, I’m being dramatic.

People meet their significant others on the internet all the time. It seems to be the only way people meet each other anymore. Gone are the days of the movie-worthy meet-cutes, two strangers bumping into each other and falling madly in love.

That’s how it worked for my parents. They met at college. Their parents met at college. Their parents met in high school (it was a different time back then). But me?

Maybe my problem is that I never finished college. I had enough credits to graduate—twice. But I didn’t have the focus I needed to see it through. I changed majors quicker than most people update their profile pictures.

Falling in love isn’t the problem. It’s the rate at which I fall. Which is instantly and wholeheartedly. That’s what happened with Justin. I met him at a bar while out with friends. I was dancing on a table (don’t ask), then the whole thing toppled and I landed in his arms. I thought it was fate. He was handsome and charming, everything I thought I wanted. He asked me to marry him a year later and we were happy. Until I found out he’d been cheating on me for the entirety of our engagement.

Maybe it was some form of self-torture to join the very dating app he’d used to cheat on me. But at the time it felt like a sense of justice. Stick it to the man, or the app.

Tonight, I’m Katniss Everdeen, rising from the ashes of failed relationships, and taking my life back by going on my first date with someone else in two years.

I will dominate this dating game. And I will do it in style. In knockoff Jimmy Choos and a baby-blue dress that’s cinched around my body to create curves I could only dream of. Justin never took me out anywhere that board shorts and t-shirts weren’t accepted. He was a lifeguard, and it was his entire personality.

But now I get to be me. The fun and unafraid version Justin tried but failed to tame. Of course, he was sweet to me, in private. Sweet enough that it took far too long for me to realize why we stayed in every Friday instead of going out. He was embarrassed of me. I was always too much for the guys I dated, too loud, too blunt, too immature, and too much of a dreamer. Justin often told me to tone it down when we were in public and attempted to mold me into someone I wasn’t. Once he even tried to get me to eat vegetables. I reluctantly agreed to that one, in the name of health, and added more vegetables to my life.

Okay…I bought vegetables and would occasionally wave to them when I opened the fridge door, but I very rarely ate them before they turned to mush.

No more mushy vegetables for me. And no more cheating men.

My phone buzzes in my hand and I glance down.

Justin:I miss you. Can I come over?

It’s like he knows what I’m trying to prove tonight. He can’t kill my fire though.

Amelia: Not on your life.

So here I am. Standing outside a fancy Italian restaurant, convincing myself that I can go inside, meet a man who could potentially be a serial killer, and have a nice night together slurping up noodles Lady and the Tramp style.

I send another text, letting my brother’s fiancée and my best friend, Maddie, know I’m heading in. If I’m murdered tonight, Maddie will make sure someone pays. And they better pay well. My two dogs are used to a certain way of life. I am a very successful cosmetologist after all. Sarcasm intended.

I open the dating app and check Chad’s messages. Yes, his name is Chad and I happen to like it. Have I pictured him as the poster boy for every fraternity in the U.S.? Yes. But could I also take him home to meet my mom? Well, that answer is complicated, because neither of my parents are alive and my brother Connor sold our family home last month and… where was I going with this? Chad. Right. It’s a perfectly respectable name.

I’m quite defensive of this person I’ve never met.

Chad: I’ll be the handsome brunette in the navy suit.

Maybe he acts like a Chad already. But I’m choosing to see my potential killer in the best light possible.

His profile picture was vague, the only thing I could truly make out was that he did indeed have dark brown hair. He seemed tall, but compared to my measly five-foot-one (and a quarter) inch, everyone is tall. Even sixth graders. I could tell from Chad’s pictures he was built, though. Unfortunately, his sunglasses and the angle of the sun hitting him from behind hid any of his other distinguishing features.

I can hardly fault him for it, my picture was worse. I was halfway hidden behind my two dogs, Shawn and Gus. So really, he could one hundred percent be expecting a crime-fighting boxer duo to walk through the door right now.

“Miss, can I help you?” the doorman asks.

There’s a doorman.

And I’ve been standing outside this door for at least ten minutes. How long was he going to let me talk to myself out here?

I pretend to check the phone again. “Just making sure I have the right place.” I move toward him, then pause. Is this one of those tipping situations? I have nothing to offer him in the way of cash. A compliment will have to suffice.

“I love your mustache, it’s very Tom Selleck.”

“Uh, thank you.” He nods as I pass by.

“Thank you.” I smile back and step into the beautiful Italian restaurant. Golden sconces line the rich maroon walls. Mahogany tables covered in white tablecloths and adorned with flowers and candles lend to the elegant atmosphere. The delicious smell has my mouth watering already. Cheese and carbs, that’s all a woman needs. That and some chocolate on the hard days.

The hostess’s desk is empty and I hide behind it while I scan the open dining area like a spy, staking out my suspects.

There are two brown-haired men in suits, but only one is facing the entrance.

The muscles are even better than his profile picture. His face is clean-shaven and his hair is perfectly styled. I like a man who takes time to look good. And he does look good. Even from here, I can tell he’s more handsome than the devil himself. (I”m assuming the devil is handsome. How else does he get so many people to follow him?)

That’s Chad. I can feel it in my bones.

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, and before I can change my mind, walk forward.

Chad doesn’t look up as I approach. In fact, he seems to be trying his best to not look at me.

Strike one. I did not pick out this dress to not be noticed.

“Um excuse me, Chad?” I sit myself down across from him and slap my palms on the table.

Chad jerks back into his seat, green eyes so wide I can see my reflection in them. My hair looks alarmingly dull.

“I’m Amelia.” I fluff my hair before shooting my hand across the table and right into his space.

Chad stares at it. At me.

Strike two. Proper greetings are important. I don’t care what anyone says.

“I’m sorry.” He ducks his head and mutters something into his collar. “I thi—”

I cut him off. “No. I’m sorry I’m late. I’ve never done this before.”

“This…?” His brows furrow, his eyes darting to someone on my left and then back to me.

I sit up straighter. “It’s embarrassing to admit it out loud. I’m a grown woman for heaven’s sake. Everyone is doing this kind of thing now, even thirteen-year-olds, which is downright scary. But for an adult woman, it’s natural, not weird, right?”

Chad is absolutely silent. He’s motionless, like a statue. He hasn”t blinked in thirty seconds. The right eye is twitching though.

I can’t help it, I ramble when I’m nervous. My body doesn’t know how else to deal with awkward situations and self-destructs in the form of inappropriately timed humor and confusing words.

Weird. He thinks I’m weird. My neck burns hot. The girl on fire has caught fire.

Strike three. But maybe that one’s on me.