Chapter Five #2
My mouth opens to answer. What? I don’t know.
“Not that we can’t do anything else after dinner. I’m all up for that. Very into the idea, really,” he continues.
If my eyes get any wider, they’ll be rolling down the floor. “What—”
“We don’t have to. I mean, I get if that’s not a first date thing for you—”
“Nicholas,” I interrupt before he digs himself into a deeper hole. “Are you asking me out?” I ask him just for confirmation. Because this is so stupid.
He nods, his smile smaller now, his face turning beet red.
It can’t be that simple. Is he onto me? Do I need to run?
No, Sam is constantly on all the databases.
He’d know if anyone was looking into the murders.
Besides, if he suspected the truth, he’d be here with a SWAT team and handcuffs, not blushing and making vaguely cute declarations.
Not that he’s cute. Vaguely stupid declarations, then.
I realize he’s been staring at me while my mind tries to come up with reasons for this behavior.
I need to give him an answer now. Of course, I can’t date a fucking cop.
That’s the worst idea on the planet. No, the universe.
Even though I never leave evidence lying around and am generally cautious, just being in his vicinity puts me at risk.
It’s obviously a no. I can’t date him. Say no. Elliot, say no! “Sure,” I blurt. What?
His smile comes back on just as quickly as it left. I tamp down the need to avert my eyes because his face is so bright, it’s hard to look at. “How about Friday? I can pick you up at seven.” The exact time I leave the clinic every day.
I nod, still dazed. My mind suddenly filled with so many thoughts, it's hard to pick apart a single one long enough to form words. But I know one thing for sure, this is so stupid.
“Perfect.” He nods once, then walks out.
I stand there frozen. I hear the bells above the door when it closes behind him.
Did I just agree to go on a date with Nicholas Harper?
A cop and a werewolf? What was I thinking?
I could still cancel. Of course, I need to cancel.
He took me by surprise. His presence has been a jump scare since the day I met him.
My brain was obviously scrambled because of all the adrenaline. I’ll just—
“Mrs. Davis said her cat is keeping food down now,” Ashley’s voice startles me. I turn to find her standing right behind me.
“Fuck.” I rub my chest. I’m so off my game today.
“Sorry, you were just standing there.”
I close my eyes and blow out a breath. “That’s good. About the cat,” I answer her. “You should leave. It’s late. I don’t think anyone else is coming in.”
She looks at me, her heavily kohled eyes making the gaze too intense. “Are you okay?” she asks, scowling like she hated saying the words.
I nod. “Yes, go before you have a stroke trying to be nice,” I say.
“You do it, and you’re still standing,” she smirks.
I roll my eyes. “Well, I save it for the customers who pay. Maybe you should try that instead of scaring them away?”
“Mr. Muscles wasn’t scared.” She glances at the door. “Does he ever stop smiling? It’s so stupid,” she says.
See, she gets it. The thought makes me weirdly protective of Nicholas, though. Ugh. The guy has messed up my head. “Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I wave over my shoulder, already escaping to my office.
I need an out of this disaster.
***
I pace my tiny office, convincing myself it’s not as bad as I think.
I’ll text Oliver and get Nicholas’s number.
I can draft up a nice, polite text telling him I don’t date, which is a hundred percent true fact that my temporary malfunction made me forget.
It’s already messy, time-consuming, and a lot of work without the constant worry of your boyfriend finding evidence against you because he’s a cop and has supernatural senses.
Then there’s the whole thing about Mickey.
Isn’t it too much of a coincidence that he started showing interest in me a few days after he accidentally adopted my victim’s dog?
But it’s not like Mickey could have narrated the events of that night to him.
I’m pretty sure even werewolves can’t communicate with dogs.
I have had my werewolf clients ask me enough weird questions about their pets to be certain.
This is too much. I clearly need to talk to someone rational.
I scroll through my phone and dial Sam. The phone rings and rings.
I slam the phone down on the table. Within seconds, it starts ringing.
“This better be an emergency. I was just going in for pilates,” Sam says as soon as I pick up.
“It kind of is?”
“Then why are you calling from this number?” he asks, his voice all serious.
Shit, I need to get a grip. “No, don’t worry. Not that kind of emergency,” I assure him.
“Ooh, you sound so worried. This must be so good,” he says.
Wait, why did I call Sam to be the voice of reason? Ugh, too late now. “Nicholas Harper asked me out for dinner.”
“Detective McHottie? I’m honestly not surprised,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“What? Why?”
“The guy has been into you for a while. I totally called it,” he says.
“How can you possibly know that?” I expected a lot of responses, but this is not even in the top one thousand.
“Elliot, you need to sit down,” he says carefully. “Are you sitting down?”
“Will you get on with it?”
“Elliot, I’m going to tell you something I’m surprised you didn’t know, and now it’s going to blow your mind,” he says dramatically. Why did I have to call him?
“I’m one second away from hanging up,” I grumble.
“Calm down, bud. You just talk about him a lot. I can practically recite all your conversations,” he spits out.
“That’s stupid,” I dismiss it because it’s fucking stupid.
“I see you’re not ready for that conversation. My bad for trying to move the plot along.”
“I’ve never regretted calling you more than I do right now. I hope you know that. But here we are. Are you sure they’re not investigating any deaths? Maybe he’s onto something?” Something that can explain Mickey. Because that has been bugging me for days now.
“Yes, the last one is already ruled as a natural death. I checked the coroner’s report just a few days ago. It’s not that. But…”
“But what?”
“It won’t hurt to get closer to him to avoid future issues, too. No serial killer would be stupid enough to date a cop, you know,” he says helpfully.
I force down a groan. “Yes, I know,” I say dryly.
“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. Think about it. You can hang out with his cop friends. Build trust. That, with how careful we are, there’s almost a guarantee he’ll be on your side if people ever start looking closer,” he says.
My eyebrow goes up. “I don’t think it works that way,” I say finally.
“No, but c’mon. How else will you be sure he’s not onto something? And this is definitely not enough reason to pack up and leave. So, you can either learn more and course correct or sit with your thumb up your ass,” he says.
“Okay, that makes some sense.”
“Besides, when will you ever get a chance to fuck a werewolf. This will definitely help us understand them better, you know… biblically,” he says sagely.
I roll my eyes, but a slow heat spreads low in my stomach at the idea of those large and firm muscles laid out like the horniest breakfast buffet.
I shake the picture out of my head. I’m so regretting this call.
“Yeah, because lack of information on werewolves’ libido is what’s keeping us from truly making this work. ”
“Hey, more information on anyone’s libido has never hurt anyone. It’s not like you’ll let it become anything serious. Why not find out what he knows while getting the best fuck of your life out of it? When's the date?”
That makes me curious. “Why do you think it’ll be the best fuck of my life? Have you fucked a werewolf before?”
I hear loud banging noises from the other side. “Can’t hear you,” he says in the lamest attempt at dodging the question. “Wear your pale knit sweater. It brings out your eyes,” he says before hanging up.
Why would I care about how I look? I decide to ignore him. This is just about going on one date to check Nicholas’s temperature. If I get even a hint of him being suspicious about the murders, I’ll know it’s time to skip town. Otherwise, I return to my regularly scheduled avoidance of him.