Chapter Eight
As I stride toward Liam, shoulders back and walking like I’m in heels even though I’m in sneakers, I feel powerful. Purposeful. And I’m going to keep a death grip on that feeling, because seducing a murderer so that you can nail him for your friend’s death is not a job for the faint of heart.
I slide on to the bar stool, reminding myself firmly that Liam’s heroic moment protecting me from Val is a front, and despite the positive optics, I am not going to fall for it.
‘So,’ I say, debating where I want to take my first line of questioning.
‘So,’ he repeats.
His dating habits. Yes. If I can get him talking about the sheer volume of women he dates, maybe he’ll let something slip.
‘Va-a-a-l.’ I do a little sing-song. ‘How’d you two meet?’
‘Hinge.’
‘Mmmm. An apps guy! Do you have a type?’
Between Zoe and the others, Val and me, I can’t seem to find any commonalities besides a willingness to go out with this guy at least once.
But surely that’s not his only requirement.
I’ve done enough research into serial killers to know that they have a preferred kind of victim.
It’s not random. Some patterns are more obvious than others, but just because Liam isn’t choosing blonds every time doesn’t mean there isn’t something else that links us besides location, gender and single status.
‘That’s a good question,’ he says. ‘I’ll have to think on it.’
Ah. Deflecting.
‘C’mon. You’re, what – twenty-eight, twenty-nine? Surely you’ve thought about what kind of woman you’re attracted to.’
‘Twenty-eight,’ he says with a pleased smile. ‘And I have. But I can’t say I have a firm type. I guess it’s one of those “you know when you know” things.’
Well that’s ominous as shit. But I keep my tone playful.
‘You date a lot, huh? Me one night, Val the next …’ I lift a brow and try to seem amused, like this is a cute personality quirk rather than a technique for scoping out victims.
He lifts a brow too and smirks, mirroring me. ‘And does this bother you?’
The bartender brings me a replacement glass of wine. I’m not getting drunk tonight, obviously – but a few sips of cabernet won’t hurt.
‘Of course not! But tell me the truth,’ I say, taking a tiny sip and trying to channel hot psychiatrist. ‘Are you one of those commitment-phobes I keep hearing about?’
His eyes crinkle as he grins. He lifts his drink and takes a quick sip. ‘Not at all. I just rarely make it to the second date.’
I adjust a pretend pair of glasses and lean forward, very aware of the dip of cleavage this creates, remaining in character as Sexy Shrink.
‘And why do you think that is?’ Because you kill them after the first date?
Liam tilts his head, looking at me intently like I hold the key to a great mystery. ‘I honestly wonder about this. As a woman who literally ran out on me, maybe you have some insight?’
I cross a leg, lean my left arm on the bar top and give him a coy, analytical look.
‘Assessing … assessing … Ah! That’s it.’ I smile. ‘You’re too mysterious.’
He makes a sound of amused frustration, low in his throat, as if that can’t be a legitimate thing.
‘No. Seriously,’ I say. ‘I mean it. Let’s take last night.
You were so attentive, so great at making me feel at ease, that I learned nothing about you.
And you can’t really form a bond with someone unless it’s a two-way street.
You know? In short, you’re a closed book.
’ I smile. ‘Thanks for stopping in. I’ll send you my invoice. ’
‘Is that why you ran?’ His expression conveys honest curiosity.
‘No, of course not!’
‘Why did you?’
Think! Unfortunately, my mind is completely blank.
He leans forward, his gray eyes boring into mine. All of a sudden, the bar feels hot, and I can’t seem to pull away from his magnetic gaze. I have to break this moment or I’m going to do something incredibly stupid. Jury’s out on whether that would be kissing him or spilling out the truth.
‘I … forgot to feed the cat!’ I blurt out.
‘You have a cat?’
A blush creeps up my neck. ‘Friend’s cat! Didn’t want little Fluffers to—’
‘Fluffers?’ He breaks away, fighting back a smile.
‘Yes, Fluffers. I didn’t want her to die while her owner is in, um … the Bahamas. Grand Bahama, to be exact. In case you were curious.’ I must be tomato red at this point. Why am I such a bad liar??
He nods slowly, like he’s trying extra hard to believe me. Can I blame him? Little Fluffers isn’t exactly what I’d call the most convincing alibi. But I cannot let him know the real reason I fled, or he could be the one bolting this time.
‘But yeah, Fluffers has an odd eating schedule.’ I fan myself with a cocktail napkin to cool my cheeks down.
‘If he doesn’t get food at midnight, he starts yowling, and then the neighbors complain and …
’ I shake my head like What are you gonna do?
‘He’s a real glutton, that Fluffers, so when I realized how late it was, I had to run, you know?
’ I make a whooshing motion with my hand to mimic my speed.
‘I mean, that cat gets hangry – he will destroy the apartment, really just tears it apart, it’s vicious, and talk about an obsession with tuna – that amount of fish that have to be murdered per year just to keep that cat from becoming the devil incarnate—’
I pause to catch my breath, scanning Liam’s face. He’s giving me an odd look. Did I sell it hard enough?
There’s a short, awkward silence.
‘So, Fluffers aside – and he sounds like a great cat, by the way – or was it a she?—’ Liam says, crossing one long leg over the other with a bemused expression on his face, ‘would you or wouldn’t you have gone on a second date with me?’
I didn’t notice that our hands were touching until now, when I sense his finger tracing circles on the back of my hand. Slow, gentle and teasing. Each touch charged with something unspoken. It’s then I realize that I’m holding my breath.
For fuck’s sake! Focus, Margot. This must be how he gets them.
‘I’m going to have to say … no?’
The shadow of what seems like chagrin falls across his face.
‘Yeah,’ he muses, pulling his hand away. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to work on … showing my cards. Being a little more open.’
Great. Ball’s back in my court.
‘Trust issues?’
A strangely intense look passes over his face. I’d almost think it was anger, except that his tone is smooth as ever. ‘Or maybe I haven’t met the right person yet.’
‘You think there’s a “right person” out there somewhere?’ Is he about to reveal his selection process? How he chooses the ‘right’ victim?
The tiniest shadow at the corner of his lip promises a smile, but his gaze remains intense, as if he’s taking me in through his eyes and weighing me on his scale of rightness.
I haven’t been looked at like that in a long time.
Shivers move through me. I can’t tell if it’s fear or desire, and honestly it’s concerning as fuck that suddenly I can’t tell the difference.
Keep your damn head on your shoulders!! I shout at myself internally. This isn’t real, it’s just a game we’re both playing!
‘Yeah,’ he finally says, his eyes still holding my gaze. ‘I guess I do believe the right person is out there somewhere for me.’ A faint smile ghosts over his lips. His eyes briefly dip down, then up, and I can’t blame him, because I saw myself in the tank top, too. Stop enjoying this!
‘What about you?’ he says. ‘Do you believe in soulmates? Destiny? All that?’
‘Fuck no,’ I say with an unguarded laugh, before realizing that was probably not the smartest response. I’m supposed to be ensnaring him, ensuring I get another date, not telling him my actual – and very unromantic – views on the universe.
But he laughs with that same genuine delight I remember from last night. I could get used to hearing that laugh … and being the one that brings it out of him. If he wasn’t a potential serial killer.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘So you don’t think there’s a soulmate for you?’
‘Please. All those reality TV shows where people are like “this was meant to be” and “everything happens for a reason,” bla bla bla?’ I make a yapping motion with my hand. ‘Total bullshit. I swear. I mean … I watch those shows. Guilty. But come on.’
I’m not going to tell him that, actually, finding a soulmate would be my absolute dream. But having a dream and believing it could actually happen are two different things.
‘Wait, wait—’ Liam is laughing again. ‘You don’t believe everything happens for a reason?’
‘Of course not!’ I swing an arm wide, as if to encompass not just the restaurant, but the world.
‘Look around you. War. Violence. Cancer. Natural disasters. Good people dying young—’ My throat catches, but I force myself to continue.
‘—bad people getting away with terrible things. It’s completely senseless.
Anyone who says otherwise is, first of all, extremely fucking privileged, and second, either naive or stupidly delusional. ’
Whoops. I did not mean to get that intense. What is it about this guy that, even in these extreme circumstances, makes me want to open up?
He leans in, his expression open. Unguarded.
‘But there is a reason for war and violence. It’s human choice. Even cancer – think microplastics, carcinogens in laundry detergent, I mean, the list goes on. My point is – humans are behind those things, the good and the bad.’
‘Fair,’ I concede. ‘But natural disasters? Accidents?’
‘We keep building cities in floodplains and driving recklessly.’
‘Genetic diseases. Dementia. Human agency isn’t behind everything, Liam.’
‘What about divine agency? Do you believe in a higher power?’
‘No, or they’d have to be a complete monster. Why? Do you?’
‘Absolutely.’ He says it so certainly, like there’s no doubt in his mind, which I find both enraging and … endearing? ‘I absolutely believe in a higher power that makes sense of everything. Maybe we can’t understand it now. But one day …’
OK, as much as I disagree, this does not seem like the philosophy of a killer.
‘You’re surprising me,’ I blurt out before I can check myself.
Liam’s mouth turns up at one side, like this pleases him extraordinarily. ‘In a good way, I hope?’
Yes. Which, damn it. I was supposed to be uncovering his dark side. Not whatever this is.
‘I’m just seeing another side of you. That’s all.’
‘I have sides for days,’ he says with a slightly naughty wink, knocking back the last bit of his beverage.
‘I like sides,’ I say before I can stop myself.
‘So that’s your type?’ he teases. ‘Guys with sides?’ He rotates his body back and forth, as if showing me his sides … and damn his cut torso is certainly nice to look at from multiple angles.
‘Yeah. People with dimensions. Interesting people,’ I reply, realizing as I say this that Liam, whoever he actually is under his charm, whatever he’s actually done, is the most interesting guy I’ve dated – ever.
My main takeaway from dating over the years is that the grand majority of people are reading from the same script.
Not Liam. ‘And guys who collect ceramic squirrels,’ I add.
He laughs, full-bellied, and my whole body buzzes. Truly, I shouldn’t like making him laugh this much. I might accidentally get addicted.
‘Well – I’ll have to beg off on the squirrels,’ he says when he recovers. ‘But if you’ll go on another date with me, I can promise to keep things interesting.’
I bet you can, I think as a traitorous warmth trembles in my core.
I shift on my seat. What the fuck, Margot?
?? Getting turned on by interesting men – and their forearms – has always been my kryptonite.
Unfortunately, my body seems to have categorized ‘potential serial killer with layers’ under the ‘interesting’ umbrella, like it didn’t get the message about the nonnegotiable moral disqualifiers.
Then, Liam leans forward. The space between us is reduced to inches, and this time, I’m a willing participant. A tremble of a breath passes through my lips. I want him to kiss me. Which is so wrong.
‘Wait. I don’t know your last name,’ I breathe. ‘And I don’t have your number.’
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. At the touch of his fingers, goosebumps race up my arms and legs. His touch feels incredibly intimate. More alarmingly, I have no desire for him to stop.
‘Porter.’ His hand lingers at my face. ‘And you can have my number if you promise we can do this again tomorrow. Please say yes.’
Then, before I can answer, his lips brush mine.
My body comes alive as his hand cups my neck, drawing me closer.
It’s a sweet kiss – no tongue – just a light pressure on my lips, and his hand moving up my neck, into my hair.
I put my hand on his face, feeling the warmth of his skin, the scratch of stubble on his jaw.
I pull back just enough to whisper, ‘Yes.’ Then, I lick gently into his lips, and he opens as I meld my mouth into his. He emits a tiny satisfied sound low in his throat, which sends a current like shooting stars up my thighs.
I press into the kiss, my body aching. I know I should pull away …
but it’s not like he’s going to kill me in a public restaurant, right?
I’m safe here, for now, so I might as well enjoy the fruits of my labor – the promise of another date …
and what is quickly and very unfortunately becoming the best kiss of my entire life.