Chapter Seven
Noelle
My audacity catches even me off guard. Who is this girl? I don’t go around hitting on strangers. And I certainly don’t get turned on by the threat of murder.
But every time Cole gets near me, his threats sound more like a promise of pleasure, not pain.
His eyes fall to my lips, his lids growing heavy with desire and I fully accept that I want him to kiss me. I want a serial killer to press his lips to mine and devour me. That was not on my bingo card this year but what’s life without a little recklessness?
His head lowers a fraction so our faces are just inches apart. He’s going to do it. We’re actually going to do this. I’m actually going to–
“Not here,” he breaks the moment. “Frank’s apartment kind of gives me the creeps.”
Glancing around the average space, I wonder what about this place gives a literal serial killer the creeps. You’d think nothing would scare the guy that goes bump in the night.
Taking my hand in his, Cole leads me back to the window as we both climb out. Careful not to touch anything, I let Cole close the window and lead me back down the fire escape.
When we pass Rex and Mel’s place, the soft tune of vibration carries through the sound of their cries of ecstasy.
I’m not a prude like Cole made me out to be, I just like my peace and quiet. These two are keeping me up half the nights of the week with their sexual escapades.
And yeah, I haven’t been intimate with anyone in quite a while. So the constant reminder that I’m sexually frustrated just hammers another nail in the coffin.
Thankfully, Cole doesn’t mention my bitterness this time as we pass the happy couple. All he says is, “Sounds like they found the cockring.”
I’m not sure what I expected to happen when we climbed back into my apartment, but it wasn’t for Cole to stand there and stare at me, bundled in my winter gear.
His intensity is a strange juxtaposition to his golden retriever energy.
One minute he’s complaining about my lack of festive decor, the next he’s looking at me with eyes so dark I see where the serial killer side of him resides.
Now that the moment of arousal is gone, I’m not sure I want him to kiss me anymore.
Who am I kidding, if he stormed across the room and plowed into me I’d melt at his touch. Maybe I do really need to get laid if I’m fantasizing about a murderer having his way with me.
Cole does step forward but not in the brisk I must have you now kind of way.
He’s slow and measured, assessing me. To diffuse the tension stifling the air, I avert my eyes as I remove my winter coat.
I left my pajamas on underneath since I was in a hurry to bundle up.
I risk a glance back up at Cole when I slip the snow pants down my legs, feeling too exposed in the moment.
His gaze is firmly locked on my lower half.
I can’t tell if he’s assessing my tiny shorts, my bare legs, or all of it.
“I should go change.” I’m suddenly very aware of my lack of undergarments beneath my I want to feel cute pajamas.
“Don’t.” The command in his voice makes me pause.
But that’s all he says. The way he issued the order made it sound like he would have more instructions to follow. Yet here I stand in the barely-there set waiting for what comes next.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Then he moves. Although it’s not sudden, I still feel like I should run from the predator prowling towards me. He never takes those dark eyes off me as each step brings him closer. Maybe he wants to remove the clothes himself.
With only a few inches of space between us, Cole asks in a low tone, “Do you still want me to kiss you?”
I forget how to speak. Move your mouth, Noelle. My inner monologue screams. Answer the man!
All I can bring myself to do is nod, a slow rise and fall of my chin to confirm what he already knows.
I’m preparing to finally know what he tastes like, what it feels like to give myself over to my impulses. But I guess I’ll have to wait a little bit longer.
“Well, I’m not in the practice of kissing strangers like you,” Cole teases. “I’d like to at least get to know the basics about you first.”
The nerve of this guy.
Hands on my hips that are cocked to one side I ask, “Do you enjoy riling me up?’
“Yes, it’s my new favorite hobby. Second to murder.”
“I’m flattered.” I roll my eyes involuntarily. “What did you have in mind? An interview?”
With a playful gleam, Cole backs away to take a seat at one end of the couch. Sasha immediately occupies his lap, the traitor. “How about we make it fair. I ask a question, you ask a question. Seem reasonable?”
Assessing him for a moment, so relaxed and making himself at home in my apartment, I concede by sitting at the opposite end of the couch, crossing my legs that are swiftly covered with the blanket, and agree.
Cole gestures with a graceful wave of his hand. “Ladies first.”
“What’s your day job?”
“Mortician.”
“Really?” That would explain a lot.
“No,” he laughs. “I live quite a boring life, actually. I work in the maintenance department of a box factory.”
Who would’ve guessed one of Detroits most notorious criminals has such an ordinary life.
“How old are you?” He asks.
“Almost twenty-four.” I reply. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.”
“I thought you don’t like men who date younger women?” Considering he just murdered a man for that reason, seems a bit hypocritical.
“No. I don’t like men who date underage girls. There’s a big difference.” Fair point. “When is your birthday? Since you’re almost twenty-four.”
“December 24th.”
“Your birthday is Christmas Eve?” He leans forward like the revelation jolts his body with electricity. I nod. “How can someone with a birthday on Christmas Eve not like Christmas?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question,” I remind him. “What do you do with the hearts?”
Cole leans back, eyeing me for a moment with a smile I can’t decipher playing across his lips.
For a moment I fear he won’t answer. And like the rest of Michigan, I’m dying to know.
I doubt he’d just throw them away. But what does a man in his early thirties do with three hearts a year?
Maybe the theories about him being a Hannibal Lecter are true.
Does he consume them with a nice Chianti?
In the realm of possibilities, I was not expecting him to say, “Snowglobes.”
A beat passes before I repeat his statement, trying to make sense of it. “Snowglobes?”
“I make snowglobes with them. It’s my yearly tradition. I even hollow them out so I can put one of those battery operated lights in the hearts. You should see the way they glow. It’s magical.”
“Are you serious?” The question slips out before I can catch it.
“As a heart attack.” I’m learning Cole’s sense of humor is as dark as his hobbies. “Alright, it’s my turn again. Why the crusade on Christmas?”
I knew this question was coming but I still don’t love talking about it. I’m sure he’s expecting some tragic story like daddy dresses up as Santa and got stuck in the chimney, but the reality is much less exciting.
“It’s just…” a huff of air leaves me as I try to form the right words. “Christmas has never been a happy time for me. I don’t have good memories of this time of year. I have a series of disappointments.”
“But your birthday is Christmas Eve?” He states this fact as if it can magically heal all wounds.
“Which means it’s often forgotten.” A fact everyone with a December birthday knows all too well.
“My parents chose the day after Christmas to tell me they were getting divorced. My first boyfriend in high school broke up with me right before Christmas break. Last year my mom chose to go on a trip with her new husband and his kids for the holiday but didn’t bother to invite me.
Not to mention I’m painfully alone every year. So no, I don’t like Christmas.”
I hate the pitying look on Cole’s face. Droopy eyes, lopsided frown, slightly tilted head taking in my pathetic state. Unable to bear the depressing silence any longer I continue our pattern.
“Do you have any pets?”
He’s been stroking a hand down Sasha’s back this whole time. Moving to scratch under her chin, Cole replies, “Not until we agree to a shared custody of this little angel.”
“Even my cat barely tolerates me.” I joke. But I look at the feisty feline with affection because even though she sets the terms of our relationship, I love that little furball.
“What do you do for work?” Cole changes the conversation to something easier to answer.
“I’m a middle school health teacher.” I don’t know what Cole expected my career to be, but he seems taken aback by that answer.
“I want to be a history teacher but there are no positions in the area for that department. So I took the role that was available. It’s a good school, decent benefits, and one of the history teachers is getting close to retirement.
So if I stick it out in the health department for a few years, hopefully I’ll be considered for the position. ”
“Well I admire your ability to look at the bigger picture and not just the right now.” The warmth that swells in my chest from his kind words is unexpected. Who knew I needed the validation from a complete stranger so much.
There have been so many points in life where I wonder if I’m making the right decisions.
Especially at this age, I wonder if I’m supposed to have my life more together or if I’m right where I need to be.
Social media makes it look like I should be jetting off to a new country every year and debt free by now.
But those student loans are still sitting there.
And I’m trying to put in the grunt work now so I can invest in my future.
Breaking me out of this train of thought, Cole asks with a quick glance around the room, “Do you have any snacks? Murder makes me hungry.”