Page 174 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

And I like being the one that snared him.

The second the words leave her mouth—your dimples are cute—something short-circuits in my chest.

Not that I didn’t like it.

I fucking did.

Probably more than I should.

So naturally, like the emotionally stunted bastard I am, I counter with the first thing that comes to mind.

"What about you, Lolli-pop?"

She glares like I just suggested sacrificing a litter of puppies.

"Don’t call me that," she snaps, cheeks still pink from laughing.

"Sweet little pink Lollipop," I tease, popping thep, dragging it out just to watch her squirm. "What was your amazing first kiss story? Please tell me it was equally tragic. I need this."

She hesitates, fiddling with her teacup, blowing it off with a shrug so casual it might as well come with a neon sign:this is a lie.

I narrow my eyes. "Come on. You got to hear about my orthodontic horror show. Fair’s fair."

She squirms, taps her nails against the ceramic. Then finally, with a huff, mutters it under her breath like that’ll make it disappear.

"I’ve—never been kissed."

I blink.

Excuse the absoluteshit fuckout of me. What?

The whole world screeches to a halt.

"Wait," I say, because my brain clearly didn’t process that right, "never?"

She shrugs again, doing that fake-casual thing that would fool exactly no one with a functioning pulse.

"I mean, it’s not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? Right. And I’m the Queen of England."

I lean forward, elbows braced on the table, dropping my voice until it’s nothing but a gravel scrape.

"Are you a...?"

Her head snaps up so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t give herself whiplash.

"WHAT?!" she whisper-shrieks, loud enough to turn heads two tables over.

"No!" she hisses, mortified, face going bright red. "I’m not a—" she glances around, “—v-word!"

I smirk into my tea, enjoying this way more than I should. Because if there’s anything better than flustered Poppy, it’sscandalizedPoppy, ready to throttle me with a soup dumpling.

She sinks lower into the booth like she’s hoping for spontaneous invisibility.

"I just..." I shake my head slowly, like I’m solving for x, "I can’t wrap my fucking head around that."

Because I can’t.

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