Page 57 of Scaredy Cat
It’s crazy to me how he can just be so…casual about the whole thing. But I suck it up, take a breath, and try to get my shit together. “Who did you kill?”
“Oh, I have no idea.” The way he says it like he really doesn’t care shocks me, and Shiloh grimaces before going on. “Dad said some guy owed his employer, and that he might need a bit of help. His arthritis has been acting up. Dude was ugly, though.” He makes a face. “And, uh, it ended up being a thing.” At that, he rolls his eyes. “He’s ass-up in a lake or something by now. I don’t know. That part’s not my job.”
Somehow, his entire attitude about the situation is both terrifying and oddly comforting. When he talks about murder like it isn’t a big deal, it just isn’t a big deal.
“Any other questions?” he prods, gesturing for me to move closer to him. When I do, mostly out of curiosity, he gently turnsme around until I’m sitting in front of his legs and pushes me forward slightly. Arugula moves to stand on my lap, in the most tender areas of my inner thigh he can find, and no matter how much wincing I do, he just stares at me.
“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Did you really think I was out?” My shoulders tense when he sweeps his hands down them, but then I force myself to relax when all he does is drag my shirt up over my head, so my back and neck are bared to him.
My skin prickles in the cool air of my room; in the near-dark everything feels electric and tingly between us. I jump at the touch of his hands, though he only smooths them down my skin. “No,” he huffs. “I figured there would be more. Come on then, babe. Hit me with them.”
Opening and closing my mouth, I fiddle with the soft fur of Arugula’s tail between my fingers. I could ask him why, though he basically answered that already. I could ask him if he feels bad, but it’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t.
“What’s your favorite food?”
His fingers pause in kneading my shoulders. “Thai food. You?”
“Mexican.” Shiloh makes a noncommittal noise, then goes back to what he was doing to sooth my tense muscles better than I ever could. “You live around here, right? Have you always lived here?”
“I’m from here in northern Indiana originally. My dad grew up in Louisville. When my mom was pregnant with me, Dad moved them up here to be closer to Chicago for my dad’s work.” He pulls me back, adjusting me a little in his lap. “My mom’s dead. Dad lives just outside the city. I live in Valparaiso now, and went to school in Bloomington.”
“Me too,” I admit. “Did you go to school for massage therapy?” He must have had some kind of training, with how good he is with his hands.
His chuckle meets my ears. “Nah, nothing like that. I have a business degree. But I dated a guy who was a masseur, and he taught me a few tricks.” When I glance at him over my shoulder, his grin turns wicked. “What? Do I strike you as someone who can’t appreciate both womenandmen?”
“Are you still dating him?” God, I shouldn’t feel the sudden bubbling of jealousy in my throat. He isnotmy boyfriend. “Or anyone else?”
“I'm monogamous.” He blinks, and his grin grows sly. “That’s me saying no, Persy. I’m not dating anyone else.”
Else?
“Okay, but we aren’t?—”
“I fucked you in a sanitarium, fingered you until you saw your ancestors at Mill House, and your followers love me.” His arms slide over my shoulders to really pull me back into his lap amidst Arugula’s protests. “And you know my favorite food. If we’re not dating, then I invite you to give it another name.”
I can’t…but wearen’tdating. “Well…” I gaze up at the side of his face, barely able to see him scratch Arugula’s ears from the corner of my eye. “Well, we’re not dating.” God, that sounds pouty and pathetic. “Because you never asked me if I wanted to date you.”
Yeah, that didn’t make it better.
Shiloh slowly looks down at me, and his shit-eating grin makes me want to smother him with a pillow. “Okay,” he agrees. “If I ask you, will you say yes? But can we date our anniversary retroactively? I’ve been telling Dad about you for weeks.”
That’s…not as comforting as I think he means it to be.
I have so many worries here, and rightfully so.
He’s a murderer.
His dad is a killer.
He likes Thai food, and I can’t get behind that.
Oh, andhe’s a murderer, not to mention my stalker.
But how can I say no to him, when he’s the most interesting human alive and, yeah, made me come harder than I’ve ever thought was possible? Though I remind myself that shouldn’t be the only thing that matters.
It’s just…a big part of it.
“I can’t just say yes. You’re a murderer.”
