Page 17 of A Love Most Fatal
“I don’t have one, though. A date. I need one.” After a pause, he adds, “I want you to be my date.”
My jaw falls open before I snap it closed again. I have once again been left without words by this strange man.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know very many women.”
“Flattering,” I say, wry.
“And even if I did know many women,youmight be the most beautiful one.”
I blink at the relative ease in which this man just delivered a flirty compliment. Him calling me beautiful also makes my neck flush, but I will not be investigating why that is at this time.
I look down at the court instead. In the stands, Willa and Mary are staring at us, Willa waggling her eyebrows and Marysquinting at Nate. I would flip them off if there weren’t so many children here.
“And while teaching children about fractions and finding the hypotenuse of a triangle is apparently not ‘grandson of the year’ material, having you there to escort me would most definitely put me in the running.”
I throw my hands up. “You’re kidding! The hypotenuse might be the most important thing they learn all year.”
“Finally,” Nate breathes, “someone who gets me.”
He pops another palmful of Skittles in his mouth, and once again, winces. It doesn’t look like a wholly pleasant experience, eating sour candy, but he carries on.
“The wedding is Friday and if I don’t have a date, my mother may never forgive me, and then I won’t be invited home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. All of the major holidays will be spent alone with my dog eating grocery store sushi. Is this what you want for me, Ms. Morelli?”
I consider, a smile pressing into my cheeks.
I’m not sure why I’m humoring this—boredom maybe?
No, he’s charming in his way. He’s totally unlike nearly every other man I spend my time around. Those men are macho with shallow egos, cruel, and they struggle in our every conversation to balance the respect they know my position deserves with how much respect they feel they ought to show me as a 28-year-old unmarried woman.
Nate is nothing like that. He talks to me like I’m an equal, like he can just request I buy him sour Skittles and tell me I’m spoiled and entitled with no recourse. It’s rare.
“You don’t do dating apps?” I ask.
“Please don’t relegate me to a dating app, Vanessa, it’s unsafe! I could be in very real danger. I’m sure non-murdering women are on there, but which of them is going to say yes to a date with a stranger in two days?”
I blink at his use of my first name after so much Ms. Morelli, and further, at his assumption that I’ve never murdered anyone. It’s not lost on me how much danger he’s in just by speaking to me in public, where anyone can see and think he’s working with me.
I should say no. Obviously, I should say no, if only because I have no reason to say yes. But Iwantto say yes.
The realization surprises me and I’m halfway to convincing myself that I only feel this way because of all the drama recently, but before I can make it all the way to that conclusion, I am speaking again.
“What time?” I ask as the buzzer sounds off behind me again, longer this time, the end of the third quarter.
Nate looks astounded, like in a million years he wouldn’t have thought I’d actually say yes.
“I can pick you up at six.”
“I’ll come to you,” I say. Leo would rather drive me and keep watch through the evening, which reminds me that I will have to try to explain this to Leo and,shit, my sisters. Willa is going to have an absolute heyday about this.
“Alright, wow. Shall we, I don’t know—exchange numbers?” he asks.
“I have yours,” I remind him. “From when you. . . hit my car?”
“Right. Yes. Well, I am looking forward to it.” Nate starts backing away. “And I’m leaving now before you tell me you were joking.”
“Okay.”