Page 58 of A Love Most Fatal

Anette spits her gum into the trash. “The dog next?”

The strangest ofall of the strange developments of late is that, somehow, Vanessa and I have fallen into a routine of watching movies together after everyone’s gone to sleep. This came about the night of the pool party when, both of us not being able to sleep, gravitated to the leftovers in the fridge. She was already on the couch eating a piece of cake and, after a quiet moment, invited me to sit. Another action movie played on the TV.

We watched in relative silence, but when she said, “Same time tomorrow?” as casually as she might ask for my coffee order, I gave a dumbfounded yes.

We’ve had five of these movie nights now, and tonight I sit on the couch beneath a massive soft blanket, eating chopped watermelon from the same big bowl as Vanessa, each of us with our own fork. Her hair smells like coconut conditioner and we both have these lime green eye masks beneath our eyes.

I let the watermelon dissolve on my tongue as the action movie plays out on the screen.

“I like this one more than five,” she says. “But eight is the best.”

“I support your opinions, even though you’ve never been more wrong.”

Vanessa laughs through her nose and drops her fork into the now empty bowl of red juice. I offer some of the popcorn, but she shakes her head.

Her cheeks and forehead are lightly pink from time spent in the sun on sites today, and with no makeup on, I can see that smattering of freckles I imagine will only get darker as the summer goes on.

I have an absurd urge to rub my thumb across them. I keep my hands to myself.

Vanessa pulls the extra blanket from beside me and drapes it over her lap, getting comfy. Action movies must be the great unifier because this time two weeks ago she could barely look at me and now we’re sharing a blanket.

I’ve been here a month and I’m already getting complacent. Too comfortable.

“Have you figured out who’s trying to kill you?” I ask, though I know the answer.

“Lots of people want to kill me,” she says. “But no, if you’re asking if it’s safe to leave yet, it’s not.”

There’s no use complaining about it, so I slouch down on the couch and lean back. “At least your sister has cool kids for me to hang out with.”

“They are cool,” she agrees. Her eyes are slightly closed but she cracks them to say the next part. “I think my godson is obsessed with you.”

“That’s because I taught him the joy of fractions and PEMDAS this year.”

“Ah, PEMDAS.”

“By the way, your brother-in-law is a total dick bag,” I say, then rush to clarify: “Cillian, not Sean.”

Vanessa snorts. “A dick bag, you say.”

I throw a piece of popcorn at her, and she laughs louder.

“Heis. Told me he thinks I have bad intentions.”

“And do you?” Her head is tipped back on the throw pillow as she speaks, her dark brown hair tucked into a braid on her shoulder.

“Yes, I’m thinking about taking what I’ve learned and starting my own mafia. I would invite you, but I think it should just be teachers.”

“Bummer,” she says with a click of her tongue. “Well, that’s just Cillian. He’s protective, is all.”

She looks beyond sleepy, so I don’t try to press my point that the guy has weird vibes and, further, is probably into her.

Her eyes slip shut again and after a couple of minutes, I feel her toes wedge beneath my leg.

“Do you want to lay out?” I ask, ready to move, but she’s already asleep.

21

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