She lifted herself up to face me, her eyes going wide with shock as her mouth fell open. “The Reaper? A date?”
I shrugged. “You broke me.”
Her smile was soft, disbelieving. “I did?”
“Yeah,” I said, pressing my forehead to hers. “You made me soft. Don’t tell anyone.”
Her grin curved slow and dangerous. “Okay… so what would we do on our date, Mr. Soft?”
I leaned back, took a swig from the vodka, and gave it a beat. “We could go kill someone together. I’ll show you how to do it right.”
She narrowed her eyes, as a smile tugged at her lips. “Weirdly… I’m not opposed.”
I shrugged. “Or we could go to the movies. That works too.”
She blinked at me. “The movies?”
“Yeah.” I lifted one shoulder. “Why not?”
She studied me for a second, lips pursed thoughtfully.“Alright. Important question then. What’s your favorite movie or TV show?”
“I don’t watch TV,” I said automatically.
“Come on,” she groaned, nudging my chest with her knee. “Stop being so tough. There has to be something you like. I know there’s a real you under all that brooding.”
I exhaled slowly, pretending to consider whether this information was classified. “If I tell you,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her, “you don’t get to laugh.”
Her grin widened instantly. “Oh, I’m absolutely going to laugh.”
I hesitated just long enough to make it dramatic. “Peaky Blinders.”
She stared at me for a beat—then burst out laughing. “Of course. You are so predictable.”
I scowled lightly. “Predictable?”
“You’re basically Tommy Shelby with a Ukrainian passport,” she said, tapping my chest. “Broody eyes, violent tendencies, tragic backstory. All you’re missing is the flat cap.”
I dragged a hand over my face. “I knew you’d mock me.”
“I’m not mocking you,” she said, still smiling. “I’m just saying it tracks.”
I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “You tell anyone, and I’ll deny everything.”
She laughed again and tucked herself against me. “Relax, Shelby.”
I shook my head, but I was smiling. “Fine. What about you?”
She lifted her chin. “What about me?”
“Your favorite. And don’t you dare say Barbie.”
She gasped in offense. “Excuse me?”
“I’m serious,” I said, pointing at her with the vodka bottle. “If you say Barbie, I’m reconsidering this whole date.”
She shoved my shoulder, laughing, and the sound of it settled something deep in my chest.
“Okay, fine,” she said, still grinning. “My favorite isn’t Barbie.”
