Or, I don’t know, how about I assess right now. With me seated in his theater. On a Monday night. After a weekend spent talking and laughing and doing nothing more than playing dating sims together.
Slathered across the screen before me are a collection of images from the sims we played over the weekend, and I guess thispresentationis why Mr. Malcolm Swallow told me earlier he was heading home from work first.
“So.” Standing before the presentation, he laser pointers at the first image, the tamest in the bunch, and I do dearly wonder if he’ll show me whatever presentations went into his previous schemes concerning hiring me as an assassin. “Don’t be fooled by the supposed progression in these images. Each of these pictures isn’t a single lesson. You’ve already endured a few ofthem, so the goal will be to make it through all of them in a single session without your brain running away with you.”
I blink, glancing at the great grand number of them all.
Forehead kisses. Cheek kisses. Neck… Shoulder… Back…
I gulp.
He settles the laser pointer remote against his other hand. “I know it might look a bit overwhelming, but—trust me—the next slide is worse.”
My breath stutters. “Am I ready to see such a thing?”
Solemn, his head shakes. “No.”
Phew.
He turns, presses a button, and the screen changes. “But I’m going to show you anyway.”
Squeaking, I cover my eyes.
“Dove, do you want this or not?” he chides.
Whimpering, I part my fingers and witness a white screen populated by a single, bold word.
SIKE
Losing the tension in my shoulders, I drop my hands. “You’re actually the worst,” I say.
Smug, he smirks. “Thank you. I know.” Settling into the chair beside me, he murmurs, “So. Thoughts?”
Most of my thoughts aren’t productive. They’re timid and shy and on the verge of tumbling down a spiral that will insist death waits for us unless I manage to do all of thisromancecorrectly. So, I deflect and say, “I want to see your other plot presentations.”
“You’re dreadfully unfocused on the matter at hand.”
“It’s notat hand, though, is it? I still haven’t reached this semester yet, so there’s plenty of time to show me the mentally unwell collage you used to outline your plan to hire me as a fake assassin.”
Holding my attention, he presses a button on the laser pointer remote, and the screen changes to display Gru, fromDespicable Me, standing in front of his presentation board on a four-squared grid.
In the first square, the board says,Keep Azalea late at work.
In the second,Send paid actor Anthony to recruit Azalea and frighten her back to my loving arms.
In the third,Watch Azalea agree to murder me.
In the fourth, Gru looks back at the text, stricken. And Malcolm’s laser pointer circles the expression. “This is how I felt that night, by the way.”
“You seriously prepped this?”
“I assumed one of the first things on your mind when you saw my presentation tonight would bemore please. So, yes. I did.”
“Huh.” I eye him.
He eyes me back.
My heart pitters a slight bit faster.
