Page 25 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

And for what it’s worth, that was the worst apology I’ve ever heard. Who approaches a woman they screwed over like that? Oh hey, I know I fucked up, but let me have another crack at it. Maybe I could ditch you in the middle of a theatre this time. Whatdaya say, babe? How about a little BJ for my effort, princess? Really suck it good, but after I come in your mouth, I’m out. You owe me that much for taking you out twice.

Get all the way fucked. I’ve dated men like that before, and they have never, ever been worth my time. And Hunter Cole, he’s no different. I won’t waste my time on him again, but something tells me he’s not nearly done pissing me off.

Marcus and Dean are going to get one hell of a stern talking to for letting that fuck-nugget back through my door, and when I’m done with them, they’ll know exactly what would happen if that walking STD sets foot in my bar again.

Damn it.

I huff and puff as I storm through my apartment, unable to find any semblance of peace. It’s not Marcus and Dean’s fault. They’re good guys. I’m sure they had good intentions, but still, I’ll have to lay down the law when it comes to Hunter fucking Cole.

My irritation becomes irrational, and I throw myself across my couch. It’s well after four in the morning, and if anything, I should be heading into the bathroom, taking a hot shower, and then sending my ass to bed. Yet if I were to get into the shower right now, all I’m going to do is scream at the wall until the neighbors file noise complaints.

Instead, I doom scroll, searching for something that could hold my attention just long enough to pull me out of this Hunter Cole-induced madness.

I go over the latest breaking news, which seems to be something new every fifteen minutes, then I catch up on the real juicy stuff. Reddit stories. That right there is my lifeblood. I start with a story about a girl who’s crying over her boyfriend who’s about to do hard time behind bars. Probably one of Hunter’s friends. And then I deep dive into a story about a man who thinks his wife is secretly poisoning him while also screwing his boss who happens to be his estranged brother.

I’m just getting to the good parts when my phone buzzes with a new text, and I let out a sigh before exiting out of the app and finding my texts.

The only messages I ever get this late are work related. It’s either Marcus or Dean making sure I got home okay, or it’s one of my closing bar staff letting me know if there were any problems.

Instead, I find an unknown number, and my eyes narrow with suspicion as I open the text and quickly glance over it.

Unknown: Can’t stop thinking about me, can you?

What the fuck?

I was expecting a lot of things, but not this. It’s obviously not Marcus or Dean, and it’s definitely not any of the girls, which only leaves one option—Maddox Blake. I’d stupidly given him my number after he very thoroughly railed me down on the street the other night, and it was everything, until now.

I thought he knew the deal. I wasn’t interested in seconds. Despite what I might have led Hunter to believe tonight, I’m not looking for anything with this guy. He was a one-and-done, no matter how earth-shattering it might have been.

Unknown: Don’t leave me on read, Savage.

I laugh to myself as I type out a quick response, more than happy to spend what’s left of my night screwing with him. God, I’d do just about anything to forget about Hunter right now, and Maddox Blake seems like the perfect distraction . . . again.

Lyra: Who is this?

Unknown: Don’t play games with me. Where do you live? Let me come apologize properly.

Wait . . . what?

I sit upright so fast my head spins. Maddox knows exactly where I live, which means this isn’t him at all.

A chill sails through my bones, and as I read over the messages again, I realize there’s only one other asshole who calls me Savage—Hunter fucking Cole. But how the hell did he get this number?

Unless he was doing something in my bar that he wasn’t supposed to be doing. After all, I didn’t exactly keep my eye on him after I gave him that verbal smackdown. I figured he’d run away like a little bitch to lick his wounds. If he had somehow managed to get into the back office, it’s absolutely plausible that he could have found my details that way. And if that’s the case, that’s more than fucked up, and I should probably watch my back around this guy.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I stare at the screen. Who the fuck does shit like that? And why the hell am I finding it kinda charming? I know he’s a little fucked up, and a certifiable red flag, but it’s kinda hot that he would go that far to talk to me. And yes, I’m completely aware of how stupid that sounds, and that only makes me hate him more than I already do. I just wish he wasn’t so absolutely gorgeous. It makes resisting his insanity really goddamn hard.

Lyra: Delete my number, asshole.

Lyra: Better yet, how the fuck did you get it? I sure as hell never gave it to you.

Hunter: Come on, Savage. Put those claws away.

Lyra: You’re a psychopath.

Hunter: I thought we already established that.