Page 13 of Good Girls Beg

"If you think they're harmless, maybe you should respond to them." Lyra picked up her bike helmet from the bike seat and jammed it onto her head. Unless she was using a ride share, she rode her bike everywhere. I should do the same, but I took my chances with my ancient rust bucket of a car instead.

"I might respond after class," I said. I shoved my phone into my back pocket. “They've waited this long. They can wait a few more hours."

“So, you've decided to respond?" She did up the chin strap of her helmet and adjusted it.

"I haven't decided anything yet," I said. "We should get out of here." I stepped over to my car and opened the door.

"Yeah, later." She swung her leg over her bike, positioned her feet on the pedals and sped away, her red hair flying out behind her.

I half-listened to my professor talking about our upcoming assessment. Something about an open book exam, which would make up thirty percent of our final grade. Nothing I couldn't handle. My thesis would make up the other seventy percent.

The rest of my mind was on my phone and the message sitting there. Lyra was right, at some point I had decided I’d respond, but what would I say?

‘Hey, sure. Why don't you come on over to my place, person I don't know?’

There was a big difference between planning on fucking a total stranger in a parking lot and inviting one to my apartment. The apartment I shared with my best friend.

I didn't want to put myself in danger, but I wanted to put her in danger even less. She didn't deserve to have anything bad happen to her because of my stupid life choices.

As everyone filed out of the room and headed to lunch, I stayed in my seat, pulled out my phone, and started to compose a response.

You wanted to help save my fathers’ bar?

My finger hovered over the screen for a moment before I pressed send.

I was about to put my phone away when an answer came.

Yes, I can help. I have a proposal for you

That was followed a few seconds later by another.

7:00 p.m. tonight

I frowned, wondering what he was referring to, when a Zoom link popped up in the message window.

I stared at the phone for a few moments longer, waiting to see if they'd say something else. When they didn't, I grabbed my bag, swung it over my shoulder, and headed out for lunch. My mind was tumbling with conflicting thoughts.

I supposed a Zoom meeting was harmless, especially if I could disguise where I lived. That was easy enough. This meeting would be low-stakes for both of us. There was no reason for them to trust me either. They didn't know if I was a psychopath who might strangle them on a remote beach before burying them under the sand. Or in the dumpster behind Loams.

I wouldn't, for the record. Also, from what I gather, throwing people in dumpsters isn’t a very effective disposal method for a murdered corpse. Not that I'm an expert or anything, but I like my true crime shows as much as the next person.

Lyra and I have true crime nights over a bottle of wine and a bag of chips. Those are usually interspersed with cooking shows like The Great British Bake Off, which we watch for shits and giggles, not inspiration.

Also, we don't watch true crime shows for inspiration.

I responded to his last message with one of my own.

Okay

I didn't need to elaborate on that.

I stepped out of the lecture hall and almost ran into a guy who was walking with a book in front of his face. Strap over his shoulder, a laptop bag swung against gray cotton cargo pants that hung low on his hips.

"Shit." He stopped and quickly lowered his book. A romance novel. I recognized the author. Her books about hot, possessive hockey players were some of my favorites.

"Sorry," I said quickly.

"Yeah, helps to look where you're going," he said, curling his lip at me. His blue-green eyes were full of contempt.