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Chapter Seven
Andi blinked at Hill’s offer. “What?”
Hill scratched his beard, looking altogether uncomfortable. “I mean, if you’re scared to stay alone, I could sleep on the couch. Maybe you could get some rest that way.”
Sleep on her couch?The neighbor she barely knew?Oh, hell no.She shook her head automatically. Guys didn’t sleep over. Period. End of sentence. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You don’t have to ask,” he said with a shrug. “I’m offering. It’s only a few hours ’til morning anyway.”
Her gaze swept over him. The man was just sobig. And intimidating. Even in sweats and a T-shirt, he looked like some comic superhero—or villain. Complete with bionic leg.
Sexy as fuck. But also scary as hell.
She didn’tknowhim. And even though her gut was sayinggood guy, she’d learned her gut was far from reliable when it came to men. Her gut had almost gotten her killed. She hated that she could just as easily imagine Hill kissing her breathless as she could imagine him putting his hands around her throat and choking the life out of her. Her imagination was her best asset and her worst enemy sometimes.
When she was quiet too long, he lifted his palms. “I won’t be offended if you say no. I’m fine either way. If you’d rather, I can give you my number, and you can call if you feel scared or want me to check on anything.”
She rubbed her arms, trying to chase away the chill bumps. The thought of being alone sent a rush of fresh nerves through her. Honesty fell past her lips. “I’m legitimately freaked out to be alone right now, and the thought of having someone here sounds great, but it’s kind of my policy not to let guys sleep over.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “Like ever?”
She made a slightly pained sound in the back of her throat.Yes, like ever. Like ever ever. Like I haven’t slept next to a Y chromosome since I was a teenager—and that chromosome was attached to a sociopath.She forced a wan smile. “Paranoid, remember? I’m not so good with trusting men not to murder me in my sleep.”
He stared at her for a moment, processing that. “Wow, Andi, that’s—”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, cutting him off. “I’m morbid. It’s one of my most charming qualities.” She met his eyes again, hoping the sarcasm in her voice would undo her TMI confession. “But maybe you could stay for a beer or something? Just for a few minutes until I calm down a little more and we’re sure the murderer-rapist who possibly wants to wear my skin as a coat isn’t coming back?”
He considered her. She sensed he wanted to ask more questions, but to his credit, he simply nodded. “Sure. A beer would be great.”
She let out an audible breath, the amount of relief she felt surprising her. “Awesome. Thanks. Be right back.”
Andi returned, finding Hill in her well-worn recliner, and handed him a bottle of Ghost in the Machine beer. “That’s my good stuff. Only break it out for special company.”
“I’m honored.” He took it from her and tipped it back, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He lowered it and smiled her way. “Oh, that’s really good.”
“Right?” She took a spot on the couch across from him and sipped her beer, tucking her legs beneath her. She caught him staring at her feet. She looked down at her toes and then back to him. “What?”
“Uh.” A little color came into his cheeks. “What?”
“You were staring at my feet.”
He winced. “Sorry. The dark-blue toenail polish caught my eye. I have a bad habit of gathering details about people and coming up with my own story about who they are. It was a game I used to play in my head as a kid after reading a book about an FBI profiler.”
“Writers do that, too.” She looked down at her toes and wiggled them. “So you think blue nail polish says something about me?”
“Maybe.”
She pointed the neck of her beer at him. “Do tell.”
He gave her a wouldn’t-you-like-to-know look. “Nah, people don’t like to be FBI profiled.”
She shook her head and smiled. “Oh no. You’re on the hook now. What conclusions have you drawn about me? I’ll give you a free pass to say what you want.”
“There are no free passes in life.” He gave her a pointed look as he took a pull from the beer. “That’s a trap.”
“Oh, come on.” She flicked her hand in a bring-it-on motion. “I promise I’m not that sensitive. I write books and do a public podcast. I’ve had people on the internet post that I’m a hack, that I exploit crime victims, that I’m the reason women shouldn’t write horror. Tonight, a reviewer offered to tie me up because I must get off on true crime, and I guess he was up for victimizing me.”
His eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance. “The fuck?”
