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The sardonic note that suddenly underscores his voice startles me.
"If I have to choose between you contemplating the pros and cons of killing me...or you entertaining thoughts of another man?"
Well, duh. Even I'm not crazy enough to think he'd pick the latter—-
"Stare away, darling."
—-and yet that's exactly what he's done.
Huh.
I take another sip of my drink as I try to make sense of what he's saying.
Brenda used to warn me all the time about being too guarded, not just with other people but even with myself.
You have a good heart, but they won't know that if you don't allow them to get close, and you won't see it either if you're too close to it.
I used to think she was being worryingly optimistic, but maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe.
I study the man in front of me, and it's like seeing an archangel in real life.
Handsome. Strong. Noble.
Someone that has everything going for him, and so—-
"Are you really okay with someone like me? Even after everything I've told you?"
The similarities we share are superficial at best. He can never be different like me, and that's why everything this guy says and does just feels too good to be true.
He suddenly leans forward, and I tense up without meaning to.
"If you really want the truth..."
Finally.
I had a feeling there was a catch to all of this, but I was just too blind or stupid to notice it.
"When you told me you had something to say, I thought you were about to confess to another murder."
Oh.
"And once that thought occurred to me, I started planning how to make it go away."
OH.
Normal people will probably think there's something fundamentally wrong about helping your blind date get away with murder, but I personally think it's one of the sweetest and most thoughtful gestures anyone has ever made for me.
Don't keep pushing people away, Kay.
While my paranoid self is adamant this man has to be hiding a fatal flaw or two, my sister has always known best, and since I'm still inclined to take her advice even when she's long dead—-
"May I call you Rake?" His name is the last barrier in my mind, and I won't be able to move forward if I keep thinking about him as 'Boy', this 'guy', or just plain 'he'.
"You don't seem the type to care about names."
"I don't, usually. But sometimes, with the way my mind is wired differently, it gets stupidly fixated on stuff—-"
"And my name is one of them?"
"I'm just having a really hard time seeing you as the 'drake' type."
"Because of the rapper?" he asks dubiously.
I blink at his words. "I'm not sure what drakes have to do with rappers, but I'm just finding it difficult to picture you as a male duck that quacks and waddles."
"Should I be flattered?" he asks in amusement. "I think that's a compliment of sorts."
"No," I say honestly. "It's not."
But this only has him chuckling, and I'm surprised at how the sound makes my heart skip a beat.
"And what about Rake? Why do you want to call me that?"
"Because it almost sounds like Drake, and...because you look like the type to play around?"
"Ouch."
"But it's not just that—-"
He gestures me to stop, and I shut up.
"But wait, there's more," he says teasingly. "That's what you should've said."
Well, if he says so...
"But wait," I repeat obediently, "there's more."
I'm amazed at how this has him chuckling again, and even more amazed at how much I love the sound of it. Is this what it feels like to have a crush?
"What's the other reason?" he asks.
I suddenly feel shy and awkward, and I wonder if it's also because I might be crushing on him.
"Kayra?"
His voice is deep and gentle, and the sound is enthralling.
"I, um..."
I've never stammered before, and the sound is disgusting.
"I also want to call you Rake because..."
My breath catches for no apparent reason, and this, for better or for worse, leaves no room for doubt. I, Kayra Petinos, am indeed crushing on a member of the opposite sex, and as for the reason I'd like to call said man something else—-
"You seem like the kind of man who'd be really, really good at cleaning up messes?"
"Ah."
Why does everything this man produces with his lips sound so enthralling? Is this really how it is to have a crush, and it's as if the whole world only revolves around the other person?
"How about a deal?" he suddenly asks.
"I'm listening."
"You can call me Rake on two conditions."
The gleam in his eyes is wickedly suggestive, and the sight does the strangest things to my breathing. Why has no one ever told me how crushing on a man can also lead to respiratory concerns?
"Firstly: you must promise not to think of yourself as a mess I need to clean up."
"I...I..." He actually has me stuttering in my shock, and I hate it.
