Page 30 of My Killer Blind Date

‘Lunch,’ I respond.

We exit the shop together, into the spotty sunshine.

George pauses to pull out her oversized sunglasses.

‘So enough about me! Your turn. This is a big deal, right? You and Liam? I mean, the last guy was … oh gosh, I can barely even remember his name, it’s been so long.’

‘Jeb,’ I say with a rueful smile. He was the delivery driver at the dentist’s office. He’d bring me little treats. A jar of local honey. Vegan cookies. Artisanal cupcakes. And he was all about ‘the cause,’ i.e. the plight of women who’d suffered for so long under the thumb of the patriarchy. I appreciated that. I didn’t so much appreciate the fact that he was also sleeping with the florist one block over. I guess he was a man of many causes.

Fun fact, he was the straw that broke the camel’s back. After him, I decided I simply couldn’t date any more until I developed better instincts. Maybe I could develop an equivalent of the gaydar, except for assholes. An assholedar. But with Liam in the mix now, and my very alarming attraction problem, I’m wondering if I learned anything at all …

‘Oh, here, this place is great,’ says George as she guides me into an upscale bistro. The bell over the door chimes as we walk in, and right away, I can smell steak and I’m ready to devour a bear, and not a small one either. The restaurant feels very French, with tiled walls, brass fixtures and hanging plants in the huge windows. The hostess indicates for us to choose our seat. We settle at an open table by the window. The server takes our orders – steak frites for me and salmon salad for George.

‘So. Liam,’ says George as soon as the server has retreated.

For a second, I’m at a loss for words. What do I tell her? Yeah, funny story, I think he killed Zoe. And I currently have enough weapons in my purse to take down a small armada. And I’m seeing him again tonight. Also there’s the matter of the best kiss of my life last night …

‘Well …’ I say, then cough. ‘He’s charming.’

George’s brow furrows. ‘And charming is code for … asshole?’

Murderer, I itch to say, but no way can I tell George. She would stop me from seeing him again. She wouldn’t understand that there’s simply no other way.

‘Not an asshole …’ I hesitate again. I mean, aren’t all murderers technically assholes? I decide that’s a debate for another day. Still, lying makes my palms feel sweaty. I rub them on my leggings. ‘Genuinely, a great conversationalist. And good-looking! I mean, Arjun probably already told you.’

‘He did describe him as a total gummy bear, with great arms, and I know how you love your arms.’ She leans close. ‘But more importantly, how’s his …?’ She raises both eyebrows, then mimes various lengths with her hands.

‘George!’ I have to laugh. ‘We’ve only gone out twice now! And you know I’m into personalities. Not …’ I lower my voice. ‘Dick lengths, or – widths, or—’

George snorts a laugh, then gestures to the right. Ah! It’s our server, and based on his facial expression, he definitely heard us. Red floods my face. ‘Steak frites?’ he says with a quirked grin at me.

‘Here,’ I whisper. He slides the plate in front of me.

‘Should be nice and thick – hope it’s to your satisfaction.’ He gives me a knowing smile before walking away.

‘But you’re seeing him again,’ George picks back up, stabbing at her salad. She has a tremendous capacity to not be embarrassed – one of the many things I both appreciate about her and aspire to. Maybe then I wouldn’t go into panic mode and blurt out stories about rampaging cats named Fluffers.

‘I’m seeing him tonight,’ I say. Actually, now that I’m thinking, I should definitely make sure she knows where I am. ‘Navy Pier. And if I can get back to his place …’ I give her my best attempt at a sultry grin, even though it’s not an expression my face naturally does. ‘You know, I’m open.’

George’s eyes practically roll back in her head. ‘Dear God, yes. Please get laid. It’ll put you in such a better mood for all the wedding stuff. I will send that man a thank you card if he can take the edge off you. You’ll have to report back.’

I fake-groan, then take the first bite of steak, which promptly silences me. It’s dripping with butter, and tender enough I barely even need a knife. The burn of the cracked black pepper fills my mouth as I chew. God. Who needs sex anyway when there’s steak frites?

‘Please tell me you’re serving steak at the wedding,’ I plead as I go in for bite two.

‘Not at the wedding, but yes at the bachelorette party!’ says George. ‘The best filet mignon in town. You’ll bring Liam to the bachelor-bachelorette, right? Does he like steak? Doesn’t matter. I need to make sure he’s up to standard. And I can’t wait to see you with him! This is such a healthy step for you!’

Healthy – or deadly?

‘I’m not bringing him to your party,’ I say. ‘The cost per head is enormous, and it’s too early to know if he’ll be worth it.’ More to the point, I’m not bringing a murderer near my friends.

‘Forget the cost per head!’

‘I’d feel too guilty! I wouldn’t enjoy myself.’

‘That’s ridiculous. Bring him. Also, what are we wearing tonight?’

I pluck at my top. ‘Oh, you know. Just this.’