Page 33 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

“They have one true love. They just have to find them.”

“That sounds nice and convenient. I’m jealous.”

“Not necessarily.” Baxter pulled on his jacket. “Remind me to tell you how John and Bellamy met sometime. And Ben and Griffin didn’t exactly have the easiest time of it either.”

He’d mentioned John before, but the other three names were new. Baxter headed for the door, and I trailed after him. “What are you going to do?”

He opened it and leaned against the jamb, thinking for a moment before a wicked grin settled on his face. “I’m going to have some fun.”

I didn’t need him to elaborate. Something leaden settled in my gut, as heavy as a cannonball. “Do you think that’s a good idea after the day you’ve had?”

“I think it’s an excellent idea. Best one I’ve had all day.” He checked his watch. “What time’s your date?”

“Eight.”

“You'd better get a move on then. You’ve got just over an hour. I assume you’re not going like that?”

I looked down at my jumper and jeans. It was one of my favorite jumpers. It was also worn enough to sport a hole in the right sleeve. That hole had probably kept it out of Carl’s grasp. “No. Of course not. I need to shower and shave. And change.”

“Better hurry then.”

“Yeah.” Baxter turned to go, but I said his name before he could leave. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…” He caught himself. “I’m not fine. I need to get used to admitting that rather than denying it. But I’m not in pieces.”

“Do you think you’ll have the same nightmare tonight?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Healing’s not that simple, is it?”

“Probably not,” I admitted.

Baxter left after that, leaving me staring at my watch and unleashing a string of unsavory words. What the hell had I been thinking to leave things so late?

I did well to be only ten minutes late. I’d had to do a quick ironing job on my shirt, but my jacket hid most of the creases. I just had to remember not to take it off. We were having dinner again, but at a different restaurant. Either Glenn didn’t notice my tardiness, or he chose not to comment on it. My money was on the latter. He’d chosen a table well away from any windows, presumably on purpose.

He was just as charming as the first time, conversation flowing easily as he told me about taking his niece and nephew to an aquarium. “What about you?” he asked. “What did you do today?”

“What did I do?” My brain seized up, nothing but the truth presenting itself, and I doubted Glenn was ready for that. I didn’t know when murder became a suitable dinnertime topic, but I was fairly sure it wasn’t the second date. Even if he was an undertaker. “I… er…”

Glenn’s eyes were warm as they met mine over the rim of his wineglass. Warm, but not blue. Not dark-lashed. And they didn’t broadcast emotion—whether that was sorrow or humor—the same way Baxter’s did. “Verity said you’re deep into your next book. How’s it going?”

“My book, yeah. It’s… slow sometimes.”

“I bet. I don’t know how you do it. I read a great history book recently. It was about the War of the Roses, about how…”

Had Baxter found his “fun” yet? I doubted it took him long—something I attributed to his looks rather than his ability to read minds. Although I didn’t doubt that the mind reading helped. How easy it must be to know whether you were wasting your time within minutes. Much better than relying on a gaydar.

What if he met someone who treated him badly? Especially today, when he was vulnerable. What if there were minds he couldn’t read? Or people who were exceptionally good at hiding their thoughts? I should have asked him more about how it worked instead of avoiding the subject because it made me uncomfortable. It was part of Baxter. And if I intended to be friends with him…

Friends, an inner voice mocked. Yeah, right? Because that’s what you want from him.

The scrape of Glenn’s chair jerked me back to the present. “Toilet,” he said, nodding toward the back of the restaurant. “Try not to run off while I’m gone.” The twinkle in his eye told me he was joking, so I laughed. It faded when he was only two steps from the table.

I waited for the door to close before getting my phone out. It was terrible form to message one man while on a date with another, and Baxter was probably too busy to answer, but I typed a message, anyway.

Just wanted to check you’re okay?

The cursor blinked almost immediately.