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When I said "get a new hobby," I meant kayaking, not decking the halls with garlands of gore.
now I’m practically stalking the murderous golden retriever.
Can he even hear me arguing for pottery classes over the electric carver? Oh, it's a bone saw? My mistake.
Merry Christmas! I’m getting myself an accessory to murder.
After a helpful talk with my beautiful divorce therapist, I decided to get into manslaughter.
We’d make the perfect couple if she’d stop threatening to call the FBI.
In a therapy first, I have a dead body on my office floor.
haven’t a clue what to do with a dead body, but this stranger acts like he sees them every Tuesday.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Your ten o’clock. But if this guy is done, I’m happy to start early.”
So he’s a paramedic. Well, that explains his weird detachment and maybe even the disturbing sense of humor.
I also happen to have the peculiar habit of looking for signs of psychopathy in normal people.
Researching killers and psychopaths is not only disturbing to nearly everyone but also doesn’t pay well.
Soren sits in the chair that my last client unexpectedly vacated.
I’m uncomfortable with how attractive I find him.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
“Why? You didn’t kill him, right?” He raises an eyebrow as humor sparkles in his pale eyes. I stare, again. Maybe there really is something off about him.
Guess someone’s ex didn’t like a sense of humor to lighten the mood. Then again, maybe she thought he was a psychopath too.
He isn’t flirting with me; he’s just European or something.
“Or try something you always wanted to get into but couldn’t for whatever reason.”
“If you can concentrate on a new hobby, I think it would help you a lot.”
I have my own homework before his next appointment. Get laid so I stop flirting with him.
To say this date was a mistake is an understatement.
If Thomas came into couples therapy with someone, I’d pull the woman aside afterward and tell her to run.
Oh God, and the smell.
At some point, I had the bright idea to skip the chewing part and started to hide little pieces of my meal in a napkin so I could nibble on it later like a rat.
Maybe that’s weird, but I know it’s going to be delicious when I can eat it without the scent of unwashed ass tickling my palate.
I saw Thomas on my dating app and thought he looked similar to my new client. That’s why I swiped.
The idea might have crossed my subconscious that I could speed-dial Thomas after every appointment with Soren.
I’m turning into a pervert at thirty-two. Or maybe I was always a secret pervert like my barista is a secret psychopath.
Something shifts behind the driver’s seat. I gasp as pale eyes blink from the shadowy hiding space.
And that someone is Soren Erikson.
When coming across a murder scene, no one is prepared to see someone they know, but Soren is wearing leather gloves. Soren has a garrotte in his fist.
“Shit. You’re going to scream,” he says,
“That’s a good girl, Doctor Moore. We can’t let our emotions control our actions, right?”
Fuck me, I was right. Soren isn’t normal.
“Alright, I’ll leave therapy to you. By the way, your enormous fee wouldn’t include body disposal, would it?”
“Doctor Moore, we need to talk.”
Soren crowds me, pressing my back against the cold metal of an SUV. His arm wraps around my waist tightly as he pulls me into him.
he grips my fist and shoves our hands into my coat pocket.
Our fingers sink into gooey brie cheese and sticky cranberry jam. He stills for a second, shifting our hands in my pocket a little. Then he continues on with our kiss,
My knees go weak, and Soren chuckles against my lips.
It’s unfortunate I’m kissing him back.
My ethical dilemma of lusting after a patient is suddenly overshadowed by kis...
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Maybe this was his entire plan since we first met. Stalk me, kill my date, and then drag me back to ...
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Honestly, no one’s ever made me anything before. That’s a level of commitment that’s as flat...
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What the hell am I thinking? He lets me rip away and looks down at me in surprise. I shouldn’t have moaned.
“Are you stealing food from the restaurant?”
“Weird,” he mumbles.
“Leftovers are normal. Murder, how...
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