The Trouble with Trying to Date a Murderer (Murder Sprees and Mute Decrees #1)

by Jennifer Cody

The man spins, immediately spotting and completely disregarding me. I mean, I don’t blame him. I’m not all that memorable, but still. My hopeful, little, romantic heart gives a twinge at being so easily forgotten. Ouch, Future Husband. Ouch.

Looking around at the bodies I hang my head and shake my fist at Fox. If he weren’t the love of my life, I’d be a bit more piqued, but I guess I’m just glad he’s alive.

Obviously it’s fake, because we’re in a public place acting like we’ve done nothing wrong. I mean, I haven’t done anything wrong, except maybe now I’m aiding and abetting, but that’s just how the cookie crumbles when the love of your life is so good at killing people.

give him another bright smile because he should have more smiles in his life, especially if they’re mine since we’re going to get married someday.

I’m basically his responsibility at this point. I’ll bring joy to his deadly life and he will protect me, and that’s a totally fair exchange.

I don’t see the point in trying to live apart when we’re destined to cohabitate for the rest of our lives.

Harbingers are…” He pauses as he searches for the right words. “Respected. Untouchable.” I hope that’s not literally true, because I have plans to be touched a whole hell of a lot by this man.

Fox takes a seat on one of the sofas away from the table, and then the man pulls me into his lap. I like where this is going. Hand-holding and lap-sitting are totally things we should do. Giving him my happiest smile, I kiss his cheek again, because he should be rewarded when he treats me in the way in which I want to become accustomed.

Can’t marry Fox if he thinks I’m going to die because of him. Obviously being married to a murderer comes with some risks; being indestructible makes those risks negligible.

I’m beginning to think I might have a kink for watching my man work, and if he was a baseball player, that would make sense, but since he’s apparently a Reaper, that’s probably something I should talk to a therapist about.

just because it’s beautiful to listen to doesn’t mean they’re not talking about dicks or something. I mean, I’d probably talk about dicks if I could talk.

People say it’s the thought that counts, but if you don’t know what your person wants, you should think about letting them pick it themselves. That thought definitely counts.

“Diamonds. Cufflinks, pocket watch, tie pin, collar chain, pocket brooch, and engagement ring.” Fox gives me a level look. “The ring is for later.” Of course it is; that does not stop me from jumping into his arms and kissing the ever-loving shit out of him. I love it when the important people get on board with my plans.

Fox: Did you tell the depot we’re taking a sexcation? Me: Yup! Fox: … Fox: Good call. Me: *grin* *peach* *eggplant* *waterdrops* *drool* Fox: Emojis exist. Me: But this way you know I’ve intentionally sexted you. Fox: Valid.

Isn’t it lovely how I’ve already trained Fox to be more communicative? I’m a goddamn miracle worker, aren’t I? Mute boy trains the silent type to talk in less than a week. Amazing.

“I’m not calling you ‘Dad.’” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Fox murmurs. “Call me ‘Oppa.’” Obviously I’m Papa. Fox nods approvingly as Bellamy looks at him with an expression of utter disbelief. “Your reputation is a bald-faced lie.” Fox taps the rim of Bellamy’s bowl. “Finish your ice cream. It’s past your bedtime.” “Please send me back to Santanos.”

Fox puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a snugglehug. Don’t look at my word like that; it’s a valid description. I reserve the right to make up important words.

Wow, Bellamy in professional assassin mode is scarily competent. He’s totally going to end up being Annette’s favorite minion. I’m not even jealous; I’m just really fucking proud of my boy.

I have it on good authority that I’m perfect. Fox told me so.