Page 20 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

“At five in the morning? No.”

I step straight into the bland apartment, brushing past Hunter’s shoulder with a wide grin on my face.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he says, shutting the door behind me and turning to watch me stride through his living room. “Why are you in such a good mood?”

I let out a sigh. “What can I say, man? I’m hooked on the adrenaline of meeting a feisty-blond menace who shamelessly wrecked my night in the best possible way before telling me I’d never get another shot. Which is cute. Delusional, but cute.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I collapse onto the couch, my arms sprawled out wide as I gaze up at the ceiling. “I’m in love.”

“Come again?” he says as he cuts across to the kitchen and finds two glasses.

A smirk cuts across my lips, and I push up onto my elbows to meet his stare, watching him pour out two perfectly generous servings of whiskey. “Oh, believe me, I would if she had given me the chance.”

Hunter shakes his head. He’s no stranger to my usual bullshit, but the small crease in his brows suggests this one has his undivided attention, and it probably has everything to do with the fact that I’ve never even come close to declaring I’m in love before. For the most part, I believe love sits right up there with all that astrology bullshit. I may be a shameless flirt, obsessed with the rush of hormones, but at the end of the day, I’m able to call it exactly what it is—a chemical reaction inside the brain. It’s not real. It’s just your body’s way of saying this person you just met is kinda cool.

Hunter sighs and grabs the two full glasses of whiskey before striding over and handing one to me. “Alright, start from the beginning.”

I sit up and take a sip of whiskey before glancing at my best friend, knowing exactly how this conversation is about to go. “You ever met someone and immediately understood why men used to start wars over women?”

“No. Because I’m not that fucking stupid.”

“Oh, you would be if you’d met her.”

“Who’s her?”

“Your neighbor across the hall,” I tell him. “I just ran into her outside, and fuck, man, she’s one hell of a wild spitfire. Fucking insane.”

He takes a drink and shakes his head. “Just the way you like ’em then?”

I grin. What can I say? I have a type. And insane is generally my perfect cup of tea. “Damn straight,” I tell him, falling into a deep consideration. “This one is different. She’s fucking stunning, and has a mouth on her too.”

“In what way?”

My grin widens. “In every way that counts.”

He immediately sighs, probably regretting asking as I sink deeper into the couch, one arm stretched across the backrest like I’m discussing mortgage rates instead of the woman I’m probably going to spend the foreseeable future chasing like a lost puppy.

“She’s sharp. Not afraid to take a bite out of my ego. Most women I meet hold back, but not this one. She knew what she wanted and went for it. No bars held. And fuck, she’s hot enough that I would have apologized for things I didn’t do. A complete menace.”

“Shit, Maddox,” Hunter says with a sigh. “A chick is going to complicate things.”

“Nah,” I say, shaking my head. “Not this one.”

“Let me guess, she’s different.”

I throw back what’s left of my whiskey and grin at my best friend. “Something like that.”

He rolls his eyes and puts his glass down on the coffee table, his elbows braced against his knees. “I take it you were the moron I heard fucking in the side alley ten minutes ago?”

A laugh booms from deep in my chest, and I don’t need to respond. The laugh was confirmation enough.

“Fuck, man. You were loud. You know people are sleeping around here.”

“Clearly not you.”

His gaze shifts to the glass in his hand, not meeting my stare. “Had work to do.”