Page 62 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

I creep inside as I take it all in. The space isn’t large, but every inch of it has been designed with purpose. Liquid-filled trays line a counter while bottles of chemicals sit neatly organized underneath. Drying racks stretch overhead with photographs hanging from clips, swaying gently in the low hum of the ventilation fan.

“What the actual fuck?” I murmur.

It’s a dark room.

“Close the door,” Lyra says.

I quickly pull the door shut behind me and let the room fall back into almost complete darkness.

Lyra stands near one of the trays, completely at ease among the red light and chemical smells, gently rocking the liquid back and forth over a piece of photographic film. I’ve seen her relaxed. I’ve watched her sleep after a night of being fucked within an inch of her life. But she’s never looked so at peace than how she does right now, and fuck, it suits her.

Lyra doesn’t offer me an explanation as to how the fuck she has her very own dark room inside her apartment, but I’m just starting to realize that Lyra Vale isn’t the kind of woman who goes without. If she wants something, she finds a way to make it happen, no matter how unrealistic that might be.

Making my way deeper into the dark room, I scan over everything she’s got, the array of chemicals and trays, and as I scan over the hundreds of pictures clipped to drying lines above, Lyra just goes about her business as though she doesn’t even notice me here.

Her pictures draw me in. Every one of them is so different. City streets at night, rain-soaked sidewalks, old buildings and strangers laughing in a park. But the ones that really capture me are the ones of a dog. And not just any dog. Smooch. My dog.

Well, to be fair, he started as my dog, but the moment he met Maddox, the two of them developed a bond that I couldn’t possibly compete with. And in the blink of an eye, Maddox became his daddy, and I was demoted to the awkward step-uncle nobody wants around.

The photo captures Smooch perfectly. His tongue lolled out with a big goofy grin, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. And honestly, the only time I ever see him this happy is when Maddox has him out at the dog park, throwing a ball. This dog is in heaven in this picture, and something tells me it has everything to do with Lyra. Sure, if Smooch was a normal dog, I wouldn’t think anything special of it, but he’s particularly known for being an asshole. He growls at everybody who isn’t Maddox, and if you even think about going near him when he’s got a bone, you better be prepared to fight for your life.

He’s a bastard. There’s no other way to put it. Which makes me wonder why the fuck Maddox would think it was a good idea to introduce them so soon. I suppose the better question is why the hell Maddox had her over at his home in the first place. And judging by the picture of Maddox in his bed, first thing in the morning, she stayed the night. As a general rule, Maddox doesn’t do that. He’s a certified playboy and will flirt with anything that breathes, but he doesn’t get attached, and he sure as fuck doesn’t bring women home.

Yet Lyra received the grand tour.

Something is different here. Something I’m not sure either Maddox or I are even capable of understanding.

Despite the raging jealousy twisting inside me, I keep looking over her photos and come to one of Maddox in a black shirt, the very same shirt that’s draped over Lyra’s small frame now.

I pluck the photo of Maddox off the clip and look at it closer. “This wasn’t just a random hookup to work out of your system, was it?”

Her attention lifts from the tray. “Huh?”

“Maddox,” I say, adjusting the photograph so she can see what I’m holding. “You’ve been to his home. Met Smooch.”

She shrugs her shoulders, her brows pinching. “He also let me piggyback on his bike. Doesn’t mean I’m about to put on a white dress and walk down the aisle.”

I scoff. “It might for him.”

Lyra sighs and fixes me with a hard stare. “What does it matter to you anyway?”

“He’s my best friend. It’s always going to matter to me.”

“Yet you’re still actively chasing me, knowing that he likes me.”

My gaze narrows, and then something clicks. “Is this why you’re so convinced that I’m the one who’s going to hurt him?”

“It’s only a matter of time,” she tells me. “He’s made it pretty clear that he wants this.”

“Maddox likes everyone.”

“Does everyone get to sleep in his bed?”

My gaze shifts away. She has a good fucking point, and I let it sit for a moment. Maybe I really should back off. Let Lyra and Maddox figure this shit out between themselves, but there’s no denying that there’s chemistry between me and Lyra, and I can’t ignore that. Despite her constant rejection, she wants me too.

The red light paints a strange glow across her face, illuminating her blond hair like a devil with a red halo as she studies me, trying to figure me out. I turn away, my gaze shifting to another row of photographs. A self-portrait, the city skyline just beyond Black Velvet, and Smooch again.

I point toward the dog. “That dog looks happier in your photos than he’s ever been around me.”