Page 68 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

MADDOX

Bringing Lyra back to my home after her shift feels a bit like transporting a caged animal, and not because she’s being difficult, but because of the level of unpredictability. The last time she piggybacked on my bike, she was carefree, laughing, and enjoying the way the wind whipped past her. This time, she’s deathly still. Silent, and somehow, it absolutely terrifies me.

The Lyra from the bar that wanted to throw hands, who was happily swinging a baseball bat at my head and calling me every name under the sun, that’s a Lyra I’m comfortable with. I know what’s coming, what to expect, but this silence has me questioning every life choice I’ve ever made.

It’s a short ride back to my place, and the moment I cut the engine, she peels herself from my back and shifts her gaze to the ground. It’s after two in the morning, and I don’t doubt that she’s exhausted. It’s been one hell of a day. Truth be told, I’m surprised she even went in for her shift at Black Velvet, but I shouldn’t have expected anything less. Even in the face of tragedy, she’d never let her employees down.

I make my way up the path, keeping right at her side while calling on every ounce of control to keep my hands to myself—a lesson I’ve learned a lot from over the past eighteen hours. And while I’d give anything to pull her into my arms and hold her all night, I don’t know if that’s what she wants. If the swinging bat was anything to go by, then I’m going to safely assume it’s a hard pass on the physical contact tonight.

Once we’re at the door, I hear Smooch inside, already galloping our way, and I shake my head. I don’t know where he gets the energy. Three seconds ago he was probably in a dead sleep, but the moment my bike pulls up, he has the energy of a toddler on a sugar high.

The second I get the door open, Smooch barrels into Lyra, and in a flash, she goes from looking like she wants to tear my head off with a pair of rusty nail clippers to the happiest woman on earth, dropping to her knees and letting Smooch bulldoze onto her lap, his waggy tail rocking his whole ass from side to side.

Lyra gives him all the love in the world while Smooch doesn’t even bother greeting me at all, and I let out a sigh, pulling the door closed behind us and inching past them into my home.

After spending a few minutes with Smooch, Lyra finally gets back to her feet and makes her way into my home. Clocking the shopping bags on the coffee table, her brows furrow. “What’s all that?” she asks, making her way around the couch toward the bags.

I cringe, unsure how this is going to go down. “I stopped by the store this afternoon and got you some things.”

She pauses and looks back at me, her brow arched. “At Black Velvet, you suggested that you would go and do all of this. Not that you’d already gone ahead and done it.”

I shrug and offer a guilty smirk. “Wishful thinking.”

She shakes her head, but curiosity gets the best of her, and she begins searching through the bags, looking over the few necessities I’d thought to get. Clothes. Toothbrush. Pads and tampons, not that I know anything about how she generally likes to deal with that shit.

“I know it’s not a lot and can’t replace the things you lost, but figured it was a start to get through the next few days.”

“Next few days?” she asks. “There’s enough tampons here to host the women’s synchronized swimming team for three years running.”

“Right. Uhh . . . slight oversight.”

Lyra pauses and glances deeper into the bag before pulling out the tiniest red, lacy thong with the matching bra and holds them up toward me. “And was this an oversight, too?”

“No,” I say, a smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth. “That was very much on purpose.”

She scoffs and tosses the flimsy material at me, only it doesn’t go far and drops to the ground between us just as my eyes widen in horror. I go to lunge for the red thong, panic surging through me, knowing what’s about to become of it, but the fucker is too fast, and before I can even get a step toward it, Smooch has scooped it up into his strong jaw and is already violently shaking the thong as though he’s torturing it for government secrets.

“Fuck,” I say with a sigh. I was looking forward to seeing that thong in action.

Lyra shrugs. “Oops.”

I watch her for a second before realizing that she’d completely orchestrated that, and I just gape at her for a minute. Fucking brat. How didn’t I see that coming?

Lyra gets back to business, searching through the bags, and when she pulls out an oversized hoodie, her eyes immediately soften with a deep longing. She holds the hoodie to her chest and after just a moment she turns and holds it out to me. “Switch.”

“Huh?”

“I want yours.”

“What’s wrong with that one?”

“Nothing.”

“But—”

“Give up the goods, Maddox Blake.”

I let out a sigh and within seconds, I’m pulling my hoodie over her head, watching it fall to her knees. She scrambles out of her jeans next, switching them out for a pair of sweats, and rolling the waistband a few times to make them sit just right.