Page 30 of Death, Interrupted

“You want to write a book?” I asked, amused but also interested.

“Yeah. I’m creative, you know?”

“I don’t doubt that.” I smiled. “I’m actually an editor.”

His eyes widened. “You are? No fucking way…” His gaze dropped to my bag on the chair. “That’s why you’ve been typing all day.”

I nodded. “I’m currently editing two dark romances.”

He looked genuinely pleased. “See? We’re just meant for each other. It’s like we’re each other’s missing puzzle piece.”

I laughed softly. “Don’t you think many people would like to write a book someday?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t. But even if… what are the chances of those people crossing paths with an editor?”

“Hm. You’re right.” I smiled gently and settled more into my chair. “What would your book be about?”

He shrugged, like he was deciding how much to give. “Love,” he said, and after a beat added, “and murders.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So if it’s a romance, does the hero try and kill the heroine before they fall madly in love with each other?”

“No, I wouldn’t romanticize a man’s abusive behavior and give him a redemption arc just because he’s a handsome fella.” He sounded serious, and I appreciated his view on this matter. I wasn’t saying authors weren’t allowed to write their characters the way they wanted to, but Sly’s words made me wish more fictional men didn’t abuse their women before marrying them.

“It would be more of a life story,” he added. “Based on real events.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, his expression closing a little. “I don’t believe any man should ever hurt a woman. Fiction or not. It’s just not right.”

Just what I was thinking.

“But a man hurting other men is okay?” I challenged.

He shrugged, a smug grin slipping in. “If those men were the reason for another man’s traumatic past, sure.”

It shouldn’t have made sense. Killing wasn’t okay. I still would’ve been lying if I said I’d never wanted Joey gone. The thoughts had come more than once. I wouldn’t act on them, but they lived in the corners of my brain. And if I were being fair, Sly hadn’t actually killed anyone. He’d stood in the rooms at the right times, and accidents had finished the job. His intent had been ugly, but it wasn’t him doing the killings.

I decided it was time to change the subject. I didn’t want our conversation to turn dark.

“And what do you do for work?” I asked, wanting the fuller picture now that we were unofficially getting to know each other.

“When I tell you, I need you not to judge me.”

“I would never.”

“Okay. I’m a faceless gamer.”

Not what I expected, but it fit him. I tipped my head. “So you make videos of yourself playing video games without showing your face?”

“That’s the exact job description,” he said with a grin.

“So, if I look up your name, I will find you?”

“No. I use a screen name.”

“And will you tell it to me?”

His surprise seemed more like flattery than guardedness. “You wanna watch my videos?”