Page 70 of Grave Love

“When?”

“At night.”

I reason with myself. Emily would have mentioned that, right? He doesn’t mean working at the mortuary; he means something else. Do I want to ask more questions? I shouldn’t. I know what he probably means by working. With the amount of blood he poured on me the other night, I have no doubt that he’s a killer now.

“Do you want to go get something to eat?” I ask.

The back of my neck tingles. I hold it, hiding my embarrassment. This is stupid. We’re not friends. We’re not lovers. We’re definitely notdating.We’re two people who agreed to a death contract so that someone random doesn’t have to die. So thatIcan take their place. So that I give my life meaning.

You are nothing but a pleasure toy for me to fuck and kill,he had said.That’s all you’ll be. That brings you comfort, doesn’t it, love?

His jaw ticks. “I don’t go out to eat.”

My chin drops, and he sighs deeply, aggravated by my reaction. And damn it, I am too. Why am I doing this to myself? To us? Thinking that we could “go out” together. That we’rethosekinds of people. We’re not, and we never will be.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. I swivel around, heading back to the car. “I was being stupid. Sorry for bothering—”

His hand lands on my shoulder. Warmth flows inside of me.

I don’t move.

“But we can order takeout,” he says.

I look over my shoulder, and his pale blue eyes fixate on me.

“Stay,” he orders.

I nod, then he pulls me inside. He leads me to his couch and slaps a stack of menu pamphlets on my lap. The overhead lights flicker on, and though I’m curious to explore his home, I focus on the takeout options. Blaze fixes himself a drink in the kitchen.

The shock swarms in my stomach, my eyes glazing over the words and pictures on the glossy paper. Blaze didn’t have to invite me inside, but hedid.Saying he doesn’t go out to eat wasn’t about rejecting me.

Why does that make me happy?

Blaze clears his throat, and I come back to my senses. I ask him for his order; he shakes his head, gulping down a drink as he motions to the phone, forcing me to decide. I call a pizza place. As messed up as it is, it’s been on my mind since he told me about his past. Will it upset him, triggering an emotional response about his mother that he takes out on me? Am I playing with danger,hopinghe’ll hurt me?

I’m not sure.

I hang up, then glance at Blaze. His shoulders are loose, his stature intimidating even as he relaxes in his own home.

Pizza won’t make him kill me.

The pizza is delivered with a complimentary bag of crispy chocolate chip cookies. We each take a slice of pepperoni and eat it on paper towels, and Blaze scoffs at the bonus treat.

“I hate those cookies,” Blaze mutters. “The pizza shop back in Blountstown used to carry them too. They taste like nothing.”

I snatch the bag off of the table. “Then I’ll take them.”

“Good. Keep them for the next time you forget to eat.”

I stuff them in my purse. “I eat all the time.”

“Sure,” he says as he gives me side-eyes. I furrow my brows, my stomach tingling. He’s noticed that I forget to eat sometimes, hasn’t he?

He pays attention to me.

I try not to think about it. I don’t want to get my hopes up.

I reach for the glass of water between us. Blaze puts up a hand, stopping me.