Page 50 of One Killer Night

I rest my chin on her head.

“It was more like ‘Desperate times happily accepts desperate measures.’”

She laughs, but I grimace thinking back on his advice while telling her about it.

“Noah, listen to me. To secure the bag—the bag being G—you have to win the dad over.”

“Please don’t refer to my girlfriend as ‘the bag.’ That’s just ... no ... immediately stop.”

“Don’t be such a Chad,” he throws out with way too much middle schoolgirl sass before he postures like he’s done something cool. “Taylor Swift says that. My niece told me. She calls me ‘guncle’—it means ‘greatest uncle.’”

My head falls back as I rub my hands down my cheeks. This was the worst idea I’ve ever had. Why would I ask him for advice?

“That’s not what that means.”

“Okay, Chad ... Anyway, back to my point. Because you look like a professional de-virginizer, you’re gonna have to make him love you.”

My head snaps back up. “What the fuck are you talking about? What’s wrong with the way I look?”

He takes one of the cookies I bought to take to Goldie’s, then smells it, looking like he’s been poisoned. “Did you make these? Are you trying to kill them?” It’s tossed back into the container. “I’ll make a dessert for you. Stop with the cry for help.”

“It’s from the grocery store, asshole. Can you stay on point? What’s wrong with how I look?”

He chuckles. “An unaware king, how cliché. What I mean is if I were her dad, I’d hide my wife. You’re like every woman’s wet dream with the motorcycle, the blue eyes, and the tattoos. You know what ... Maybe flirt with the mom?”

“Chase. This isn’t helping. I want them to like me.”

“Okay ... sorry, I veered. I’m locked in now—you just gotta get on his level. It’s easy.”

He does a mic drop motion with his hand.

I wish I could drop him ... from a bridge.

“And I do that how?”

He laughs like I’m clueless. “Dads love to talk about three things.” He starts counting them out on his fingers. “Barbecue. Lawn care. And the price of gas. You can’t go wrong. Just wind him up and sit back. Trust me. He’ll love you.”

I run my hand through my hair, feeling sicker by the minute. “Chase ... they live in a condo in downtown Portland and drive an electric car.”

His mouth pulls at both sides with an uh-oh look, but then he snaps his fingers and points at me.

“You still got barbecue, dude.”

“Uh, so,” she interrupts, “my dad’s vegan.”

I shake my head, trying to run from the memory.

“I’m so fucked.”

“I’m telling you, they’re going to love you,” she breathes out, lifting to her tiptoes to kiss my chin. “Just remember the stuff I told you.”

I’m nodding like I’m getting a pep talk before a big game. “Your mom’s part of a rose club; her favorites are the cabbage ones. And she hates Joanne for winning best garden because she uses store-bought chemicals. Your dad builds model cars and occasionally likes to run half marathons. They just got back from Paris, where your mom discovered she was suddenly late-in-life lactose intolerant.”

“Yes, but don’t mention I told you that she hotboxed everyone with her ass in a packed elevator all the way up to the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

I grin. “That one goes to my grave. And should’ve gone to yours ... You’re a terrible daughter.”

“Shh.” Goldie smooths the only necktie I own down my chest. “This is an especially nice touch, Adler.”