Love in the Time of Serial Killers by Alicia Thompson

Author:Alicia Thompson [Thompson, Alicia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-08-16T00:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

WE DIDN’T FINISH painting until almost one in the morning, and that was only doing a single coat. I was glad I’d paid a little extra for the paint-primer combination that was supposed to cover better, even though Sam had been going around and touching up little places where he swore the color was patchy. I blamed it all on the dim lighting and said it looked fine.

“Think of us as C-Plus Painters,” I said. “Maybe B-Minus if you don’t look too close.”

At some point during the night, Sam had unzipped the top half of his coveralls and let them fall around his waist, so he was only wearing a white ribbed tank undershirt on his upper body. It made me want to do ridiculous, wild things, like lick his exposed collarbones or unzip him the rest of the way.

He totally caught me looking, too. My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and I knew I was probably all pink from the exertion of painting and embarrassment.

“God, it’s hot,” I said, fanning my shirt collar against my skin, hoping he’d accept that as the reason for my flush. “Even central air can’t keep up with summer in this swamp.”

“I have a pool,” he said. “Want to go for a swim?”

I shouldn’t. It was already late, and I needed to be up early the next day so I could try to finish my chapter to send to Dr. Nilsson before five o’clock. I’d be better off taking a cold shower and falling into bed.

Then again, a swim sounded amazing right now. And a swim with Sam . . .

“Sure.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually swum. I didn’t even own a bathing suit, because buying one was such a nightmare and always made me feel like Cathy from the Sunday morning comics when I was a kid, which was just about the last thing I ever wanted to feel like. I figured the underwear I was wearing would work just fine, even though it didn’t match—black on the bottom and purple on the top. Who cared, right?

Sam said he didn’t, and promised not to look as I stripped down. I made no such promises, so I caught a glimpse of his boxer briefs, the lean muscles in his back as he pulled his undershirt off, the ridges of his spine as he bent over to kick the coveralls off his feet. And then he surprised me by diving right into the deep end, submerging underwater until he came up for air a few moments later.

“The water’s warm,” he said. “But it still feels great. Come on in.”

He drifted over to the side of the pool, resting his arms on the concrete deck, and I knew that was his way of giving me privacy while I undressed. A part of me wanted to say, Go ahead and watch me, because I was an adult and it seemed silly to be shy about this kind of thing, but also because I wanted to see if his eyes could turn that darker shade of blue or if I’d imagined it.

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