Beautiful Graves(15)

He is also wearing green scrubs.

That’s why he came back in the middle of the night, you Judgy Janet, you. Not because he went clubbing. Because he was busy saving lives.

“Hey, EverlynneL. No. Don’t come in just yet.” He grabs the box of doughnuts from my hand, flashing me a sweet, dimpled smile. “We have a hostage situation here. I need to check my demands have been met in full.”

“It’s all there,” I say in a deadpan. “Bankrolled into wads of sugar.”

He flips the box open and sees six glazed doughnuts and two chocolate-with-sprinkles doughnuts for me.

He looks up, frowning. “Your chocolate is touching my real doughnuts.”

“Don’t be such a purist.”

“I don’t like chocolate.”

“Tell me you’re a sociopath without telling me you’re a sociopath.” I roll my eyes.

“She’s onto me.” Dominic’s flawless face breaks into a grin. “Time to lure her in before she calls the cops.”

“See, you may want to think this and not actually say it out loud next time. Haven’t you read Serial Killing for Dummies?”

“It’s in my curriculum for next year. I’m just a freshman killer. Come on in.”

After this exchange, I find that my anxiety and worry somewhat disappear. DominicG has a midwestern, all-around-good-guy vibe about him. I follow him inside, still clutching my phone in a death grip.

“This way. He is still on the balcony.” Dominic motions to me with his hand. His apartment is small but neat. It smells like new paint and untouched books and the cleaning products they use in hotels. I recognize some of the furniture as IKEA. The Lack side table and Klippan love seat. Every twentysomething’s staples.

It’s easy for me to admire Dominic, for the same reason I like his apartment. They’re both gorgeous, clinical, and not my type. Not that I really have a type in men. I haven’t dated anyone since Joe. But something about Dominic’s perfectness puts me off. I’m sure he feels the same way about my averageness. Guys like him end up marrying women with endless legs and pronounced cheekbones and toenails that are always painted the right color for the season.

He pushes the balcony door open, still holding the doughnuts, and I come face-to-face with my traitorous cat. Loki offers me one slow, leisured blink. He is largely unmoved by my presence.

Took you long enough, his expression drawls villainously. Were you too busy finishing the last season of Bridgerton without me?

“Know what, pal? I’m not a huge fan of you right now either.”

I detest him for this attitude. And, in fact, yes, I should have stayed home and finished watching a series instead of coming here to fetch him. I lower the pet carrier I brought with me to the floor and jerk my chin toward it.

“Party’s over, pal. Get inside.”

Loki continues staring at me, not moving one inch. I step toward him.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Dominic cautions from behind me. “If he found a way into my apartment through the balcony, he may try to find his way out and injure himself.”

He has a point. Dominic lives on the ninth floor.

“Do you always think of everything?” I turn to him.

“Only ninety percent of the time.” He turns around and starts walking in the opposite direction. “Wait here.”

Dominic disappears inside his kitchen and reappears holding a can of tuna. He makes a show of cracking it open. I watch as Loki’s eyes sharpen comically. Dominic tucks the tuna can into the pet carrier by his couch. “Make yourself comfortable, EverlynneL. I’ll get you some coffee and we can annihilate that box of doughnuts. Once Loki breaks and gets inside, you can close it.”

Genius move. I nod, thanking him quietly. He wastes no time flipping the switch on his coffee machine.

“How do you like yours?” His voice carries from the kitchen.

“Two sugars, infinite amount of cream, cinnamon if you have it. I basically like my cream with a little coffee in it.”

“I knew I was getting heathen vibes from you.” He laughs.

I take a seat on the edge of his couch and watch Loki, who is staring at his pet carrier, licking his lips. He is definitely tempted. Dominic comes back with two cups of coffee. He puts mine on a coaster. Wow. That’s a grown-up move. How old is this guy, anyway?

He flips the doughnut box open, takes a glazed one, and stuffs the whole thing into his mouth.

“So!” he says brightly.

“So. How old are you?” I take a sip of my coffee. I don’t mind prying about his age. Pippa and Nora have told me that I couldn’t flirt my way out of a paper bag. Apparently, I’m hopeless when it comes to seduction.

“Just turned twenty-nine. How ’bout you?”

“Twenty-four.” I lift my mug up in the air. “Happy belated birthday.”

“Thanks for not saying what you’re thinking.”

I fight a smile. “And what exactly is it that I’m thinking?”

“That I’m an old fart.”

“Don’t know about the fart part.”

That makes him laugh. He is easily entertained.

“What do you do in life, EverlynneL?” He sprawls back on the recliner I saw in the picture he sent me. He is far enough away from me to indicate that he is, indeed, not a creeper.