Love in the Time of Serial Killers(93)

Now, I was living with Sam and working on a book proposal while I waited to see if Stiles would request an interview for the visiting instructor job that had just opened up. I’d applied to other jobs, too, in other cities, and Sam said he had no problems packing up and moving anywhere in the country. Despite that, I found myself weirdly hoping we got to stay in Florida. It was nice, living next door to my brother—although the number of times he came over to borrow stuff made me question just what he did buy when he went to the grocery store.

“That dude,” I said now, nodding toward a tall white guy with floppy brown hair and glasses. “Doesn’t he look a lot like Dennis Nilsen?”

“Is that a computer programmer from the early eighties?” Sam said. “Because that’s who he looks like.”

“No, it’s the guy who—” I caught myself before I could go any further. Something told me that maybe my brother’s wedding wasn’t the best place to start discussing Scottish serial killers and the inadvisability of trying to flush human remains. “Never mind.”

Sam stood up, holding out his hand. “Dance with me?”

“?‘Dancing is not a compliment I pay to any place if I can help it,’?” I said, because falling back on Pride and Prejudice quotes was always a good way to get out of something.

One side of Sam’s mouth hitched up. “You can do this slow one with me now, or ‘Tubthumping’ later. Your choice.”

The only thing worse than slow dancing was fast dancing, so I put my hand in Sam’s and let him pull me to my feet. The song had already started, and there were other couples on the floor as Sam rested his hands on my waist. I’d never quite known what to do with my arms while dancing—even at live shows, I just nodded my head and kept my hands in my pockets. Did I rest them on his shoulders?

“Around my neck,” Sam said. “It’s basically just a socially acceptable way for us to hold each other for four minutes. You do have to sway a little bit, to get away with it.”

It was easy to find the rhythm with Sam, actually. Nice, to feel his hands warm on my hips, to be close enough to see a small nick on his neck from where he’d shaved, to look into his eyes, so blue they took my breath away.

“It’s not so bad,” I said.

Over his shoulder, I could see Conner and Shani dancing together. I’d never seen my brother look so happy.

“I could see doing this, at some point,” I said. “Getting married, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure,” I said, linking my hands tighter behind his neck, letting my fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Someday.”





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


Much like Phoebe, I sometimes struggle with remembering that I’m not an island, I’m not alone, it’s okay to ask for or receive love and support. Truly this book would not exist without the following non-exhaustive list of people, places, and things (so, nouns? I could just say proper nouns) I appreciate more than words can say:

Laura Bradford, Hannah Andrade, and everyone at Bradford Literary for being the best champions for my work I could ask for; Taryn Fagerness for advocating for this book internationally; Kristine Swartz, editor extraordinaire, for everything but especially for letting me keep the MacDonald triad reference (IYKYK); the rest of the team at Berkley, including Mary Baker, Colleen Reinhart, Sheila Moody, Jennifer Lynes, Christine Legon, Bridget O’Toole, and Daché Rogers; Jenifer Prince for such beautiful cover art and for the amazing sapphic work she puts out into the world (follow her on Instagram @jeniferrprince, you won’t regret it); my family, including my mom, who would lovingly bring home federal trial transcripts for me to read in high school; early readers of the LTSK Google Doc, including Kim Karalius (fellow writer, playlist track supplier, James McAvoy thirst ambassador), Charis (daily support texter and supplier of cat names), Stacey and Sarah (romance superfans), and Brittany (what can I say, dude, you’re my best sister); Erin for all those nights we’ve closed down chain eateries talking about anything ranging from astrological signs to how we want our bodies disposed of after death (“throw me in the trash!!!”); my longtime NaNo friend, Kristin; Marni Bates for all the writing support over the years; Chase for always believing in me; Rebecca Frost for all her advice on writing a dissertation on true crime (and for helping talk me down when I actually think about going back to school to do it); Lindsay Eagar for her Fast Draft course; Pitch Wars for giving me the kick in the ass I needed to finish this manuscript; Pitch Wars mentors Rachel Lynn Solomon, Rosie Danan, Ruby Barrett, Annette Christie, Sonia Hartl, and Anna Kaling for seeing something in this story and giving me encouragement, support, and industry advice when I needed it most!; the Berkletes discord chat, especially the NSFW channel, which is an endless fount of new information; Christine Colby for letting me write for articles for Crimefeed that made me wary of going camping ever again (it’s cool, I didn’t like it much anyway); the You’re Wrong About podcast for showing what an empathetic, thoughtful approach to true crime can look like; Sarah Marshall specifically for lunch and the Patty Hearst book; USF and the relationships that help me justify my student loans (including but not limited to Dr. Fleming, Liz, Christine, Bryan, Jessica); Carmen and Ann for hosting an amazing YA book club and generally being bright ambassadors in the book community; an anonymous someone where all I’ll say is that if I mention Judgment Ridge in passing and then you read it and report back, I take it as the highest possible compliment; the Ask a Manager blog for being my favorite morning ritual; my two bosses, who I do appreciate even if I would appreciate them never reading this book; my local public library for taking me back even after I kept Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda for years, and especially for the curbside pick-up that kept me sane during the pandemic; the Crash Bandicoot games, especially the Hog Wild level; Janeane Garofalo when she dribbles beer down her dress in Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion; Hayley Williams for releasing new music right when I needed it most; Tegan and Sara for the time they told me to go back to work in a Twitter AMA; Phoebe Bridgers’ songs but especially that line in “Kyoto” about how 25 felt like flying; Apple Music’s Metric Essentials for when I was too lazy to make a playlist of my own while writing; Chrvches’ entire discography for the same reason; that part in the “Anna Sun” video where they all start dancing; the Etsy shop where I got some delightful goth stickers to mark every thousand words I wrote; untoasted cinnamon brown sugar Pop-Tarts; and you, if you’ve picked up this book and somehow made it through this prose poem of acknowledgments. I appreciate you.