What If You & Me Read online

  Ramsey: Inertia plan activated. Bring condoms.

  Hill: This is a just-friends movie night.

  Ramsey: Buzzkill. But good luck, brother.

  Hill sent a GIF of a fist bump. He had no idea what to expect tonight, but he knew he definitely wouldn’t need condoms. Either way, he already felt better. Maybe Ramsey’s inertia theory was more accurate than Hill had given him credit for.

  He’d never tell him that, though. The guy’s ego was big enough.

  ***

  Andi pondered her closet and shook out her arms, nerves making everything tingly. She’d been shocked to hear Hill’s rumbly voice in her ear when she picked up her phone this afternoon. She’d gotten the sense he’d been avoiding her since the night he stayed over, but today on the call, he’d sounded downright eager to get together. She wasn’t sure what to think about the change.

  She’d happily accepted the plans on the phone, but afterward, she’d been racked with a bout of anxiety. She was having a guy over. It wasn’t a date, but it wasn’t…not a date. And he was her neighbor. For anyone else, that would simply mean potential for awkwardness. For her, it was triggering as hell. All her old demons were nipping at her heels like rabid hyenas, trying to take her down. And that was before she even contemplated the fact that he was also technically her landlord.

  She grabbed her phone off her nightstand and dialed Eliza—again. She’d already updated her on the situation when she’d seen her at WorkAround today. As soon as Eliza answered, Andi barked out, “What should I wear? What says ‘Hey, we’re just friends’ but also ‘Look how pretty I am’?”

  Eliza laughed. “Be comfortable. Look casual. Show some skin.”

  “Jeans and my purple Save the Chubby Unicorns tank top it is,” Andi declared.

  Her friend snorted. “What’s a chubby unicorn?”

  “It has a drawing of a rhino.” Andi grabbed the shirt from her closet.

  “Perfect, that will show skin and personality.” Eliza paused. “You gonna be okay? Do you need me to call and check in with you?”

  Andi blew out a breath, so thankful for her friends that she could barely contain the gratitude. “I’ll text you by nine to let you know how I’m doing.”

  “You’ve got this, girl,” Eliza said, utter confidence in her voice. “Try to relax and have a good time. Listen to your gut. Or you know, parts lower than that if the situation arises.”

  Andi rolled her eyes. “Goodbye, Eliza.”

  “Love you.”

  “Same.”

  Andi ended the call, stripped out of the clothes she’d worn to the office, and changed into her outfit. She eyed the result in the mirror. Casual and cute and her boobs really did look great in this top. Winner.

  She barely had time to pin her hair into a messy bun before the doorbell rang. A little zing went through her bloodstream, a mix of anxiety and anticipation. She took a breath, nodded at herself in the mirror in a silent he’s-probably-not-a-serial-killer pep talk, and then headed to her front door.

  She checked the peephole, typed in the code on the newly installed alarm, and swung the door open. She’d anticipated that she’d feel nervous letting Hill inside. What she hadn’t anticipated was the rush of pleasure she got at the sight of him. Helloooo there. His dark hair was still damp at the ends like he’d just showered, and his black V-neck T-shirt clung enough to remind her what he’d looked like with his shirt off. The impact of all that gorgeous maleness was enough to rock her back on her heels a little.

  “Hey,” he said with a small smile.

  She wet her lips, feeling nervous energy—part giddy, part anxious—move through her. “Hey, yourself.”

  He lifted the plastic container he was holding along with a grocery bag. “Food is fresh out of the pan. And I brought margarita fixings—not a traditional pairing with pad thai but usually a crowd favorite. I hope that matches well with losing my horror V-card.”

  “Margaritas go great with everything.” She stepped back to let him in, waving her arm with a flourish. “Welcome, virgin. This will only hurt a little, I promise.”

  He chuckled and stepped inside. “I’m officially terrified.”

  She closed the door behind him and took a breath.

  Me too.

  But there was no turning back now.

  Chapter Ten

  Andi led Hill into her kitchen, and he set the container and bag he’d brought on her counter. The spiced scent of pad thai filled the room, and her stomach growled. “God, I’m starving.”

  “Yeah, lunch seems like a long time ago.” Hill pulled out a bottle of good tequila, limes, agave nectar, and something called citrus jalapeño salt, setting it all on her little rollaway kitchen island.

  Andi eyed his offerings. “Well, la-di-da, neighbor. Those are fancy fixings. No cheap margarita mix for you?”

  His lips hitched up at one corner. “I did a bartending stint at a high-end Mexican restaurant before I became a firefighter. Once I had this kind of margarita, I couldn’t go back to the other stuff. I hope you’re okay with on the rocks.”

  “Hey, that’s where my writing is right now, so it’s fitting,” she said with chagrin.

  His gaze flicked up to her as he arranged his ingredients. “That bad, huh?”

  “Hasn’t been great.” She grabbed glasses and a measuring jigger and set them in front of him. Then she took out some dishes to plate the pad thai. “The word factory is very unreliable. You put in an order and have no idea if and when those words are going to show up and if they’re going to be any good or not. Yet you have to keep showing up at your doorstep every day, hoping for their arrival.”

  He opened the bottle of tequila and poured some into the jigger. “What’s your current story about?”

  “Slasher genre, meaning some type of crazed killer. Summer-camp setting à la Friday the 13th. I’m trying to take the cliché of that and twist it into something new, but I haven’t found the right direction yet. Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s the right concept to start with.” She watched him measure out the alcohol. “I’m hoping our movie watching will fill the creative tank with some fresh inspiration.”

  “Are we watching a summer-camp slasher?” He lifted a lime. “Knife?”

  She stepped around him, opened a drawer, and handed him a paring knife. She had the brief thought that this could be the opening to a horror scene. She frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” Hill asked, ever observant, as he took the knife and sliced into a lime.

  “Huh?”

  He drew a circle in the air around her face with his finger. “You look concerned.”

  She blinked and waved a dismissive hand. “Sorry. My mind goes to weird places sometimes. Don’t mind me. No, we’re not watching a summer-camp movie, but we are watching a foundational slasher classic. Halloween.”

  He eyed her as he adeptly made their drinks, his hands moving in a dance he’d clearly done many times before. “Tell me where your mind went. I’m curious.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Now I really want to know,” he said with a little laugh. “Come on. Lay it on me.”

  She sighed and leaned back against the counter. “You know, I had trouble imagining you as a bartender because you’re kind of quiet, but now I see it. Bartenders get people’s stories without them realizing it by being friendly yet chill enough to coax it out of them.”

  He smirked. “Easier to get people’s stories as a bartender. Alcohol makes for a loose-lipped interviewee.” He rubbed the lime around the rim of the glass. “Should I wait until you’ve had a drink before asking again?”

  She sniffed. “No, it’s fine. You want a peek inside my brain? Well, here you go. I handed you the knife, and I had this vision of a horror scene. Guy is making a girl’s drink, asks for a knife, and when she turns her back, he slips
something into her drink. She then turns and hands him the weapon he’s going to torture her with later when she’s too drugged to fight back. Then I got the image of a margarita glass rimmed with blood instead of salt, the villain drinking from it with a smile on his face.”

  Hill had stopped mixing the drinks and was staring. “Wow.”

  “Yep,” she replied, emphasizing the p at the end of the word. “I can pretty much turn anything into something sinister. It’s like my personal Instagram filter—one I can’t always turn off. Aren’t you sorry you asked?”

  “No. I find it fascinating,” he said, no jest in his voice. “I’m sure that kind of brain helps you write great books. But I also could see how it’d be a hard thing in other situations.” He set down the knife, concern in his eyes. “Are you worried I’m going to do something to your drink?”

  “Logically, no.” She shrugged. “But also, I didn’t turn my back while you poured. I made sure the tequila bottle had a seal on it when you opened it. Not because I’m suspicious of you personally but because I’ve done the What Can We Learn from This? podcast long enough that those habits are ingrained.”

  He nodded. “Smart. I’m sorry that we live in a world where you have to worry about things like that.”

  The words were simple but helped something unwind inside her. “Thanks.”

  “And truly, I won’t be offended by any safety precautions you take, even if it means being suspicious of me,” he said, going back to the drinks. “I know women have a lot more to worry about than guys even consider.” He looked over at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re safe with me, but feel free to test me on that.”

  She smiled, the offer warming her from the inside out. “How do you know you’re safe with me? I’m the one picturing blood-rimmed margarita glasses.”

  “Oh, I don’t.” He handed her a drink with a wry smile. “You scare the hell out of me, Andi Lockley.”

  She laughed and accepted the glass. “Good. Be afraid. Be very afraid.” She sipped the drink, the delicious tart-sweet combo making her hum with pleasure. “Ooh, that’s tasty.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes. Arsenic does go down easy. Sweet on the tongue.”

  She snort-laughed and almost choked on her drink. She shoved him in the shoulder. “Oh my God. You’re awful. No poison jokes!”

  He grabbed her drink from her and sipped it from the other side, a playful glint in his eye. “There. Now we’re both in trouble.”

  He handed the drink back to her, but her laugh quieted in her throat. She hadn’t seen this side of Hill before—this confident, flirty side. The man was damn sexy on any day, but this? This was fan-herself-and-find-the-smelling-salts swoonworthy. She held his eye contact and sipped her drink where he had. He watched her mouth.

  That focused gaze felt like a touch.

  Worried she’d show how she was feeling all over her face, she pushed off from the counter. “We should eat. Otherwise, this is going to go straight to my head. And drunk Andi will not be a good movie buddy.”

  Hill’s attention jumped back to her eyes and he nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Andi calmed herself while she plated the food and set up the TV trays so they could eat in front of the television. Hill brought the drinks into the living room, and before long, the two of them were set up side by side on the couch, the DVD in the player.

  She took a quick bite of the pad thai and closed her eyes, the sweet-salty-sour combo making her groan in approval. “Holy crap, this is amazing. This tastes like what my takeout aspires to be when it grows up.”

  Hill’s expression transformed, obviously pleased. “I’m glad you like it. It’s been a while since I made it, so I was hoping I remembered the recipe.”

  “It’s freaking fantastic. I’m supersmart for making friends with a chef. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.” She took another bite before setting her plate down to cue up the movie.

  “So,” Hill said between bites as she scrolled through the menu. “Why DVDs? Wouldn’t streaming be easier?”

  “I watch a lot of newer stuff on streaming, but you don’t get the extra features that way,” she said. “So I try to get my favorites on DVD.”

  “Makes sense.” He took a sip of his drink. “Tell me why Halloween is my first lesson.”

  A rush of enthusiasm went through her, and she realized how much she wanted him to enjoy this. She wanted him to get it. So many people didn’t. “Well, first, it’s a great introduction to a horror staple—the slasher film. The original Halloween was, in my opinion, the start of the golden age of slashers. We get the crazed killer who may have a motive, but his kills are mostly random. Random makes it scarier because it means anyone can be at risk. We get the masked killer who can’t seem to be killed—which pops up again in movies like Friday the 13th and Scream and The Strangers. We have the final-girl trope—meaning the one woman who either defeats or escapes the killer and is the last left standing—and this movie has a great final girl.” She looked over at Hill. “Her journey from sweet to badass is awesome.”

  “You like the final-girl aspect,” he said, taking in her expression.

  “It’s one of the things I like most about horror movies. People seem to think horror is anti-woman, but I think a lot of it subverts gender dynamics. In most cases, you don’t want to be the dude in the horror movie. The dudes get dead. They ride in like the hero to save the ladies and the villain is like—nope. The women save themselves.”

  ***

  Hill had stopped eating and was listening intently, watching the sparkle in Andi’s blue eyes. This woman wasn’t only beautiful, she was fucking smart. He’d sensed that from the start, but hearing her talk about her passion brought that intelligence to the forefront. He bet a lot of people discounted her as the “quirky, cute girl” with her bright hair and nose ring and silly T-shirts. But that outer image was smoke and mirrors.

  She stopped talking and smiled when she caught him staring. “What?”

  “Nothing. I just feel like I should start calling you Professor,” he said. “You probably really could teach a class on this.”

  She sipped her drink, looking pleased. “Maybe I will one day. Lucky you, you get to be my guinea pig and listen to me wax poetic.”

  “I’m here for it. So horror movies aren’t anti-woman,” he said. “I’m taking mental notes.”

  “Well,” she said. “Let’s watch. They have their pro-woman moments but also some problematic ones. Like the women who have sex are more likely to die—slut-shaming at its finest. Final girls, especially in older movies, are virgins. That changes over time as culture shifts on premarital sex, but still.” She made a sour expression.

  “What?”

  “I just realized I forgot to ask if you were okay with nudity,” she said.

  His brain didn’t compute for a second. Hearing her ask if he was okay with nudity made his mind go in a decidedly unneighborly direction. Yes I am. Very much so. How about right now? “Huh?”

  She cocked her thumb toward the television screen. “This movie has boobs. Is that going to make it awkward to watch with your neighbor?”

  His mind clicked back into place. “Oh. Boobs. No, it’s fine. I’ve seen those before.”

  She grinned and reached out to pat his knee. “Good for you, Hill!”

  He laughed at her unexpected reaction. “You’re weird, Lockley.”

  She nodded and turned back to the TV. “Yeah, I get that a lot. All right, now that we know you’re not going to clutch your pearls over the R-rated parts, we’re good to go.”

  She leaned over and clicked off the lamp, plunging them into near darkness, and hit Play. The iconic fast-paced music even he was familiar with started up, a glowing jack-o’-lantern appearing on the screen. He watched intently as the movie opened with the view of a house, presumably from the killer’s point of view.

 
The killer was spying on the couple inside as they were making out. Hill swallowed a bite. “Uh-oh. Guess she’s toast.”

  “Poor nonvirgin,” Andi agreed.

  Hill sipped his drink, his muscles tightening a little as the killer snuck inside and up the stairs, stalking the girl.

  “And here are the previously promised boobs,” Andi said, gaze on the screen, fork paused halfway to her mouth.

  “Right out of the gate with the nudity. Hello, seventies cinema.” Hill winced when the killer attacked the girl. “This music is intense.”

  “Music can make a horror movie. And the use of silence, too. This movie does both really well.” She kept her eyes on the screen, and he watched her profile in the blue-silver light. “It’s a tool filmmakers have that I don’t get to use in my books. I wish I could force people to listen to a certain soundtrack while they read my books.”

  “Your books are scary enough on their own,” he said before he could think better of it.

  She turned her head, confusion there, and hit Pause on the movie. “You know my books?”

  He groaned inwardly. If he was worried about her thinking he was a stalker, he’d just given her a checkmark in the YES column. He forced a shrug. “I saw one of yours when I was walking through The Dog-Eared Page earlier today. I figured I’d give it a try. I’m about halfway through Thirsty. You’re good at what you do. It’s creepy as shit.”

  “You’re reading one of my books,” she said as if still processing that.

  He narrowed his eyes, trying to pin down her tone. “Is that bad?”

  She pursed her lips as if her frown got caught halfway there. “No, it’s not…bad. It’s… I don’t know. I feel a little strange when someone I know is reading one of my books. It’s this weird vulnerability thing. Like you’re seeing my secrets or something—even though I know that’s dumb when the book is out there for any stranger to read.”

  “I can stop.”

  She waved her fork at him. “No, no, it’s fine. I know I’m being weird. Just don’t tell me if you hate it. I won’t ask you what you thought when you’re done.”