A Murderer's Guide to Fake Dating

14. your alibi ideas are wonderful

"We're going to die," I'm telling Jack, pacing back and forth in my apartment. "They're going to start an investigation and we're going to get caught and we're going to get arrested and we're going to rot in jail." 

"God forbid we get stuck in the same jail cell," Jack mutters, but relents when I furiously stare at him. "You're right. This is not ideal timing." 

I release a frustrated scream. I'm simultaneously embarrassed by how childish I'm acting in front of a co-worker, yet I'm too panicked to act nonchalant. "Isn't your wedding, like, in a few days too?" 

Jack watches me hyperventilate for a few seconds. Then he says, "Forget about the wedding. We'll worry about it later. I'm taking you out." 

I'm thrown off. "What?" I exclaim. 

"On a date," Jack clarifies. 

I gape at him. "Let me get this straight," I start slowly. "The police are here to investigate about Aiden, who we accidentally murdered—" 

"—who you accidentally murdered," corrects Jack. 

"—and there may be evidence that traces back to us, including your good friend Gabriel—" 

"—Gabriel and I aren't that close. We can blame the murder on Gabriel." 

"—and you want to bring me out on a date?" 

Jack considers my words. "Well, yes." When he sees my exasperated frown, Jack explains. "You're too stressed. It would do you some good to get out of your house, get some fresh air." 

I fold my arms. "We can make up better plans when we're not stressed," continues Jack. "Think about it this way. Have you ever done well on a test under stress?" 

"Yes," I admit. "I actually do better when I'm under stress." 

Jack sends me a strange look. "Really?" he muses. "Well, regardless. I'm bringing you out on a date." 

Twenty minutes later, I'm lying face-down on a massage bed. Someone is massaging my back and I feel my muscles slowly loosening. It feels amazing and regardless of my hatred towards Jack, I have to admit that he's right, that my head feels much clearer. 

I peek at Jack beside me, whose eyes are shut. He looks peaceful, unlike the usual scowl that graces his lips. My gaze slides over his long lashes and a strand of black hair that's slowly shifting to cover his face. For some reason, my fingers have the urge to move that strand of hair away. 

My face instantly turns red and because the universe hates me, Jack's eyes suddenly open a slit. My heart instantly speeds up. "Thinking indecent thoughts?" Jack asks and I sputter. 

"What are you talking about?" 

I am mortified, praying that my face returns to a less red shade. "I was not having indecent thoughts," I tell him. 

"Right," Jack says skeptically. 

"The room is just too hot." Based on that small quirk on his lips, it appears Jack does not believe in my excuse. "I'm being serious." 

We're engaged in a long staring game when that strand of hair falls into my eyes. Without warning, my hand shoots out. We both freeze, shocked by my action. I'm holding onto his hair and Jack stares at me in disbelief. "Isla," he says slowly. "Why did you grab my hair?" 

I'm just as shocked. "I..." I flounder for words. "I have no clue." 

My hand must have a mind of its own because I tuck Jack's hair behind his ear. Jack's eyes grow wide and he pushes himself up, startling the massager person. "Oh, sorry," he tells the employee. "Can we have some private time?"