Page 113 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

CHAPTER 29

Jubilee

Three seconds after Gage tells me everything, I forget how doors work. “You couldn’t have warned me?”

He pauses at his door. “I just did.”

“You warned me after we arrived.” My stomach starts performing some very impressive backflips. “This is an ambush.”

“Technically, we’re still in the vehicle.” The bastard’s mouth twitches.

I roll my eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

“Gage.” I sink farther into the passenger seat, mentally reviewing my dress, hair, makeup, every potentially inappropriate thing I’ve ever said on camera, and whether his mother has witnessed all of them.

“Princess.”

“I would have prepared. I could’ve brought flowers. Or wine. Or baked—okay, not that, because I’m not suicidal, but still. I could’ve done something.”

He takes my fidgety hand and kisses the back of it. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. It’s not an audition, Jules. Trust me.”

I glance toward the farmhouse again. “What if your mother hates bows?”

He blows out an amused laugh. “My mother doesn’t hate bows.”

“What if your grandmother thinks my skirt is too short?”

“Nana’s seen my reels, Jules.”

Panic jolts through me. “How much?”

“She’s a Jubilage subscriber.”

My nostrils flare. “Gage.” He gets out. “Coward!”

His laughter carries around the SUV while I sit there, contemplating whether it’s socially acceptable to fake my own death in someone’s childhood driveway. I survived meeting his sister, I remind myself. His diagnosed-ASPD, self-described psychopath sister who moved me from a four to a nine within fifteen minutes. But I highly doubt I’ll be confessing to a corpse-themed meet-cute here.

How did you and Gage meet?

Um…jogging? We bantered about serial killers and bonded over a knife, shovels, a raccoon, and a body.

Gage opens my door. “You know the hard one is already done. Maisie tolerates about six people and several hundred cats.”

“Did I make the top six?” I climb out with shaky legs.

His beard shifts with a grin. “You’re probably number four.”

“Who are the first three?”

“Mom, Nana, me.”

“Wait. Nana outranks you?” I press my fists to the side of my head. “Grandmothers have standards!”

Oh, fuck. He does that thing, one finger curled under my chin with his thumb pressed to the center. Smartass knows it can paralyze me and render me speechless.

“Nana will adore you.” He kisses my brow.