Love Like Her (Against All Odds #3) - Claudia Y. Burgoa Page 0,2
hypothermia, hunger, or being kidnapped by a yeti.”
“That’s part of the Himalayan folklore,” the hot guy butts into my conversation. “If he even existed, he wouldn’t catch a plane just to come and attack you.”
I glare at him. “Thank you, Wikipedia, for your useful information.”
“Just trying to save you from your wild imagination.” He pretends to tip an imaginary hat.
Holly laughs. “He sounds pretty hot and funny.”
“If you’re into that kind of thing,” I pretend to be unamused, but if I weren’t in the middle of an existential crisis, I’d be all over the guy.
He’s a hot, funny college guy. We don’t have many of those in Kemptown, Nova Scotia. Okay, now I’m exaggerating. There are hot college guys, but they don’t notice me.
“So, when do I see you?” Holly asks.
“Wednesday,” I confirm. “Maybe you can pick me up because Dad isn’t happy with me.”
“The man adores you. I’m sure he already forgave you.”
“Or not.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“I don’t have much battery. You might not hear from me until I land,” I say and hang up.
The hot guy is still looking at me. “Why are you here?” I ask him. Although, I wanted to start with something like, “Are you a serial killer of sorts?”
He smirks. “Obviously, I like to visit airports to watch people when I’m bored.”
“I bet it is better than cable.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and nods. “A lot better than The Amazing Race,” he concludes.
“I love that show,” I claim excitedly. “Can you imagine traveling from country to country to those places only the locals know about and finding clues?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that great.”
“Were you a contestant?”
“No. I traveled with my parents around the world,” he states.
I look around. “Where are your parents?”
“They live in Colorado,” he answers. “I was on my way to visit them, but…”
“Stranded, huh?”
“Indeed. I heard you don’t have any place to go.”
“Eavesdropping much?” I arch an eyebrow and give him a judging glare.
“Let’s just say you don’t know the meaning of inside voice,” he explains. “So, did they kick you out of the dorm?”
I frown. “They didn’t kick me—Oh,” I pause and clear my throat instead of laugh. “I go to school in Canada. Instead of flying through Toronto, I came to New York. Not the brightest decision, I just won’t admit it. How about you?”
“Listen, I know this is a weird offer, but if one of my sisters was in your position, I hope someone would offer them a place where they can stay. Would you like to come to my apartment?”
“Ha!” I stare at my phone that’s almost out of battery. “Is this the part where the gullible foreigner says yes, and you lock me in some weird warehouse?”
He laughs. “Then your epitaph will read, ‘Olivia Evelyn. Died by the hands of the airport killer.’”
“You forgot to add, ‘Loving daughter. Wannabe astronaut. She died a virgin by the hands of’”—I look at him—“‘The Hottie Killer.’ After they apprehend you, the headlines will read something like: He lured his victims with acts of kindness. They’ll catch you when you try to kill your fourteenth victim.”
“Why is that?” He crosses his arms, and one hand goes to his chin. He scratches it and says, “I’m smart enough to know how to lure you, how to dispose of the bodies, and look like a good guy. Where did I go wrong?”
“Well, for one, fourteen is my lucky number,” I inform him. “By then, the FBI will realize that witty, five foot four young females with reddish-brown hair are disappearing in the city of New York.”
I point at the CCTV camera. “There’s a video of the first girl who disappeared around Christmas time. They’ll recognize your face. Boom, I help solve the crime from beyond the grave.”
He is hugging himself and laughing. “Am I able to escape? Do they kill me? I need to know what happens to me.”
“You get a life sentence without the possibility of parole. Dad will fight to have you pay for all your crimes. He’ll make sure that your jail cell has posters of my face, so you’re reminded of why you ended up in jail. That’s when my family will finally learn what happened to me. They’ll realize that by not paying for a fancy hotel room, I was left in the hands of some psychotic man.”
“Psychopath,” he corrects me.
“Well, you would know.”
“You do know there are too many holes in that theory?”