Knocked Up by the Killer

Another failed relationship.

I’d been unable to make anything stick for the last few years. It always got fucked up for some reason or another. Either he cheated, or I was too busy paying attention at work, or he was just a total asshole, or I slept with him too soon.

My love life was one long list of stupid mistakes and very bad decisions.

I got a whiff of bacon and frowned.

“What the hell?” I said to myself. For a second, I thought I might be having a stroke.

But I caught another whiff and heard something rattle in the kitchen.

I left the bathroom, walking slowly, eyebrows knitted together.

And found Tanner standing over the stove with no shirt on. I gaped at him and didn’t know what to say. Tattoos were etched deep into his skin, dark and swirling. A tiger bit through bamboo. A wolf howled at a geometric moon. Tribal markings snaked up his side.

Our clothes were in a neat pile in one corner. He plated some eggs and had some bacon frying in my cast iron skillet. The coffee maker gurgled away, two mugs set out beside it already.

“Hey,” I said, unable to get over my initial shock and come up with something better to say.

He looked over his shoulder and grinned at me.

“I was wondering when you’d get up.”

“I thought you left.”

He shook his head. “Got some breakfast. You didn’t have shit in your refrigerator, so I had to go out.”

“Uh. Thanks.”

“Take a seat.” He gestured at my little kitchen table. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“Sure,” I said. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Pick your jaw up off the floor while you’re over there,” he said, grinning huge. “I know it’s not every day you see a gorgeous man like me cooking in your kitchen.”

I didn’t have some clever comeback, so I snapped my mouth shut and sat down.

He brought over coffee. It was dark black with a swirl of white from a splash of milk. I stirred it with a spoon and took a sip.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said.

“It was the least I could do,” he said, “after last night.”

I blushed again. God, I had to stop doing that. I picked up the coffee and took a long sip. It was hot but I really, really needed the caffeine.

I had to try thinking straight.

This gorgeous stranger, who I found through a dating website, was still in my apartment. We had a very nice date and a very nice dinner, and afterward I had the best sex of my life.

He also wasn’t wearing a shirt. Which was a little distracting.

“Want anything else?” he asked.

“No, thanks.” I hesitated, sipped my coffee. “You don’t have to hang around, you know. If you don’t want to.”

He smiled a little and walked back into the kitchen. He got himself a plate, covered it with eggs and bacon, poured a mug full of coffee, and sit down across from me. He looked at his food then dug in.

I watched him eat for a minute. He shoveled it in like he hadn’t had anything to eat in days. I nudged at the bacon on my plate, turned a piece of egg over with my fork.

He looked up at me. “Not hungry? You a little hungover?”

“What? No, no, I didn’t get that drunk.”

He shrugged and started eating again. “Fucked like you were a little drunk.”

“Jesus,” I said. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s a good thing,” he said. “A lot of people are inhibited, you know? But when you’re drunk, that whole self-conscious thing goes out the window. You fucked like you love your body and aren’t ashamed to feel good.”

“Wow,” I said. “I seriously don’t know how to respond to that.”

“It’s a compliment,” he said. “Assuming you weren’t drunk.”

“I wasn’t drunk!”

He shrugged and sipped his coffee then went back to work. I watched him eat and tried to reason out what the hell was going on here.

“Perfect,” he said as he cleared his plate.

“You just inhaled all that,” I said.

“I know.” He leaned back in the chair, still shirtless. I let my eyes roam over his muscular chest and the dark black tattoos marred deep into his skin.

“What are all those?” I asked, nodding toward them.

He looked down. “Lots of things,” he said. “Some of them are reminders. Some of them don’t mean anything.”

“How about that one?” I pointed at a geometric pattern on his chest.

“Meaningless,” he said. “Just something cool the tattoo guy came up with.”

“And that one?” I pointed at a pair of hands.

“That’s a reminder,” he said. “Always be humble.”

“You’re not good at remembering that, apparently.”

“Hence the tattoo.”

I smiled despite myself. “Can I ask why you’re still here?”

He sipped his coffee. “Sure, go ahead.”

I stared at him. “Why are you still here?”

“Because I want to be,” he said. “And because I sort of have to tell you something.”