‘Because the point of a thriller is to thrill and the point of a romance is to romance,’ I add.
A waitress arrives with two more drinks. Another glass of wine for him and a gin cocktail for me. My drink is bright pink and super sweet. His is serious, classic. Bitter, if you ask me.
‘Thank you,’ I say, deciding to pace myself but immediately failing by taking a healthy sip. Anything to get through the night.
He takes an even bigger gulp, almost as though we’re in competition.
It’s strange. Pete is objectively attractive, and yet I can’t bring myself to feel any kind of attraction to him. Should someone being a bit of a bell prevent you from finding them attractive? Because it works like a charm for me. Nothing puts me off a man like his personality.
‘Sooo,’ I start, desperate to steer the conversation away from my predictable plot and on to something he’d rather talk about. ‘What about you? Can you share what you’re working on, or do you keep everything under wraps until it’s public knowledge?’
Sometimes, if you give people the opportunity to talk about themselves, that’s when they shine.
‘I suppose I can tell you – it’s not like you can copy it,’ he replies.
Sometimes not, I guess.
‘It’s the first book in a new series but the difference this time is that I’m writing it from the POV of the murderer,’ he explains. ‘I’m still developing the idea, but I think readers are going to love it.’
‘Oh wow,’ I reply. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever read a book from the perspective of the villain…’
‘American Psycho?’ he offers up. ‘Let me guess – you’ve seen the movie.’
I smile sweetly.
‘So, who is your murderer killing?’ I ask.
He rubs his chin – drawing my attention to that little beard again – as he ponders for a moment.
‘Women,’ he replies proudly.
Of course he is.
‘He’s a crime writer,’ he continues. ‘So he uses his expertise to murder women and get away with it. Genius, right?’
‘Just women?’ I check.
He looks at me like I’m ‘one of those’ – whatever one of those is. Essentially, someone who thinks women’s lives are equal to men’s. Silly girlish nonsense, I know.
‘Yeah,’ he says firmly. ‘People love reading about women getting murdered. It’s all good fun, isn’t it? A man on the loose, a bunch of women to be picked off.’
He laughs. I do not.
‘So, I’m thinking he decides to target romance authors,’ he continues. ‘He lures them in by dating them.’
I feel my eyebrows edging up. I do everything I can to control them, to not react.
‘Oh yeah?’ I say – funnily enough, it feels like his hand is around my throat.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. I don’t know, it feels a bit like he’s making this up in real time, and he’s really pleased with it. ‘He dates them, acts like he’s going to mentor them, sweeps them off their feet, then invites them back to his place for a coffee, a nightcap, sex… and then he kills them. I’m thinking strangling – it’s a classic.’
‘That’s… Wow,’ is all I can say.
Tell me I’m being paranoid. I’m on a date with a crime writer who is writing a book about crime, a writer who goes on dates with… romance authors. Which is what I am. And then he kills them. Even if this is simply his plan for the book and not for my murder, he has to see the similarities here? He has to know this might make me feel uncomfortable? Then again, he did describe women dying in fiction as ‘fun’.
‘Is that not…’ I pause for a second because, in a way, it hardly seems worth engaging with him on this point. On the other hand, there’s that voice in my head telling me to speak up. ‘Is that not a bit predictable?’
I repeat the question in full, keeping my shoulders back and my head held high.