A Murderer's Guide to Fake Dating

0.5 three things i want on the contract

I'm embarrassed. "Whatever." I go into less embarrassing territory. "So. Contract." 

"Oh, yes. I brought paper." 

He passes me the paper and I look down. Three things I want on the contract. "Freak," I comment and Jack is unfazed, handing me a pen. 

I stare at the paper once more. The words are daunting and when I sneak a peek at Jack, he's already aggressively scribbling at the paper. "So, it could be anything?" I ask suspiciously. 

"Within reason, of course." 

I don't even know what to write. I stifle a groan, reluctantly pressing my pen against the paper in hopes that words will magically sprout out. Ink only bleeds onto the infuriatingly white paper. "Why isn't this paper baby blue?" I mumble. 

"Waste of money," Jack replies. "Are you done writing?" 

"Almost." 

Isn't this going overboard? No, I remind myself. This is a free chance to set boundaries, so take advantage of it. I think long and hard, before scribbling words onto my paper. 

"Done?" asks Jack, and I nod. "On three." 

He lifts his paper and I mimic his action. 

"Three." My heart pounds so fast, I'm afraid it'll tear through my flesh. "Two." I'm practically sweating bullets, questions flying in and out of my brain. What if Jack makes impossible requests, like "during the wedding, wear only flamingo hot pink outfits because my mom likes pink"? What if when he sees my requests, he thinks they're stupid? "One." 

We flip our papers over. 

My requests go a little like this: 1. no forcing things (i.e. kissing, sex, basically anything more than hand holding or hugging) just for the sake of upholding the fake dating façade 2. don't bring the fake dating act into work 3. communicate if something's wrong. 

My eyes zip over to his paper. In somehow a messily neat handwriting, his request goes like this: 1. no prying into private life 2. tell me immediately if any wedding guests act in suspicious ways 3. if someone's upset, talk it out. 

"What's with number two?" I ask suspiciously. "Don't tell me the wedding guests are also murderers." 

"Okay, I won't," he says casually, and I stare at him, flabbergasted. 

He's joking, right? But wait, Jack knows Gabriel—who hid a dead body for us. Jack sees the horror plastered on my face and cracks a grin. "Kidding." 

I eye him. "You sure about that?" 

Jack shrugs. "Anyone could be a secret killer, so not a hundred percent. So, do you agree with my requests?" 

I re-read them. They seem pretty reasonable, except now I'm worried the wedding guests are also potential killers. "Yes. Do you, with mine?" 

He squints at the words and I hold my breath. Surely he won't object to these simple requests. "Yeah," Jack says and my breath comes out in a loud whoosh. He smirks. "Breathe, Isla. Contracts are scary. Anyways, I brought my laptop. We can draft a contract there." 

"Did you bring all your work stuff?" I ask, disbelief making my voice squeak. "Even after knowing we would deal with a body at two a.m.? You're ridiculous." 

"I'll let you in on a secret." He leans closer, but I refuse to be intimidated. I stay rooted in place, even though he's practically inches away from me. "I'm always a step ahead." 

"Oh, really," I say idly. "Then what happens if one of our arguments gets out of hand and I strangle you out of frustration and you die?" 

Jack smiles, amused. "Does that scenario often play in your head?"