Sinners Condemned (Sinners Anonymous, #2)

by Somme Sketcher

“You sure are persistent for a man that isn’t interested.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “Oh, I’m interested.”

I steal another huff, and this time, something other than strawberry and hairspray assaults my nostrils. Something familiar. Mine. The realization has claws and they dig under my skin; she’s wearing my aftershave.

She holds it up like a trophy, and the initials RV glint in gold under the spotlights. My own name, taunting me with how fucking complacent I’ve become. With a lazy smirk, she flips open my wallet and peers inside. She tugs out a hundred-dollar bill and slides it into her bra. “That’s for winning the bet.” She pulls out another hundred. “Plus VAT.” She cocks her head in thought, then pulls out another. “Plus tip.”

“Did you just call me pretty?” His jaw ticks. “You know you’re pretty.”

“You’re eating.” He inches down the window and frisbees the burger into the night.

“Pin is four, eight, four, two,” he says quietly. He locks his fingers behind his head and leans back against the headrest. His gaze flashes like a warning sign. “Now, take it off.”

“You look tired. Didn’t sleep?” He leans over the bar, warming me with his body heat. My breathing shallows. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Seems I was too busy being a creepy man and staring at a beautiful girl all night.”

“Breathe.” My stare falls from the sky to the hands. I look from left to right, right to left, wondering which one of them pulled the trigger. “I—” Soft lips on the nape of my neck cut me off. “That’s talking, not breathing.” I inhale ice-cold air through my nose, wincing as it burns against the walls of my lungs. When I release it, it smears the gloomy sky like a shaky stroke of a paintbrush. “Good girl,” Raphael says gently. “Again.”

“Go to sleep.” “But—” “But nothing, Penelope. Forget about Martin O’Hare; he’s my problem now.”

“You win, I kiss you. I win, you kiss me.”