Page 11 of Sixth Sin

There are two types of people in this world. Those who practice humility as a religion, and those who consider it to be one of the seven deadly sins. I’ll give you two guesses which category the guy at table four falls into.

He may be a pompous ass, but I have to give him points for creativity. Attempting to bribe my number out of me was inventive and slightly entertaining. Besides, it’s not like he stands a chance of winning. Taking his bet is easy money and a fast-track to making rent. And that’s why I didn’t shut him down.

I wonder if he’s still staring.

Taking a risk, I glance across the bar to find him in deep concentration, scrolling through his phone. The way he stares at it with his thumb pressed deep against his temple as his fingers fan above his head scratches at something in the back of my mind. It's an itch I can’t reach no matter how hard I try.

“See something you like?” a voice says behind me. Spinning around, I find Violet standing with her arms crossed and a cocked eyebrow.

I roll my eyes and grab a nearby rag. “It’s called being friendly,” I say, becoming overly invested in wiping down the bar. “You should try it sometime. Maybe you might make better tips.”

“Sure, that’s it.” Scooting beside me, she drops onto her elbows. “And it absolutely has nothing to do with the way that black T-shirt clings to his chest or those sexy tattoos covering his arms.”

I glance down at my nails. “Nope.”

“You’re a shitty liar.”

I growl, but not because I’m mad at her. I’m mad because she’s right. It has everything to do with his tight T-shirt and tattoos, not to mention his hair. That chunky piece of dark hair that keeps dusting over his eyes, refusing to comply no matter how many times he brushes it back.

Flop. Brush. Flop. Brush.

As if on cue, he lets out a long string of curses and shoves his fingers deep into his dark hair, holding it in place by the roots, a scowl anchored across his face.

Something about watching that smooth, unflappable exterior devolve at something so menial makes everything even more ridiculous. So, I laugh out loud.

And that’s the moment he looks up.

I grip the bar to steady myself as he flashes a slow, wolfish smile. And there it is again. That scratching in the back of my mind. But like always, the minute I reach for it, it stops. So I let it go. Maybe it matters, maybe it doesn’t. I refuse to waste time chasing maybes. I learned early in life that they’re a waste of time.

Pushing off my elbows, I jerk a tray from under the bar. My blood pressure kicks up a notch, fueling my resolve. It’s exactly what I need to refocus. To cut through this thick tension. To remember there are no maybes in life. Do or don’t, but maybe is never an option.

Icy blue eyes track my every move as I tuck the tray under my arm and make my way across the bar, a smug smile on my lips. I’m used to being underestimated, and something tells me underneath all that caked-on arrogance, this guy is, too. But while he flashes his insecurities like a dog in heat, I’ve learned to play them to my advantage.

I jump as Violet appears by my side. “So, about that guy—”

“Vi,” I sigh, flinging the rag over my shoulder as I walk away. “Let it go.”

Violet didn’t let it go.

In fact, she’s been on my heels for the past ten minutes, following me around from table to table. “So, are you going to tell me the story?

“What story?”

Smirking, she drapes herself over the edge of the booth. “The story starring you and clit-bait over there.”

I let out a deep sigh and stare down at the sticky wasteland of melted daiquiris and spilled cocktails. “There’s no story. He’s just another jerk.”

Just another jerk could be the title of my autobiography.

I hate this. Neither of us should have to resort to what we do. In a perfect world, maybe that would be true, but reality is never perfect. Plus, it’s my fault we’re in this mess. We lived in Hollywood for two years and still managed to keep the rent paid, our legs closed, and our hands clean. Now, because of me, that’s changed.

She’s quiet for a moment. “You know, you could always call your old agent.”

Snorting, I slide the heavy tray off the table and onto my shoulder. “He only managed to get me one audition in two years, and it was for a porno.” Before she can say anything else, I add, “And his cousin was the director.”

She follows me to the next table. “Okay, forget him. At least let me buy you a bus ticket.”

“To where?”

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