Page 50 of Vipers & Roses

“Slinger?” I tease. “Interesting name.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an interesting guy,” he replies, “and about tonight…we don’t have to do anything. I mean if you stay over. I want to spend the night with the hottest chick I’ve ever met, even if it’s just sleeping and talking.”

I snort, struggling to believe him. “And you can keep your hands to yourself?”

He blows his cheeks out like a blowfish as he deliberates the question. “If I’m going to be honest, I won’t find it easy.”

Dread is a bitch, and my head is about to explode with pros and cons. “Um, I’ll think about it,” I resign as the space between my thighs becomes sodden, thinking about his hands all over me. I do want to have sex with him, but I’m scared that I’ll either freak out or it will hurt so bad that I’ll never want to go near a man ever again.

“I’m sure I can abstain to build trust with you,” he adds, picking up his fork and slicing through his pancakes. “And by the way, I won the stare-out challenge.”

“Huh,” I grunt, “By default.”

One of those rare smiles glides across his face. He’s so beautiful when he smiles, and I wonder why he doesn’t grace the world with his grin more often. “Nah,” he clears his throat and gloats, “I won.”

“Maybe I’ll take Til with me tonight,” I joke, biting the end of a bacon strip and flaring my nostrils. “To make sure you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Til?” he hits back hotly, and that smile disappears faster than a lightning bolt. “Who the fuck is Til?”

“My pet Glock,” I answer and immediately scold myself for being so irresponsible in exposing myself like that. Once I make my first kill, authorities will be looking for someone with a gun that shoots nine-millimeter bullets. Stupid. Unless I hide the body, and then they won’t know how he was killed. But dragging the weight of a man won’t be easy, and lifting him will be even more difficult. Again, I need to seriously think this through, bit by tiny bit, leaving no stone unturned. The idea of luring him out on a boat trip, shooting him, then tossing him overboard is still my best plan. However, there are vast holes in that idea, too.

Let’s not forget that Cormac’s father is in the fucking Torres Island PD. Where did I leave my brain?

“You got a pet Glock called Til?” he’s bemused by it, whereas I thought he’d be shocked or even dismayed since his father is a cop. But, nope, he thinks it’s funny—the mystery with Cormac Bernardi.

“No, I lied. I haven’t got a gun,” I try to convince him out of the lie. “I’m just joking. Forget I said that. I tried to be tough in case you got octopus hands like your swim coach.”

He cringes. “Yeah, I know about Lyons and his roaming hands, as some team girls have mentioned it a few times. That’s why I didn’t like him talking to you earlier at the pool.”

“Protective, huh? Some girls like that,” I flirt, not committing to anything, because I’m unsure if I like protective men. I don’t know what my tastes are anymore. One thing I do know is that I can look after myself with help from Til.

“Some guys think chicks with guns are fucking hot,” he confesses, relaxing back in his seat and running those eyes all over me. I need a whip to beat this man back down to size because his intensity makes me sweat.

“Well, if I meet a girl with a gun, I’ll let you know,” I pout a little before I stuff a forkful of maple syrup pancake into my mouth, not caring about my piggish demeanor.

“Why the name Til?” he keeps pushing the subject, so I have to keep pushing back to convince him I was lying. Or change the subject.

I wave my hand dismissively, “Oh, it was the first name that entered my head as I was stitching together this fairytale that you’re naïve enough to believe.”

“Sure, Rae,” he says in a doubting tone, leaning forward again and picking up his fork. I think I failed at convincing him.

“Anyway,” I need to change the subject, something shocking so he’ll forget about the Glock called Til altogether. “I saw your coach railing Lucy from behind in a classroom.”

He chokes on his eggs, snorting in laughter. “Sure, Rae,” he says again.

“It’s true. When you saw me yesterday in the courtyard of the sports school, I saw them through a window,” I explained, but judging by his expression, he still didn’t believe me.

“When you were picking weeds?” he asks.

I gasp in exaggerated horror. “I’m sorry, what did you just say? Weeds? I’m highly offended that you call my precious agrimony samples weeds.”

“They look like weeds, and I don’t think they were planted there, so that’s the definition of a weed to me. Anyway, Lu hates Lyons, so that story doesn’t pan out. But it's a good try. Besides, she’s with Josh.”

“Maybe it was another blond girl, or maybe she wasn’t there by choice,” I argue, trying to make sense of it.

Cormac cringes. “Honestly, Rae, I don’t want to think about what Lyons does in his spare time. I just want to kill it at the Nationals, and then…”

“Then what? You might quit and have a normal life?” catching his hesitation.

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