Page 48 of Saint Valentine

“Because my date was an idiot who thought drinking half a bottle of cheap vodka before we even made it inside was a great idea. He threw up on me. That was five days before I shot Zack.”

Silence took over again. I was thinking about the fact that she went to prom and committed murder all in the same week.

“What did you study in college? You went, right?” she asked suddenly.

“Yes, to USF. Business.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Me too.”

She toyed with the edge of the blanket. “Did you actually like it?”

I thought for a moment. “Strategic management. Learning how to predict outcomes, how to manipulate them. That was the only thing that ever interested me.”

Her lips curled slightly. “I liked business ethics. Corporate corruption. The dirty side of money.”

I laughed under my breath. “The kind of shit that runs my world. I think you want to be a queenpin. That’s why you dislike the thought of being a mob wife.”

“Shut up, Lucifer, and tell me something random. Let’s pretend we’re normal people,” she said.

I let my head tilt toward her, our eyes meeting in the dim light.

“I like Sherlock Holmes.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Sherlock Holmes. The books. The movies. The shows.”

She made a face. “You—murderer, kidnapper, crime lord—like a detective?”

“He’s methodical. Brilliant. He sees things others don’t.”

She shook her head, clearly not expecting that answer. “What’s your favorite one?”

“The Hound of the Baskervilles.”

Her nose scrunched. “I have no idea what that is.”

“You should read it or watch the series on PBS.”

“I won’t.”

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “But I like the one with Benedict Cumberbatch.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I like morally gray heroes.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I be considered morally gray?”

She laughed, a full belly laugh. “No. You’re villainous.”

I let out a slow breath, dragging my fingers down the length of her thigh, liking the way her body reacted to my touch. “I don’t kill women or children.”

“Oh, congratulations. That doesn’t make you a good person, Saint.”

I smirked, my fingers trailing lower, teasing, testing. “Never said I was. But it doesn’t make me a villain either.”

“Okay, Saint. But I like morally gray.”

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