Page 54 of Sweet Sinners
Cali
Connoristoocomfortable.That’s the takeaway here.
Lounging on the couch in pajama pants and a black tank top, beer in one hand, pizza in the other, he looks completely at ease, like he belongs here. And maybe that’s what throws me off the most—how seamlessly he fits into this scene, how normal he looks. If his pants weren’t long enough to cover the monitor strapped to his ankle, I could almost forget. Almost.
I spot a scar on the inside of his shoulder, and curiosity flares, sharp and insistent. How did he get it? Prison? A fight? Something worse? But the urge to ask fades just as quickly. The answers wouldn’t do us any good tonight.
I take a deep breath and shove another bite of pizza into my mouth, forcing myself to focus on something else.
"I picked out some horror flicks that might catch your interest—or totally repel you," Connor says, talking through a mouthful of pizza. "Either way, they’ll keep your mind off work."
"Yeah," I murmur, my eyes drifting toward the screen. It’s an older movie, that much is obvious, but Connor hits play without hesitation.
Less than ten minutes in, and I jump so hard I nearly spill my beer.
Connor bursts out laughing—a real, deep laugh, one that lights up his whole damn face. His eyes crinkle at the corners, cheeks flushing red as he clutches his stomach, completely unguarded for once.
I elbow him, trying to save what little dignity I have left. "Shut up! It was a jump scare!"
"You definitely jumped," he teases, his grin stretching even wider.
I huff, sinking further into the couch, my beer pressed to my lips as I glare at him. "You picked this movie, and I already warned you—horror and I don’t mix well."
"It’s more distracting if you actually watch," he smirks.
And I try—I really do—but my attention keeps drifting back to him.
The rough scruff along his jaw. The way his muscles flex when he stretches out, completely at home in his space. He sprawls across the couch, taking up more than his fair share, like he owns it, and some twisted part of me likes that. Likes the easy way he carries himself, the warmth rolling off of him.
The realization is unsettling.
It’s not just how he looks—it’s the way he is. The way he makes sure I’ve eaten, the way he cooks without expecting anything in return, the way he builds instead of breaks. He doesn’t just step in when Ineed help—he’s there before I even have to ask. How could I have ever thought he was capable of something so monstrous?
And yet...
Charm and good looks can be deceptive.
People believed Ted Bundy, after all.
I push the thought away, shaking my head as I sip my beer. But it lingers. Just like my suspicion that someone close to me is the one leaking information to the press.
Anna is at the top of my list, but the logic doesn’t track. We’ve been friends since high school. I know her. Or at least, I used to. Lately, she’s been distant, slipping up, making comments about Connor that rub me the wrong way. Still, that doesn’t mean she’s behind any of this. Maybe she’s struggling with something else. Maybe I should reach out, outside of work, and ask her to grab coffee.
I make a mental note to do exactly that.
Then, another thought takes root, colder, sharper.
The house staff.
Maya has been around since I was born, but there are new faces here now. People I don’t know as well. People who have full access to my home, my life. The idea makes a chill run down my spine.
"Are you cold?"
Connor’s voice pulls me back, grounding me.
I clear my throat. "What?"
He rolls his eyes, shifting closer as he drapes a blanket over both of us. "You shivered. Is it the cold, or are you actually scared?"
