Page 41 of Sinners Atone
He groans and slumps his head on the table when the plucky intro to “You’re the One That I Want”from my fourth favorite musical, Grease,starts to play.
Benny is still pelvic thrusting, looking for his next victim, and as I point the camera in Rory’s direction again, the flash catches Benny’s eye, and he beckons me with the curl of his finger.
I laugh and don’t resist when he pulls me up from my seat with a smooth twirl. As he spins me away from him and back again, I catch the scent of cologne and whiskey, and can’t help but wonder how many women on the coast have woken up to that smell lingering on their pillow.
He pushes me away with the jab of his finger and swaggers toward me in time with the music. I push back and chase his retreat. When the chorus hits, he drops to the floor and slides on his knees. Before his hands can start roaming up the sides of my thighs, a tight grip on my arm yanks me out of his reach.
“Oh my God,” Tayce yells in my ear, spinning me around and folding me into a protective hug. “What’s the golden rule?”
“But he knows the whole dance?—”
“What’s the golden rule, Wren?”
I sink back into my chair and let out a dramatic sigh. “I know, I know. We don’t dance with Benny.”
“Weneverdance with Benny.”
“Cockblock!” Benny yells.
Tayce flips him off over her shoulder, then looms over me with folded arms.
“Anyway, back to me. On a scale of one to ten, how hot is the guy I’m talking to?”
“Um.” He’s looking around like a lost puppy. I’m not sure if it’s a trick question, so I opt for a pragmatic response. “A solid ten, if he makes you happy.”
“Mmm.” Her eyes find him, and she blows him a sloppy kiss. “He has just enough brain cells that I don’t feel like I’m taking advantage of him, but on the other hand, his tattoos look like graffiti on a school desk.” She shrugs. “Meh. I’ll fuck him with the lights off. Come on.” She offers me her hand. “You’re dancing with Gabe.”
I stare at her ring-clad fingers. “What?”
“The bridesmaids and groomsmen dance is about to start.”
My eyes snap up to meet hers. My mouth grows dry, and a dull ache forms at the base of my skull. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is in Italy, apparently.” She wiggles her fingers impatiently. “Come on.”
But I don’t move. Can’t. “Why can’t I dance with Rafe?”
“Because I’m dancing with Rafe.”
“No,” I whisper. “My feet hurt.”
“You were dancing with Benny just fine.”
“Yes, but now I’m tired.”
“That’s what espressos are for, sweetie.”
“But…” I look around, panic scrambling my brain. My gaze drops to Matt snoozing on the table, then I fish out the next excuse to rise to the surface. “Matt needs me.”
She glances down at him, amused. “By the looks of it, he’ll still be here when you get back.”
“But—”
“Wren!”
“Tayce!”
I meet her irritated stare and return it with one of desperation. Hot tears swell behind my eyes. I can’t dance withGabriel. Ican’t.He’s a psychopath,the Boogeyman, the dark shadow who broke into my house just because he could. But I can’t tell her that, not right now. Neither subtlety nor self-restraint are Tayce’s fortés; if I told her what he did, she’d pop a stiletto off her foot and drive the tip into his skull or something, and ruin what’s left of Rory’s day.
