Page 72 of Sinners Atone
He slams down his visor so suddenly that the sound makes me flinch. With a sharp rip on the throttle, the bike’s engine roars to life. The vibration rumbles across the grass, surges through the soles of my boots, and trembles every nerve, cell, and bone in my body.
And I’m still trembling, long after the dark swallows his tail lights.
The smell of sunscreen and coconuts bake under the heat of the sun. Gentle waves lap the shoreline in a rhythmic lull, and overhead, birds glide across the azure sky. I set my cocktail aside, settling on my pool floatie, and let out a blissful sigh.
Ah, this is the life.
“This is fucking ridiculous.” From behind my heart-shaped sunglasses, I pop an eyelid in time to see Tayce reach for my cell. She stabspauseon my “Relaxing Beach Sounds” playlist and tosses the device onto my bare stomach. “And it’s hotter than hell in here.”
“Then you must feel right at home, honey.” I roll onto my front and turn the playlist back on, turning up the volume to full blast to drown out the sound of the rain beating down on the window. “Just relax. Close your eyes and imagine you’re on a beach in Fiji.”
Her air mattress lets out a loud squeak as she flops back on it. “I need arealvacation.”
“You got back from a real vacation less than twelve hours ago,” Rory tuts, adjusting the side tie on her bikini bottoms. “I, for one, am having a great time.” She plucks the cocktail umbrella from her piña colada and tucks it behind her ear. “Who needs a honeymoon when you have friends like you two, hey?”
I beam up at her despite the sadness pressing on my chest.
Rory should be on a real beach, with her new husband. Instead, she’s with us, in her guest bedroom, lying on a pool floatie in front of an industrial-strength heater I borrowed from the bar.
As for Angelo, he’s down the hall. Every so often, I hear the office door open, and my ears prick up at the sound of hushed Italian words and feet treading floorboards. Then it closes and an unwarranted disappointment rolls through me. Because no voice is deep enough, no footstep dense enough, to soothe this itch beneath my skin.
Gabriel’s secret visit left me restless, and I fear it won’t go away. It’s of the clock-watching, sheet-tangling, appetite-stealing variety.
A cocktail that’s lethal when mixed into my bloodstream.
I flip back onto my back, unable to get comfortable.
It’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, of course, and it’s definitely not the same.
It’s a phase, like when I went brunette for a week, or the time I got my nose pierced and lost the stud the second I sneezed.
It’ll soon drift past, like a cloud on a breezy afternoon. Then one day, I’ll look back and laugh at the time I thought I had a crush on Gabriel Visconti.
Jeez. It’s a reach to even call it a crush. He’s just a man, and I’m just a girl who has never been touched by one. Hell, evenMattcould have gripped my jaw like that or called me agood girl, and my body would have gotten all confused.
Sighing, I shuffle onto my side and pick at a loose thread on my towel.
Lying’s bad. Lying to yourself is even worse.
No, but it’s really not a crush. I’m not capable of crushes. The more I stew on it, the more I realize it’s not actuallyhimI’m drawn to but the anticipation he brings with him. I never know where he will be or what he will do next. One day, he’s folding me into his trunk, and the next, he’s teaching me how to get out of it. “Lesson one” came out of nowhere, and “lesson two” will apparently come when I least expect it.
Despite baking under the heat lamp, a cold thrill skates over the curve of my waist.
I won’t lie to myself twice: I’m looking forward to it.
A sigh leaves my lips, too loud and wistful. I glance up at the girls to make sure they didn’t notice, but Rory’s still engrossed in her book, and Tayce is too busy contorting her body to take selfies of her ass.
As I reach for the fruit platter, there’s movement in the hall. My heart swells, then deflates when muffled laughter seeps under the door.
Definitelynot Gabriel.
While I nibble on a strawberry, my gaze drifts back to Rory. “How’s Angelo holding up?”
Her brow dents over the top of her book. “He’s… busy. And stressed. I haven’t seen him much, to be honest.”
“I bet. Are they any closer to figuring out who was behind the explosion?”
“Uh-huh. It was a rival shipping company farther south.”
