Page 82 of Sinners Atone
“By looking like that,” Tayce murmurs, studying her hand.
Rory stabs a thumb over her shoulder to the man in a suit standing behind the Christmas tree. If he’s trying to hide, he’s not doing a very good job. Partly because Eddie bought the cheapest, skinniest tree on sale, but mainly because he’shuge. “By having loads of scary-looking men like Gio hanging around.”
“Does he carry a gun?”
“Gabe?” she tuts. “Of course not.”
Heat flames my cheeks.
Well, he certainly had a damn gun last night.
I snatch up Rory’s wineglass though it’s still half full. Ignoring her protests, I pour the contents down the sink and scrub it clean with trembling hands.
Gabriel’s touch was non-existent, but it’s gotten under my skin and grown roots. They’ve tangled around my lungs and made it hard to breathe. They’ve wrapped around my wrists too, so every time I look down at them, I’m reminded of being strung up and restrained.
A white-hot heat rolls through my core for the millionth time today. A bead of sweat trickles down the small of my back. Guilt mixed with pleasure is a foul-tasting cocktail.
I hate that man in daylight.
But in the dark…
“Why’s a girl like you working in a dive like this?”
From the end of the bar, I hear Tayce scoff. I drop the glass, it shatters in the sink, and my sigh follows the shards down the drain. Eddie is the biggest penny-pincher on the planet, so no doubt he’ll dock the cost of it from my wages.
Although I’m on a knife’s edge—and every time the door opens, the ghost of gasoline and leather blows in—it won’t stop me from spinning around with a sunny smile and a chirpywhat can I get ya? Because I’m nothing if notnice.
I sweep the broken glass into the trash and turn around. My smile loses its plastic edges, and I stand up a little straighter.
It’s him.
The quiet guy with the neat hair and the kind brown eyes that have been following me around since he and his fellow out-of-towners walked in. I know because my eyes have been following him around too. That’s also how I know he has dimples. I watched them deepen when I told his buddy the cocktail he ordered—an Aperol Spritz—sounded like a dollar-store perfume.
With a light laugh, I wipe my soapy hands on the back of my miniskirt and rack my brain for a witty response. Telling him I need the cash before heading off to college next fall is too boring, and it simply won’t do.
I ball a dishrag in my hand and grin up at him. “If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that, I wouldn’thaveto work in a dive like this.”
His shoulders shake with amusement. It was a good answer. As his gaze leaves mine and sweeps the room, I rake my fingers through my bangs and gawp up at him from underneath them.
Tayce will tell me off for staring, but I can’t help it. I’ve decided this man isn’t just cute, he’shandsome,and it’s making my skin all warm. I like the cut of his suit, how perfectly the pink of his tie matches the color of my cropped fluffy sweater. I like that he brought his empty wineglass back to the bar. I like that he drinks wine.
His eyes follow mine down to the glass. “That tasted like vinegar, by the way.”
I lean against the bar, fluttering my lash extensions. “And if I had a dollar for every time someone told me that, I wouldn’t have to work at all.”
Tayce groans, but I ignore it becausehelaughs.
Now I like that about him too.
Our eyes lock for a beat too long, and the warmth seeps through my pores and into my stomach. I squeeze the dishragtighter, ignoring the burn in my wrists, and take stock of the situation.
Eyes locking, butterflies dancing, laughter floating.
Ladies and gentleman, this might be it. I’m finally getting my meet-cute.
My heart beats faster. I mean, I’m not a waitress working in a cocktail bar, but a bartender working in a dump that sells two beers for five dollars is close enough, right?
“Well, you’re far too cute to be working here.”
