Page 34 of The Sinner

The other reason was because something had gotten into me.

Thoughts that shouldn’t be in my goddamn head.

Thoughts that were mentally set in stone, especially as I said to them, “Text me the name of the whiskey bar.” I slowly looked at Dominick. “I’m going to meet you there.”

I could strangle myself for this. Because what I was about to do wasn’t going to lead to anything good. I had several drinks already in me, and I’d had a hard-on for hours.

But as I gave the hotel another glance, I knew there wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be right now.

“Where are you going?” Macon asked.

I gazed back at the guys, the anger building in my chest.

It hadn’t come out of nowhere.

I was mad at myself for doing this, mad about the entire situation.

Mad that I knew better and I couldn’t fucking resist.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I told Macon.

“You’re really leaving us now?” Ford persisted.

“Brady, things are just getting started,” Cooper said.

Enough with the fucking questions and guilt trip.

“I’ll see you guys later,” I told them.

Dominick nodded, knowing exactly what I was going to do, and said, “I’ll text you the address.”

As I turned around and walked toward the street, I heard, “Pussy.”

I held my middle finger high in the air and went to the hotel’s front entrance. After moving through the lobby, I stopped at the bank of elevators. Before I’d gone to the game, I’d called the hotel manager to get the room number I needed. Although it was against hotel policy to give out information on any guest, he couldn’t deny an owner. So, when I stepped into the elevator, I knew just what button to press.

I waited for the lift to climb, and when it finally opened on the sixth floor, I went down the hallway, halting when I reached room 632. I stood in front of the door, my hand flat against it, as though I was waiting for the sense to be knocked back into me. My forehead was positioned the same way as my palm, landing just above it, my fingers now balled into a fist.

Why couldn’t I resist her?

Why was she eating away at my mind?

Why had I thought of her scent and the feel of her pussy and the softness of her lips the entire time I was at the game?

Why was knowing she was behind this door, assuming she hadn’t gone out, driving me to a level that was far beyond fucking wild?

My hand lifted from the hardness and returned; the sound it left was a heavy, deep knock, and in case she didn’t hear the first one, I followed up with two more.

While I waited, I pulled my face away and gripped the frame on either side of the door. As the seconds passed, the little patience I had began to thin out.

And when I couldn’t stand another second, my fist pounded a series of three more knocks.

She had the next couple of days off. I didn’t know why my gut told me she was in her room since there was no reason for her to be. But I stayed right here, listening to every sound, and within a few seconds, there was the faintest scratch on the back side of the door right before I heard the twist of the knob.

Her face appeared through the crack, scanning the entire doorway even though I filled it. She kept it ajar and whispered, “Brady …”

“I need to know something.”

I tried not to let her scent affect me.

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