Page 7 of I Am Sin

Dragon still has a few chips on his plate, but he makes no move to eat them. I return to the table and gesture to his plate. “Done?”

“Not quite.”

Crap.

“Okay. You want anything else? More chips?” I glance at his empty glass. “More water?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I’m good.”

God, what iswiththis guy? Every other man I know can eat an entire bag of potato chips in one sitting. Growing up with two brothers, I was lucky if I ever even got a chip on the rare occasions my mother brought any into the house. And they weren’t awkwardly invading someone’s personal space when they were doing so. But Dragon seems to have no qualms about how odd I find his presence. He makes no move to eat the last few chips.

There’s only one thing I can think of to fill the silence.

“Dessert, then? I have some ice cream in the freezer.”

Damn it, why did I just say that? He’ll probably take an hour to get through a bowl of ice cream.

“Not much of a sweet tooth,” he says.

I blink, slightly grateful for his rejection. “All right.” I walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll just clean up a little, then.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He stares at his plate. “Pretend I’m not here.”

I wrinkle my brow. Seriously? He just said that?

I grab a scouring pad for the cast iron and get to work. With the water still running, I rinse the plates and load them in the dishwasher. When I turn off the faucet, a faint humming drifts toward me.

Interesting tune. Kind of sad, and not one I’ve heard before.

“What’s that?” I ask.

Dragon turns toward me. “What?”

“You’re humming.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “I was?”

“Yeah. Is this a new song the band is working on?”

“No.”

“It’s really beautiful. Sounds kind of…sad.”

“I’m afraid I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

“You were definitely humming, Dragon.”

He frowns. “Yeah, I probably was. I fiddle around with tunes in my head, but none of them are good enough for the band.”

I take a few steps toward him. “Why would you say that?”

“Because Jesse and Cage are both musical geniuses. They write most of the music and lyrics. They’ve never asked for my input.”

“Have youofferedyour input?”

He shakes his head quickly. “Why would I? They both have degrees in music. I don’t even have—” He stops abruptly.

“You don’t even have what?”

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