Page 25 of I Am Sin

She whisks away, and to have something to do, I pick up my glass of water and take a drink.

Then I look around the diner. Despite the fact that our tiny booth in the back corner has seen better days, the rest of the place is kind of charming. I almost feel like I’ve been transported back a few decades.

“How come this is your table?” I ask Dragon.

He shrugs. “Because it’s usually available, and I like it. Seems to fit me.”

“The other booths are bigger and nicer,” I say.

“I know, but I usually dine alone, so why should I take up more space than I need?”

I suppose he has a point there.

“Besides, I like this booth,” he continues. “It’s cozy. Sometimes I play a game on my phone. Other times, when I remember to, I bring a book to read.”

Again, Dragon surprises me. I wouldn’t take him for the type who would be reading a book alone in a diner.

I lean toward him. “What do you like to read?”

He twitches his nose. “It’s a little outdated, but I’ve been working my way through the works of Charles Dickens. I just rounded offGreat Expectations.”

I widen my eyes. A meteor could strike this diner, and that would be less shocking to me. Dragon has an unmistakable darkness about him, but he’s got a playful sideanda well-read side. I’m intrigued as all get-out.

“You there, Diana?”

I nod, take a drink of water. “Yeah, I just didn’t take you for the Dickens type, I suppose.”

He frowns. “You pegged me more as the trash TV type?”

“No, no,” I sputter. “I just… I wishIhad more time to read the classics. Or at least the initiative to get through them. I’m impressed, that’s all.”

Dragon exhales sharply. “Well, I don’t always read when I’m here. Sometimes I just like to sit in the booth and think.”

“About what?”

“Personal stuff.” He looks down at the table.

Message received. He’s not going to tell me.

Not that I can blame him. He and I don’t know each other very well yet.

We may never know each other well.

I think back to the conversation I had with him at one of my mother’s infamous parties at our ranch house. It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, after Dragonlock had played at a local concert at the cinema with a special guest appearance by Emerald Phoenix.

I was standing alone near the pool house, and Dragon—to my surprise—approached me.

“How are you doing tonight, Diana?” Dragon asks me.

“Great, how are you?”

He nods slowly. “Good. You enjoy the concert?”

“Absolutely. All of it. Even Rory’s operatic numbers.”

“I guess this is her opera swan song,” Dragon says.

“So I’ve heard. She’s going for rock and roll.”

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