Page 51 of The Sinner: James

“Admit what exactly?”

“That you’re infatuated with him. You want him to be your first man, and I bet you’ve made it clear to him too. And all you’ve got from him was a big fat ‘NO.’ I can only imagine your frustration...”

Her chest rocks with laughter again, grating on my nerves, even more so since her words bear so much truth.

Oblivious to me, she continues.

“All this time, you’ve pushed back anyone remotely interested in you, resenting the idea that some simpleton would make a woman out of you. And now that you’re finally ready to give it away, the man you’ve chosen doesn’t give a shit about it. He couldn’t care less. See, that’s the problem with pussy. It has a shelf life, an expiration date,” she says, laughing as if it’s a good joke. “I bet yours is stale already. I’m not surprised he doesn’t want it. Who wants the turmoil that comes with it anyway?”

Her eyes stay on my face as I wrestle with exasperation, silent in my misery.

More words fall from her lips.

“All this time, you thought you were special and so much better than me, only to find out any skirt from Red’s can ride his cock, but not you. See, pumpkin, life is so much different than the crap you imagined.”

“As if you’re some expert.”

“I know more than you do, sweetheart. And I think I know why he had pulled away from you. He would’ve fucked you in a second, despite your inexperience, but putting up with the crying and emotions and the begging for attention in the aftermath made it so not worthy. It’s not that he didn’t want your body. It was your heart that he didn’t want to deal with. He has no use for it. Anyone who knows a thing or two about James Sexton can tell you the man has never dated or fallen in love. So… Welcome to James Sexton’s world, baby.”

I bite my lips so hard I taste blood in my mouth.

I wish I could argue with her, but it’s useless.

She’s never been more on point.

“Why would he put up with all the drama? Really...” she murmurs before spinning on her heel and strutting away.

My jaw locks as tears fight hard to pool in my eyes.

9

RAIN

TEN MONTHS LATER

“How was Italy?”Mrs. Gordon asks, her hand gently squeezing mine.

“It was wonderful,” I say, flashing a polite smile.

“Any news about your book?”

Her eyes light up with a candid grin.

“Yes. It will be released this fall,” I say, grinning.

“That is fantastic news. You make your parents so proud. Thank you for coming, and please send my best regards to them,” she says.

“I will.”

She pats me on my shoulder, excuses herself, and steps away, her attention shifting to the other guests.

One hundred people attend her party since this is one of the most important summer events, and limousines and luxury cars keep rolling in.

The guests walk into the house. Some head to the backyard.

The women wear evening gowns, and the men sport tuxedoes.

A tradition amongst the elites, the party is attended by the who’s who of the county––bankers, businesspeople, council members, and their spouses, sons, and daughters.

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