Page 53 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“Right.” He throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in tight. “We’re just on our way home from a party. I’m sure they’re up right now, giving the babysitter grief, right,honey?”
“Absolutely. They’re always pushing our buttons.”
The man groans and palms his face. “Are you telling me it gets harder?”
They look at us with such helplessness that my amusement dies. I didn’t mean to worry them further. Guilt tugs in my chest, and I bite my lip. “I’m sure it gets easier.”
Wesley smirks at my discomfort. “Remember what you told me the other day?”
Fucker. I feel like I’ve brought this on myself. I know jack shit about kids. Or babysitting. Or what a reasonable bedtime is for kids that age.
“I think you mean that thing you told me,” I reply with a false smile. “It was such good advice. Don’t be shy. Share it.”
He continues to watch me with a hint of deviousness, but then his expression softens and turns somber. His thumb sweeps my cheek, and every nerve in my body shudders.
“Don’t overthink it,” he murmurs deeply, holding my gaze. “Best advice you can get.”
Those warm eyes see inside my twisted soul and through the wall hiding my fear.
Don’t overthink it.
Enjoy the ride.
You’re safe.
Open your hearts.
The puppy yips, and we break eye contact.
“Well,” the woman says, smiling at us now. “Your children are lucky to have parents as brave and in love as you two.”
“I hope they’re fast asleep when you get home.” The man waves goodbye as they move on.
Wesley leaves his arm around my shoulders as we continue down the street. I don’t push him away, even after we’ve lost sight of the couple and finally hit a quieter part of the Quadrant. A part of me still thinks the world is spinning. I open my mouth to speak, but he gets there first.
“Is that what you want one day?” His voice is soft, almost inaudible.
“A puppy?”
“A family.”
A cold feeling spreads throughout my body, starting at my chest and moving out. The suffocating blanket of reality forces me to slide his arm from my shoulder and say, “I was just doing my job.”
His eyes narrow. “Pretending we’re together is doing your job?”
I know that charade wasn’t necessary. We could have handed the puppy over and continued on our way, but that sweet, adoring look he’d had when playing with it had triggered hopes I’ve long since buried.
And a graveyard was where they belonged.
“Yes, that’s my job,” I point out harshly. “So is fucking strangers and killing them.Don’t overthink it.”
He spears pure contempt at me. I know he’s thinking all those hard, cruel thoughts about me being a Sinner, how I’m evil and a whore and a bitch, and I deserve to go to hell.
He was just asking a question. Being nice. I was the one who started that charade, after all. Part of it was instinct—me slipping into assassin mode, throwing off the target, misdirecting, making them gloss over us as potential suspects.
Suspects for what?
I feel dirty.
