Page 33 of Born Sinner
Alex glances up, his forehead wrinkling as I slide back into the booth. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I say, waving a dismissive hand, as if I haven’t been missing for over fifteen minutes. “Long line. You know how it is.”
By the look on his face, he doesn’t, but then again, neither do I. I’m just trying to keep him from asking questions he doesn’t want the answers to.
“So, María, what do you say we—?”
“I’m really tired,” I blurt out, padding the statement with an exaggerated yawn. “Do you mind taking me home?”
“We’ve been here less than half an hour.”
I offer a lukewarm smile.Yeah, and my chances of catching a butterfly is slim to none at this point.It seems my mother’s sage advice doesn’t apply to a certain rebel without a conscience.
I’d be wasting both of our time if I pretended otherwise.
“I’m sorry. I have a really bad headache all of a sudden.” I tilt my head, trying to appear apologetic. “Raincheck?”
He’s not happy as he snatches a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and then slams it face down onto the table.
That makes two of us.
Something aches all right, but it’s definitely not my head.
* * *
This was a huge mistake.
I’m barely present as Alex pulls his blue Prius into the parking lot outside my apartment building. I should have never agreed to this date.
I should’ve learned my lesson about stepping outside the lines a week ago.
“Thanks. I really appreciate—” My words are cut off by a pair of demanding lips.
My palms shoot forward against his chest, but just before I push him away, a taunting voice whispers inside my head…
Don’t chase butterflies—provoke them.
So, dancing on a very thin tightrope, I do the unthinkable.
I let it happen.
Alex-what’s-his-name’skiss is wet and uninspiring, a pathetic substitute for the forbidden one I can’t stop craving. The cruel touch of a man and his gun—both of whichone I dreamed of last night in such vivid detail, I woke up blushing from the sheer depravity of it.
Nothing like the fumbling, hurried hand attempting to unbutton my dress.
No. This is all wrong.
“Stop!” Shoving him away, I tumble into the passenger’s seat, wiping the remnants of his sloppy kiss away with the back of my hand.
“Come on, baby,” he urges, diving his hand into my long hair and twisting the strands around his fingers. “Don’t play hard to get.”
Damn, that hurts.
“I’m not trying to.” Wincing, I pull away, only to get yanked across the console. “But I also don’t put out on the first date.”
Or at all…
“That’s not what I heard.”
