Page 58 of Sweet Sinners
But Connor is already on his feet, his back to me, shoulders tense, hands clenched into fists like he’s barely holding himself together.
I bite my lip, pulse hammering, torn between the heat still lingering in my body and the realization that I have absolutely no idea what the hell I’m doing.
Is he pissed or turned on?
Does it even matter?
He's my stepbrother. He's on house arrest. And if I’d just given Dean a chance, I wouldn’t be in this mess—flustered, restless, tangled up in whatever this is. I’d be out on a date somewhere nice, in some incredible place, eating incredible food…
But it wouldn’t taste as good as the meals Connor makes.
And that realization guts me.
What if I were gone all weekend, lost in another man’s company? Would Connor even blink? Would it matter to him at all?
The thought makes something dark twist low in my stomach.
This… all this confusion swirling in my head—it has to be just lust. A reaction. An impulse.
No. That’s a lie.
Because I know myself. And I don’t just lust after people. It takes more than a good face and a decent body to get under my skin, and right now, I am both hot and fucking bothered. It’s not just the adrenaline from the movie, not just some dry spell of attention.
It’s him.
Connor. The one guy I shouldn’t want. The man I can’t escape.
I inhale sharply, my shoulders tense as I reach for the fridge. Opening it slowly, carefully, I grab the last four beers. My hands are shaking, my nerves too raw, my mind too loud. I bite my lip, scanning the kitchen like I expect someone to pop out and catch me in the middle of my own damn thoughts.
"Hey."
Connor’s voice slices through the quiet, making me jolt.
My head snaps up, eyes locking onto his.
For a second, relief floods through me—he spoke instead of creeping up silently. But then, that same reckless, yearning part of me whispers,What if he had?
What if he had just pulled me into his arms, pressed his hands against the tension in my back, drawn me close, buried his fingers in my hair—
No.
I shake the thought off, lifting the beers slightly like a shield. "I got the beer," I announce, forcing normalcy into my voice.
Connor nods once. "This one will be easier on you, I promise. It's a classic."
Classic.
Like that means anything right now. Like it’s enough to pull me out of the mess in my head.
I scoff under my breath, still too wound up, still too embarrassed. "Classic doesn’t necessarily mean better."
His lips twitch, but his eyes stay steady on mine. "Trust me," he says, voice firm but coaxing. "You'll like it."
Trust him.
The one thing everyone has warned me against. The thing I’ve been conditioned to question when it comes to Connor.
And yet… it feels like the lesser of two evils compared to everything else I’m thinking right now.
