Page 21 of Sinful Like Us
She gestures between me and Banks. “Are you two twins?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we say automatically.
Her face lights up. “And you spoke at the same time!” She laughs.
I try to remember this is routine. Before we even stepped through the doors, we were asked the same thing. Twice.
It’s aggravating me since I’m not in a great fucking mood. Banks ignores her completely and orders a beer. Leaving me to handle this interaction, which usually I don’t mind. It’s how we operate.
I lead.
He follows.
“How old are you two?” She places a hand on my forearm. “Do you do the same thing for work?”
Apologize. Move out.I start, “Sorry but we’re—”
“Mom,” a young girl cuts me off and whispers to the woman. We make eye contact, and quickly, she averts her gaze and blushes.
On any day, I’m intimidating, but I bet I’m glaring into every ring of hell right now. I rub my face, then drop my arm to my side.
Where are you, Jane?
I glance at the door that creaks open, an old man filing in and patting his buddies on the shoulders near a dirtied high-top table. I stay alert and keep track of movement in the bar.Habit. There aren’t famous ones here I need to protect.
Not yet.
She’s not here yet.
“Paige, look, they’re twins.” She beams at her daughter. “Aren’t they handsome?”
“Mom,” Paige hisses, eyes popping. “They’re the Moretti brothers.” People at the bar start to overhear and plaster their gazes on us.
But the one thing we’re used to isstaring.
“The who?” her mom asks.
“They’re the bodyguards to the Hale, Meadows, and Cobalt families—and Thatcher isdatingJane Cobalt.” Paige speaks in a nervous rush.
Banks rotates to me. “You want something?” The bartender is still in front of us, waiting for me to order.
I nod. “I’ll take a water.”
Banks frowns slightly at me. He must’ve thought I’d order a beer. We speak in short glances, and I give him a look like,I’m still staying sober.He knows why.
A target broke into the townhouse last month, and with no evidence, it’s becoming more probable that we won’t know who broke in until a second attempt happens.
I have to be vigilant. I can’t lose sight of what matters. Ofwhomatters.Everyone in that townhouse.
The intruder could’ve been Nate.
It could’ve been a stalker.
I don’t know who—I just have to be ready for them.
“Water?” the bartender repeats and assesses me with a long, incredulous stroke. His snide tone puts me on edge.
“Yeah,” I say concretely. “Water.”
