Page 8 of Sinful Justice

“Okay.” I sip my drink and take a moment to appreciate that he wasn’t heavy-handed with the liquor. If he was, I might think he’s irresponsible and aiming to get me plastered. Without that edge, it tells me he’s just trying to help me relax. The second is far more preferable. “I’m new to town.”

His eyes glitter with fun. “As I suspected.”

“Three days of canceled flights.”

“Because of the storms?”

“Mmhm. But I’d already given up my apartment in my old city, and the airport wasn’t all that communicative about when my flight would be, so I couldn’t leave.”

“You slept in an airport for three days?”

“Yup.” I pop the P and stare down at my drink. If I don’t, I might stare at his thick bottom lip. “So I haven’t slept in a proper bed for three nights. This morning, I get a last-minute announcement I’m flying out, but from the other side of the airport, so I had to run. The flight was rocky with turbulence, the guy sitting next to me smelled of onions and thought it was cute to hold my hips when I tried to pass. Then when I arrived here, my suitcase was stolen, I ran into a guy who was a bit of a douchebag all because I bumped into him once, and my suitcase was heavy.”

“The stolen suitcase?”

“No, the other suitcase. The one that wasn’t stolen.” Pinching the straw between my fingers, I look up and smile. “Douchebag grabbed it off the conveyor belt for me and acted like he was some kind of hero.”

Amused, Tim’s chest bounces with soft laughter. “Men are the worst.”

“I know!” I draw another long sip of my drink and beam when the vodka hits my belly. “Then I arrived at my apartment, only to find out I can’t go in tonight because of damage from the storm.”

Now Tim’s brows pinch closer with disapproval. “You’re homeless for the night?”

“Well,” I roll my shoulders, “Steve, my new landlord, got me a room at some hotel nearby, so it’ll all work out.”

“Steve next door?” Tim looks in the direction of my apartment building. “Over there?”

“Yup. I left my heavy suitcase with Steve. He’s cool, right? He’s not gonna steal from me?”

“Oh, he’s totally gonna steal from you.” Tim pushes up to stand tall and grabs a fresh glass to pour a beer. He does it without thinking, without a single glance to my left or right. “He’s probably already sold all your shit.”

“Seriously?” My soul shrivels inside my body—metaphorically, of course. “Am I totally screwed?”

“No.” Chuckling, he stops pouring for a moment and waits for the froth to settle. “Steve’s a stand-up guy. He’ll keep your shit safe. But how are you getting to your hotel?”

I shrug and rest my chin on my hand. “I might grab a cab. But I need food first, I haven’t eaten since…” I try to think back. “I don’t even know. I think I had coffee for breakfast.”

He shakes his head and finishes pouring the beer. “That’s terrible. And my kitchen closed hours ago. But lucky for you, I give a shit.”

“You do?” I sit taller and smile. “How much do you give a shit?”

“Enough to make you a burger. You want chicken or beef?”

“Chicken will do. Grilled? With ranch instead of mayo?”

“Fries?”

“Mm. Sweet potato?” My stomach rumbles with a violence that punishes me for my negligence. “Please?”

“Pain in my ass.” Setting the beer on the bar by my left elbow, he takes his cloth again and wipes his hands. “I’ll get it out to you in a minute.” Then he glances to my left when a hand reaches forward and wraps around the beer. “New chick’s suitcase was stolen from the airport.”

I smell him first… that seductive scent. The aftershave that’ll visit me in my dreams. Then I feel his warmth near my back.

Pushing up, I spin and come eye to eye with the hero from the conveyor belt as he takes his beer and sips. “You!”

His eyes are piercing in the dark, curious and foreboding. “You.”

I turn back in search of Tim. “He’s the douche!”

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