Page 62 of The Saint and the First-Time Sinner

“Oh no, if you see me again, it’s Kevin,” I warned him, rolling my eyes when he chuckled.

I closed the door, still muttering under my breath as I walked up to the building. Before I could reach out, the door swung inward, and I stopped, slowly pulling my hand back. I looked up for the sensor, and finding none, made my way into the building while wondering why they had to make the entrance a little more creepy than was necessary.

“Good evening,” a woman said softly at the end of the short hallway. She was dressed in dark clothing that hugged her body, a small white O stitched onto her breast. “Are you here with Mr. Perkins?”

“Uh, yeah, I am,” I told her, peering over her shoulder. There were two more people waiting in the back, not moving as they stared forward blankly.

“This way,” she said, turning and walking smoothly through a nearby doorway.

I followed her after a moment’s hesitation, glancing at the two men dressed identically to her. Neither man glanced at me, continuing to stare forward as I passed them. The woman never once glanced over her shoulder as she led me to dimly lit stairs and up a couple of floors with smooth, even steps.

“Is he already here?” I asked, unnerved by everything, including the absolute silence. The walls and the stairs were all hard and smooth, but they somehow managed to swallow sound, and my voice sounded far too loud despite having barely raised my voice.

She stopped at a door on the next landing and motioned for me to enter, smiling politely. I eyed her warily but took the doorknob and stepped forward. The room was much like the rest of the building, dark colors and smooth surfaces. There was a loveseat and a plush chair next to a round table, where a firepit had been carved out and lit in the center.

A doorway to my left led to a dining table that looked like it was carved from obsidian. The light fixture overhead was golden and made of dozens of tiny little lights that made the dark surface of the table glitter like a miniature starry night. Shane sat at one of the tables, dressed in a suit of his own and smiling when I walked in and stared at him.

After a moment, he frowned. “What?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see the woman had closed the door behind me. “What in the fresh hell was that?”

He eyed me in confusion. “What was what?”

“That entire rendition of a horror movie,” I said, gesturing toward the door. “Jesus Christ, that woman barely said ten words. And there were two guys down there who didn’t say anything, didn’t even move…and I’m not sure they even blinked.”

Shane gave a little laugh, standing up and adjusting his tie. For a second, I forgot to be creeped out as he stood under the small lights glowing softly down from the ceiling. The man pulled off a suit incredibly well, and my hands itched to reach out and smooth the fabric around his shoulders.

“The letter outside is short for Om,” he said, drawing out the word.

“Uh, okay, still weird.”

He chuckled, stepping around the table to pull out the chair next to his. “It’s a spiritual thing. Originally a Sanskrit word, adopted by different religions like Hinduism and Buddhism. It’s a sound used to encapsulate both nothing and everything. The owner decided to turn an entire restaurant into the very concept.”

“Uh, so the creepy entrance was the “nothing” bit then?” I asked, stepping forward as he stood beside the chair. After a pause, I finally took the offered seat, feeling both touched and awkward as he helped me slide it in.

“Guests are presented with minimalism, and as the night goes on, more and more is added to encompass more. It’s pretty much an entire display as well as a meal,” he explained, looking me over. “I’d nearly forgotten how good you look in that suit.”

I puffed up a little at the compliment. “Starting the night by unnerving me and then flattering me? Is this some sort of pick-up art I haven’t heard about yet?”

Shane chuckled as he returned to his seat. “And why would I need to use pick-up ‘arts’ on you when I’ve already seen you naked? Repeatedly no less.”

I rolled my eyes, eyeing the mostly bare table, save for two glasses of wine. “That’s not quite the compelling point you think it is.”

“And who said I was trying to make a compelling point? We’ve already come to know each other reasonably well, we’ve slept together quite a few times in the past couple of months, and we both have a decent idea how to deal with one another. I’d say all the work picking someone up has already been done…by both of us no less.”

“Okay,” I admitted because it was a fair point that I couldn’t dispute. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re doing this tonight. Why here? Why this?”

“Well, for one, neither of us has had the chance to experience the other’s company without the specter of my mother hanging over us,” he said, picking up his wine glass to swirl the contents around. “And I won’t speak for you, but the idea of having a whole night simply to exist around one another is an appealing one.”

“Okay,” I repeated, mulling over his words and finding I liked the sound of that. “That’s actually a compelling point.”

He snorted, taking a drink of his wine. “And, I thought this was the perfect opportunity for you to experience something different. You hardly got to experience a thing at the party my mother dragged you to. Here you may drink and eat to your heart's content, at your own pace, in your own way. If you don’t like something, don’t do it. If you do like something, do it as much as you please.”

I snorted, giving in and reaching for the glass of wine before me. The smell was strong, and though I was no expert, I could understand what people meant about floral notes as the scent filled my nose. “Are you trying to turn me into a hedonist?”

His brow arched. “Is that what you’d call me?”

“You called yourself that.”

---