Page 107 of Beautiful Sinners

“I think I can do much better than hugs.”

CHAPTER 37

After noticing I’ve re-read the same paragraph five times without absorbing any information, I use my highlighter as a bookmark and close the biology textbook. Uncrossing my legs, I straighten them out in front of me and reach to touch my toes. My back and butt ache from sitting on the floor for too long.

“You can save a tree if you went digital,” Constantine says from the couch.

“I like having the physical book.”

He hauls me off the floor and pulls me into his lap, then proceeds to render me catatonic when he begins massaging my neck and head. He works on the tightness in my trapezius, and my head droops forward like a wilting flower as I go boneless from his ministrations.

“I still can’t believe you kidnapped Cocky B and flew him up here.”

“It was either a one-and-half-hour flight or an eleven-hour car ride stuck in a pet carrier,” Tristan says as he shuts his laptop.

When we talked this morning about Alana and Gabriel, I had mentioned in passing that Alana asked our neighbor, Mike, to take care of Cocky B and the hens. I didn’t ask how they were able to locate my rooster so quickly or what they did to get him here. Some questions are best left unanswered.

Tristan lifts my feet to prop them on top of his thigh, and I go from catatonic to moaning like a whore when his fingers dig into the arch of my foot.

“I’m going to have to go to New York next week for a board meeting. Elias has things handled for the time being.”

My relaxed state of bliss disappears at the mention of his family’s shipping company. In a perfect world, we’d be four regular college students with boring lives who have nothing more important to think about than studying and which party to attend on the weekends.

“No one has heard from Francesco or Helena?” I ask.

Tristan’s thumb pauses its circular motion. His whiskey browns flick to me, then away. “Uh, no.”

Constantine’s hands slip from my neck when I sit up and slide my feet off Tristan’s lap.

“I know this is a hot button for you, but maybe you should ask Aleksander.”

“No.”

Shocker.

“Hear me out—”

“I said no,” Tristan bites out.

Stubborn, pigheaded pain in my ass.

When he gets up from the couch and storms out of the living room, I’m right on his heels. All the mind games from Aleksander and prevarication from the guys are beginning to drive me nuts. I feel stuck, and I’m frustrated that I can’t move forward in my life until I find who killed my parents.

“You said you wanted all this to be over, so why aren’t you doing anything to end it? Aleksander alluded knowing where they were, so make him tell you… or I will.”

The more I thought about what I mentioned to Constantine earlier about the possibility of Patrick, Gabriel, or Francesco being responsible for what happened in Ireland, the more I think I’m right.

Tristan pivots around and gets up in my space. “Stay away from him.”

“You know I can’t. Not now. Not if he knows something that will help me find who—”

The air gets knocked out of me when I’m lifted and tossed over a shoulder.

“It’s too late for that shit, and I’m horny,” Hendrix says, taking the stairs two at a time.

“I’m told cold showers work wonders.”

He smacks my ass, hard, and a bloom of warmth spreads where his hand made contact.

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