Saint (A Dark Mafia Romance)(17)
I glance up, and he’s grinning broadly.
I frown. “Yes?”
“Nothing, I’m just enjoying this game. “
I say nothing for a minute before I swallow and bring my eyes to his.
“Why am I here?” I say quietly.
“I’m pretty sure you’d prefer this to the alternative.”
I swallow thickly, and something crosses his face.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he says gruffly.
“Gee, thanks.”
“You were thinking it.”
“You don’t know what I was thinking.”
He smiles at me patronizingly. “Right.”
“You don’t know a thing about me, actually,” I suddenly spit out, glaring at him. “I know you think you’ve got me all figured out, but you are so wrong about all of it.”
“Are you or are you not a college student.”
I scowl. “Not.”
He raises a brow at me like he doesn’t believe me, and I look away.
“I’m in grad school, thank you very much.”
He laughs.
“And where are you from.”
“Why on earth would I tell you that?”
“You worried I might come find you and carry you back to my loft and tie you up?”
My eyes dart to his face to see him grinning a cocky, smug grin.
“Oh, right, I’ve already done that.”
“Why are you such an ass?”
“Why won’t you just answer the question? Prove me wrong, princess. Tell me you’re from fuckin’ Detroit or something, and take away all my little preconceived notions of you being this perfect little-”
“Fine, I’m from Shelter Harbor.”
He starts to laugh.
“Oh fuck you.”
Of course, I’m from the most quaint, adorable seaside town on the Massachusetts coast you could possibly imagine. A haven for city tourists in the summer, a destination spot for retirees going leaf-peeping in the fall, a “New England wintery wonderland” in the cold months, according to the Travel and Leisure article that came out a few years back.
I am from the most non-edgy, safest, vanilla, small-town in the world, and for some reason, I hate that he was so right about that.
“You’re from Shelter fucking Harbor? Of course you are.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“The place where you can ride the ferry, and eat fuckin’ lobster rolls on the pier, take the walking tour of the old Benjamin Franklin house?” He smirks. “Of course that’s where you’re from.”
“John Adams.”
He frowns. “What?”
“It’s John Adams’s house, not Ben Franklin.”
Connor snickers.
“Oh fuck off. This doesn’t mean you know anything about me.”
“Oh, trust me, I still have plenty of questions.”
“Well, good for you.”
“Like why I could smell gasoline on you last night and maybe why you have soot under your fingernails?”
I swallow, immediately covering and twisting my fingers in my lap to hide my nails.
Connor sighs. “Look, you want some coffee or would you rather sit there petulantly. Here’s a spoiler: you refusing my coffee doesn’t actually hurt my feelings, princess.”
My head throbs with the hangover, and the coffee addict inside of me screams at me to just shut the hell up and accept what’s being offered.
“Fine,” I spit.
He chuckles. “Jesus Christ, I’m from Southie and I’ve got better manners than the girl from Shelter fucking Harbor. Don’t they teach please and thank you on the Ben Franklin tour?”
“John Ada- forget it. Can I please have some coffee,” I mumble.
“Oh, but of course,” he bows sarcastically. “But listen, Ms. Shelter Rich-Girl Harbor, I think I might be out of silver platters upon which to serve you with-”
“Fuck you.”
Chapter Nine
Connor
She resists, but it’s less so this time when I tie her to one of the tall chairs at my kitchen counter.
“How do you take it?”
“Milk.”
I glance up at her, raising a brow with a smirk on my lips. I see her scowl, and I know how badly she wants to defy me on this, and how badly she seems to want to take every opportunity to spit in my face. But I can also see how much her eyes glow at the sight of the mug of coffee.
“Manners, princess?”
Her lips purse. “Milk please,” she hisses.
I grin. “Of course, your highness.”
I pass her the mug and then check the knots at the back of the chair.
“I’ll be right back.”
I’ve just gotten a text from Damien that he’s downstairs.
“Where are you going?”
Her eyes go wide as if the prospect of me leaving her here alone is somehow weirder than me being here.