Sinner(37)

“We can’t do this,” I whisper.

“Nothing wrong with me teaching you, right?”

I wet my lips, looking up at him. “And what are you teaching me today?”

“This.”

His lips crush against mine, and I moan as I melt into them.

Hard.

He pushes us back against the bathroom door, and I gasp as I feel him press against me. His lips sear to mine, my hands tighten on his t-shirt, and I’m lost in that kiss.

Lost, until my senses come roaring back.

Lost, until the moment shatters as the sharp reality of what I’m doing crashes into me.

I shove him back, and my eyes are wild as I stare at him, my fingers coming up to brush my lips as if unable to process what we’ve just done.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. I wag a finger at him, “no, that- we-”

“Eva.”

“Leave me alone, Rowan,” I hiss, before turning on my heel and running back to the kitchen.

My hands are shaking, and I almost burn myself on the saucepan pouring it into the serving bowl. I take a second, taking deep breaths, trying to will the heat from my face before I round the corner back to the dining room.

“Sorry! I had to find your serving dishes!”

Lying.

Another sin.

Another notch on my road to hell.

“Oh, you should have hollered, honey!” Irene smiles as I put the serving dish down, trying somehow to avoid all eight pairs of eyes in the room as I take a seat.

Rowan comes back a minute later, his phone in his hand.

“Sorry, bar stuff.”

“Everything okay?” Jacob asks.

“Totally.” He flashes the table an easy, quick smile before landing on me, and holding there. “Totally good.”

I fastidiously study my couscous.

“Just one big misunderstanding.”



Rowan doesn’t stay for coffee, or for the cannoli’s he brought over — which are amazing. Instead, he ducks out after giving his mom a quick kiss, but not before one last lingering, smoldering, smirking look at me from the doorway.

The sound of his motorcycle drowns down the street as I quietly eat the dessert, my heart still pounding and my lips still bruised.

He’s sweet, sweet, sinful temptation.

And I’m falling.





Chapter Sixteen





Rowan




“Thanks,” I mumble, slamming the door to Silas’s pickup shut as he hands me a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.

“You know the way to my heart.”

He laughs, shifting the beat up old pickup into drive before flipping me off. I gratefully sip the black brew, letting it scald the inside of my mouth just enough to chase the demons from the night before away.

“You look like shit, you know.”

I snort into the coffee, bringing my hand up to run my fingers through my mop of hair.

“Yeah, well, busy night.”

“What was her name?”

“His name was Jack Daniels, and he was not nice.”

Silas laughs, shaking his head. “Look, you’re the guy who owns a bar, but popular opinion would be that you’re supposed to sell the booze, not drink it.”

I groan. “Another fuckin’ bachelorette party. Had to keep the atmosphere going.”

Silas rolls his eyes.

“Oh, like you don’t miss being single, out there sowing your oats?” I quickly look at him. “Wait, no, don’t actually fucking answer that.”

He snorts. “Trust me man, being married to your sister keeps me plenty occupied.”

I groan and cover my ears. “Uuuugh. Not listening. I’m not listening to that!”

He laughs.

Technically, Silas and Ivy have been married for like nine years, with a prolonged break in the middle there. A misunderstanding, I guess you could call it

After that night.

The night of the crash, after the robbery.

When you get older, you can look back on parts of your life where the road zigged and you zagged. That night is the biggest one in mine. Back then, Silas and I were just two young assholes looking for trouble, Silas had a way of finding it a little easier than I did, being that his family was a mess and mine was, well, TV perfect. Didn’t stop me from trying to get my hands into all sorts of the stupid shit he got into back then though.

I can remember the night of the truck robbery well. Hell, I’ll honestly never forget it. The night his criminal of an uncle, Declan, came to me asking if I could drive the getaway car while he and his wannabe Boston gangster friends held up an armored truck. Now, yeah, that sounds like the single dumbest idea in the world. Especially in this town when your last name is “Hammond”. Double especially when you’ve got a full ride to Boston College in the fall on a hockey scholarship.

I knew Declan had asked Silas first, and that he’d walked from the job.