Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(8)

“You smell like beer, by the way,” she says, frowning as she sniffs at the air around me like she’s some sort of bloodhound.

“No I don’t,” I say quickly.

“You do.”

I start to wrack my brain before suddenly words just come tumbling out. “Oh, right. Rowan was helping a homeless man out front of his restaurant when I got there. Giving him soup and all that. It’s probably that.”

Chastity’s eyes narrow at me. “Restaurant? I thought it was a bar.”

“Oh, is it?”

“You were there.”

“Oh, I’m not sure then. I didn’t really notice, I guess.”

Chastity rolls her eyes as she grabs her bag and heads up the stairs.

I turn, letting the air out in a thin stream as I look down the hill at the harbor. I shiver as my mind flies back to him — of stepping into that office, of seeing, well, what I saw.

The illicit, wicked temptations that came with being around him. I quickly shake those thoughts from my head as I pick up my bag and glance once more at the harbor before turning to the house.

Well, it’s nine-thirty in the morning, and I’ve already lied twice, harbored lust, and had very impure thoughts about a man.

Heck of a way to start the morning.





Chapter Four





Rowan




“Can I get…” The girl taps her lips thoughtfully with a perfectly manicured nail. Her cheeks blush bright crimson as she swallows the obvious lump in her throat.

I already know at least vaguely what she’s going to order based off the sparkling tiara on her head, the “bride to be” sash over one shoulder, and the penis necklace around her neck.

Most people — especially people who work in or own bars — find bachelorette parties to be obnoxious. Groups of drunk, excited women hopped-up like drug fiends on the idea of love, marriage, and the idea of a “last night of freedom”?

Yeah, I find them to be like shooting fish in a barrel.

“What can I get you, sweetheart.”

I amp up the Boston townie accent, playing into the fantasy I already know is playing in her head. The Ben Affleck in The Town, or Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting fantasy.

That’s why girls like her come into places like O’Donnell’s. We don’t have a cocktail menu. We carry one wine. We don’t have a DJ or pretty guys in designer jeans hustling to buy cute girls drinks. This place is a townie dive bar through and through, and girls like her who come in here want that. They want the dirty fantasy, the grunge of a place like this, the rakish charm of a guy like me.

Girls like her, with the enormous rock in her engagement ring, the flawless makeup, the designer dress and heels and four-thousand-dollar clutch know exactly who I am. They know I’m not the preppy hedge fund manager trust-fund boy they’re marrying next week. They know I’m not going to take them to Morton’s in the city, or buy their love with diamonds and a lap dog.

They see me for exactly who I am, and that is exactly why a guy like me makes for the best kind of “last night of freedom” escape.

She bites her lip playfully as her eyes center on me, and I can just about see her courage building to a crescendo behind those eyes.

“Can I get a sex on the beach.”

She practically explodes in nervous, alcohol fueled giggles as soon as she says it, and I can see her girlfriends camped out in the booth behind her dissolve into fits of giggles and “She actually said it!”

I just grin though, holding her eyes and not even flinching. “Bar closes at two. It should be low tide then if you’re interested.”

Her eyes go wide as her jaw drops.

I’m teasing her, but I’m not altogether kidding either, and she can see that.

“Oh, I- I’m-”

She stammers, her face growing red as she suddenly looks at her hands. “I’m, uh, I’m getting marr-”

“Relax darlin,” I say with a chuckle. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”

She looks up quickly, her face relaxing a little as she smiles awkwardly. “It was a-”

“Dare? Yeah, you’re not the first bachelorette party to come in here.”

Hers is actually the fifth one I’ve had blow through O’Donnell’s in the past two months.

“What do you really want to drink?”

She laughs nervously. “Actually, just a gin and tonic. I don’t even know what a sex on the beach is.”

“Offer still stands to show you if you want.”

She looks up quickly again as I wink at her, letting her decide for herself this time if I’m just teasing or not as I turn and grab a glass from the shelf behind me. I flip the gin bottle up in the air before catching it and pouring it over the ice. A little Tom-Cruise-Cocktail flair never turned a girl off, let me tell you.