Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

His lips smooth into a thin line, revealing dimples on each side of his glorious mouth. His brows lift as his face takes on a pensive slant. “I’ll throw you a bone, Whatley. Matt’s with me.”

I blink a bunch of times. I can’t stop myself. Somehow, what he said makes even less sense than me being set up. “He’s... ? Matt’s... are you saying you’re—?” I laugh. “Are you saying you’re a drug dealer?”

“I’m not a dealer. Matt is.” His lips remain pressed together, and his blue eyes seem to twinkle, as if he’s in on a big joke.

“Are you a supplier? A grower? The money man? Are you a fucking cop, Kellan?” My voice trembles. “Where’s Matt?” I jump up out of the chair. “I want to know what’s going on!”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know, but you need to tell me.” My breath hisses out my nostrils. “I don’t like surprises.”

“I don’t either,” he says, stepping close enough so I can smell his cinnamony breath. “So imagine my surprise when one of my guys told me he was losing clients to a sorority girl. A pretty girl with a nose ring and long, dark hair.”

His words are like drop-kicks to my chest. I hold my hands up while I try to comprehend. And then I do, and I see motherfucking red. “You’re a dealer. You’re a fucking dealer! What the fuck?”

He shakes his head, rubbing his mouth. “Matt’s a dealer. Not me.”

“You’re a grower!”

He shakes his perfect blond head. “Soil’s too rocky out here.”

“You must think I don’t know anything. No one grows it outside.”

“Most don’t,” he agrees. “You and I know that plants grown outside tend to yield higher bud counts.”

“So you are a grower!”

He shakes his head.

“You’re a money man. You loan money to a dealer—”

He shakes his head. “I don’t loan my money out to anyone.”

I watch him bring his hands together, lining up his fingertips as his face takes on a thoughtful slant. “I’ll make this straightforward, Cleo. On the condition that, if you ever tell anyone about our encounter here today, you’ll come to regret it.”

“That’s a little fucking creepy,” I snap, though I want to wail and flee. This is a fucking mess. I’m scared. I keep fear off my face, instead acting annoyed. “What’s your problem?”

He shakes his head. “Those sort of threats come with the business, right? I’m protecting my interests.”

“So you are in the weed business! Holy fucking shit.”

A soft smile flits over his lips. He lifts his brows. “I have a proposition for you,” he says softly.

“I cannot believe you did that!” I laugh, even as my heart is beating hard from pure, old-fashioned rage. “You scared me shitless, you asshole. You’re a fucking double-timing liar—and you stole my shit!”

He takes a smooth step back. Holds up his hands. “Whoa there.”

“Whoa my ass! You took my shit! You ruined my business. Now I’m—” I suck air in.

“Now you’re what?”

“I won’t be your competition anymore,” I rasp. My vision blurs from furious tears. “What you did led me to call my regular person. I must have sketched him out or just plain pissed him off, because now he isn’t dealing to me anymore.” I whirl around and lean against the bed’s footboard. I’m breathing so hard, I’m kind of worried I might pass out.

I feel his hand on my back. On the lower part, the curve of my spine just above my ass. It’s an intimate gesture, one that lets me know immediately he’s as controlling and enticing as I ever heard.

“Stop it.” I whirl.

He smirks—gentle, as if he understands why I’m upset and only wants to alleviate my anxiety. “I’m your SGA president, Cleo,” he says patiently. “I wouldn’t lead you astray.”