“I’ll watch my fucking mouth, all right.” Patting his pocket, he draws out a key, then sighs. “I can’t get behind the wheel like this. Fuck.”
“Come over to the casino,” I tell him. “You don’t have to stay out on the floor; you can hang out in the back while you sober up enough to head home.”
“I can’t, I need to get back to my house.”
“Why?”
Sin shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll call someone.” Pointing his finger at me, he says, “Call Laurel. Do it now. Do it before someone else does.”
“Fuck that,” I tell him. “If someone else wants to deal with this pregnancy shit, someone else can. Maybe she can tell him he’s the father,” I suggest.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Sin tells me again. “I want it on record I tried to help you and you declined.”
“I’ll sign a document in blood if you need me to,” I tell him.
“Great.” Slipping his key back into his pocket, he draws out his phone and stumbles away.
“Are you leaving?” I ask.
“Yep. Going home. I told you that.”
“Well, are you done being pissed at me?”
Sin glances up from his phone, then nods at me. “Yep, I’m done.”
“Good.”
“Yeah. Good.”
14
Laurel
When Sin comes in this time, he makes no attempt at stealth. I’m annoyed with him for tying me to the bed before he left, so I shoot him a dirty look as soon as I see his face.
Instead of the smirk he favors, he smiles at me again, leaning against the doorframe. The sight of his smile unsettles me the same way it did last time. There’s an almost playful glint in his eye as he leans there, his gaze wandering over my body. When his brown eyes land on my cuffs, his smile widens.
I shift, trying to sit up, but because of where he’s standing and the fact that I’m still wearing this dress, I don’t want to move my legs too much and give him an eyeful.
“Can you get these off me now?” I ask.
Pushing off the frame, he strolls over to my side of the bed. His eyes aren’t on me; they’re on my night stand. “I don’t know,” he says, almost absently as he picks up my phone. “I sorta like you tied to my bed.”
I wasn’t completely prepared for that, so I don’t know wh
at to say. I’m also not sure what to say about him checking my phone right now like it belongs to him. “There’s this thing called privacy,” I tell him. “Want me to tell you about it?”
Now I get the little smirk. “I know about privacy.” He flashes me the screen. “Your sister wants to know why you’re ignoring her calls.”
“Tell her a maniac in Vegas has me chained to his bed periodically, and I need her to send help.”
“Spotty reception,” he reads aloud as he types. “Call you later.” Second guessing himself, he glances at me. “Exclamation? Smiley face? Pointless l-o-l?”
Cocking an eyebrow in disbelief, I inform him, “I am not going to give you tips on how to fake texts from me.”
“Dolphin emoji it is.”
“What?” I demand. “How does that make sense?”