Sinning in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 2)

There’s no such thing as subtlety—or, you’d certainly think that as I shy away from Rafe and cross my legs, knocking his hand off my thigh. I can feel that he’s faintly irritated, but he nonetheless leans back in the booth like he hasn’t a care in the world.

“Sin,” he says, nodding once in acknowledgement.

It takes a concentrated effort to keep my gaze on the table and off the new arrival, but I’m afraid to look at him. I’m not sure if I’m more nervous to see his facial expression—and if so, what am I afraid to see? His indifference? He’s not going to be jealous; he’s the one who sent me back to Rafe in the first place—or more nervous about how it’s going to feel to see him. Maybe the scariest thing of all is the prospect of looking at him and seeing how he responds to my evident turmoil.

I’ve been waiting for this moment, and now that it’s here, I am too afraid to face it. Sin takes a seat on the other end of the booth, directly across from me.

I rely on my peripherals to get a peek at him. He looks sinfully sexy in black slacks and a black jacket with a crimson shirt, open at the throat. Sin isn’t a tie guy. The temptation to look at his face is too great, and I raise my gaze to his, hoping he won’t be looking at me.

Thankfully, he isn’t.

It also stings of disappointment. It shouldn’t. Why would he be looking at me? I’m nothing to him. I may still be haunted by him, but he is not similarly afflicted. I could have never sent him away to someone else, and he did it with apparent ease. Never kissed me, never fucked me. I lost all my control around him, and he was able to hold everything back.

My heart doesn’t understand that, though. It’s painfully slow and I wish it would catch up. Instead, it urges my mind to capture his every movement and file them away for later. He greets Gio and Lydia, nods at Rafe, and completely ignores me.

My gaze drops. My heart aches. My stomach hurts.

He’s so fucking mean.

One of my last memories of him is worshipping his dick, and the manipulative bastard can’t even be bothered to say hello to me.

I’m feeling another mood swing coming on, and I doubt this one is the baby’s fault either. Discomfort amongst strangers was one thing, but this is so much worse. Sin isn’t a stranger like Gio or Lydia, he’s someone I have intimate memories with, and I can’t shake the feeling of rejection all over again. Now he’s rejecting my very presence at this table.

I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t. “Hi, Sin.”

He keeps his head turned so long, it’s obviously deliberate. Finally, he looks across the table and meets my gaze. Ice spears me right through the heart, piercing my soul. I shouldn’t have asked for his attention. I’m not prepared for it.

“Laurel,” he says simply. A toneless acknowledgement, betraying no importance whatsoever. His tone is civil, at least. Not that he has a reason to be anything less than civil to me, but he never has, and he was a jerk to me from the get-go.

Since my stomach is so unsettled I think I may hurl, I don’t do anything to further draw his attention. Suddenly parched, I look around for the server again. I see a scantily clad girl in a black latex dress, strapless and impractical for work, but she has a tray full of drinks. Once she finishes putting them on the table she’s standing in front of, I catch her eye. She doesn’t smile or indicate she’s coming, but after chatting up that table for another minute, she slides her tray underneath her arm and approaches ours.

“Hey, how are y’all doing tonight?” With a big, fake smile, she nods at a couple murmured responses she doesn’t care about, then asks, “Can I get y’all some drinks?”

I open my mouth to beg for water, but Sin speaks first. “Bottled water, sealed.”

“Me too,” I say, not caring that I am not next. “And a huge glass of ice, please.”

The waitress gives me a smile that’s somehow sweet and condescending at the same time. “Well, bless your heart, someone sure is thirsty.” I lose her attention as she smiles at Rafe. “And what can I get for you tonight, handsome?”

Grasping his heart theatrically, Rafe asks, “You don’t remember my drink? I’m hurt.”

Biting down on her bottom lip and flushing, she says, “Of course I remember your usual, but sometimes you mix it up. Stop playin’ with me,” she says, her tone a little whiny—but cute whiny. Flirty whiny.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Rafe continues, shaking his head. “You don’t remember. I’m bleeding out over here.”

“Rafe,” she wines. “You’re so mean to me.”

My face heats with embarrassment. I’m not sure if I want to stab him so he actually bleeds out, tell this bitch to fetch my fucking water, or flee the table. I don’t know if he’s flirting with her in front of me because he’s annoyed that I pulled back when Sin came to the table, or because he’s just a dick. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I allow for it being the first, and I kind of understand that. Not a fan, still profoundly embarrassing, but I get it.

I wonder if Rafe has fucked her. My gaze drifts to her in her tight latex dress, her long, tanned legs, the fake lashes she glued on before coming to work, her perfectly straightened dark hair. Probably. She’s gorgeous. Clearly into him. Or maybe they’ve only flirted. Maybe they haven’t fucked—yet. Maybe they will someday. Maybe he’ll humiliate me on a level I can’t even fathom, and this snotty little skank will be so smug bringing me my water, knowing she’s fucked my man, thinking it’s some kind of accomplishment.

Lydia finally speaks up. “I’ll have a mojito.”

“Sounds good, and what can I bring you?” she asks Gio, without the cutesy bullshit.

He orders and the waitress disappears, but not without another coy smile at Rafe that turns my stomach.

I’m not completely sure I even have a right to be, but I am steaming. He better not get touchy feely with me right now; I would rather punch him in the face than snuggle.