Sinful Like Us (Like Us 5)

If I cemented shoes to his feet, Banks would still find a way to lose them. “I have a spare set in Jane’s nightstand.”

“Thanks, Cinderella.”

I almost roll my eyes. “You still have my cornic’?” I gave him my gold necklace before I left.

The line deadens.

“Banks?”

“Yeah. It’s around my neck.”

Jane sits up a bit in slight alarm. “Is your brother…?”

“He’s okay.” I take off the washcloth and study her glazed eyes.

“Hey, Jane,” Banks says. “You feelin’ any better?”

“I suppose…a little.” She presses her fingers to her lips. “I think I’m going to…?”

I guide Jane back to the toilet, running my hand up and down her back while she dry heaves.

Banks tells me, “I talked to ma on the phone. She called your number.” Static breaks apart my brother’s voice. “She could tell I wasn’t you within the first three seconds.”

My lip rises. “What’d she say?” I’m assuming he explained the twin switch.

“She said, you’re a buncha dumbasses, but I love you both the most.”

I laugh, and the sound pulls Jane’s attention onto me. She smiles through the queasy-drunk-feeling. And very definitively, she says, “I love your mom.” The words almost slur together.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” She nods.

I don’t say much else to Banks before we lose service completely, but I warned him it’d probably happen.

After a few minutes, Jane stops dry heaving and breathes easier, and while she leans into my chest, I unlace her heeled fuzzy boots.

She attempts to undress. “I’m…stuck,” she mumbles, her elbows jammed into the fabric of her blouse.

I tug the thing off her head, my mouth curved up in a permanent smile. “How’s that?”

“Mmmmhmm.” She smooths her lips, staring up at me like I’m a midnight snack. “You were twenty-two…when I met you.”

I hold her gaze and pull off her right boot. “I was.”

“I’m seventeen.”

My mouth hikes in a larger smile. Clearly, she means she was seventeen back then, but she’s too drunk to catch the slip. “You were,” I nod and remove her left boot, setting both aside.

“What did you think?” Jane whispers.

My brows draw together. “What do you mean?”

She shivers, the house chilly but I run hot. And she’s only in a blue bra and a skirt that she slowly tries to crawl out of. I help her pull the tutu down her hips and legs, and then I hoist my girlfriend up in my arms.

Cradling Jane, I walk back into the cold bedroom.

She hangs onto my neck and cuddles up against my body. “I mean,” she says slowly, “what was your first impression of me? Whatwereyouthinking?” The last part slurs together, but I pick apart her question: what were you thinking?

I stare at her in my arms with her freckled cheeks and curious eyes, and I can almost see her six years ago.

Just seventeen.

How she’d been at the Hale house on my first day meeting Xander, and she ran hurriedly into the living room, frizzed hair stuck to her lips, out of breath, and mind racing faster than her feet would move. Confidence boosted this girl a million feet high.

She was trying to wrangle her cat on a leash to leave. I was trying not to stare too intensely.

“I thought you were smarter than me,” I say deeply, carrying her to bed.

She blushes, trying to suppress a smile. “How so?”

“You knew words I didn’t.” I can’t remember the exact word. It’s been too long, and she mulls this over while I gently place her on a twin bed.

I sift through her suitcase and find her favorite flannel pajamas, and I amble over, my knee on the mattress. Easily, I slide her legs into the pants and then arms into the top. She does her best to help, but she whacks herself in the face.

“I have you,” I whisper.

She lets me dress her, and when she’s warm and clothed, she plops back down with a content smile.

Before I pull up the covers, she rolls over and clutches my leg. “Stay.” Her body shakes as a chill ripples through the room.

“Okay.” I crouch down, unlacing my boots, slipping them off, and then I stand and unbutton my slacks. Surprisingly, she’s able to keep eye contact, but I can tell she’s still under the influence of whiskey.

She shifts her legs more than usual and her arms hang lifelessly on her hips.

“Is that all you thought about me?” she asks softly.

“No.” I shake my head.

There is a great chance she’ll never remember what I say now, but the truth isn’t hard to share with Jane drunk or sober.

“I thought you were young.”

Too young for me.

Too rich for me.

Too much of a Cobalt for me.

I was starting a career that would include protecting her and the people she loved, and I didn’t want to fuck it. I wanted to respect the fact that she was underage and the only thing that mattered was her safety.

Jane actually smiles. “I’m not that much younger than you…yourealize.” She slurs again.

“Five years?” I climb onto the small bed, and she rolls onto her back, spreading open her thighs. Fuck. My hands press on either side of her head on the mattress, and I keep my body weight off Jane. “You were only seventeen.”

Our eyes latch tightly as she whispers, “You were only twenty-two.”

I nod a few times.

I was only twenty-two. I was younger than she is now, and I hadn’t been out of the military for long. “Now I’m twenty-eight,” I say strongly, “and I’m doing what I should’ve done on day one.”

“What’s that?” She blinks hard, fighting a heavy sleep.

I dip my head and whisper against her ear, “Let myself love you.”

Jane grips my hair, as though to say, stay. Her breath comes out in a sharp wave, swelling my chest, and I slip under the covers, my legs hanging off the bed. I tuck her trembling body against my chest.

She burrows into me for warmth and security.

Moments pass, her eyes closed, and right before she drifts off, she murmurs, “Thatcher?”

“Yeah?”

She seems to hold tighter.

I cup her cheek. “I have you. You’re safe, honey.” I repeat the sentiments, and her body loosens.

And into the silence, she breathes, “I love you.”

It jolts me, and I hang onto those words, my veins pulsing. She’s only ever said I’m falling in love with you. It could just be a drunken slip, but it’s like a drug.

And I fall to sleep with in an indescribable high.

22

JANE COBALT

My heart is racing. “About the other night…” I speak quietly to Thatcher, as though my voice will carry across the endless rolling mountains.

> Chilly wind whips my wavy hair as I try to catch my breath. We just completed a climb to the top of a beautiful plateau, the flat grassland stretching left and right while sheep roam leisurely around us.

“Yeah?” Thatcher takes a quick glance down the steep rock-littered grass: what we just trekked up, where we left Tony at the bottom, my bodyguard a speck in the distance as he waits with the cars.

I was surprised when Tony listened to my request to stay there.

Even more shocked that he didn’t argue about “Banks” accompanying me. Though he made comments.

He said, “Take the killjoy. See how much fun you’ll have without me.” He leaned on the car like he was the smoothest sex god worthy of my lust, and then he flashed a flirty smile that made my ovaries shrivel.

“I don’t love being around you,” I snapped. “And if you believe you’ll be my bodyguard for long, you’re mistaken.”

His smile fell. “Come on.” He sounded hurt. “Whatever Moretti has said about me, it’s not true.”

“I can make up my own mind,” I rebutted, just as Thatcher approached us.

He assessed the uneasiness and the tension that wound between me and my bodyguard. His gaze narrowed on Tony. “What’d you say to her?”

“Nothing that everyone doesn’t know already.” Tony tried to raise his chin to appear taller than Thatcher. “I was just telling Jane that I’m more fun than you.”

To which I snapped back, “And your unsolicited opinion on Banks or Thatcher or a combination of the two is deeply unwelcome.” I glared.

Hotly.

I caught Thatcher smiling down at me. Maybe just the corner of his lip slightly rose, but that means more coming from a man who’s stern exterior rarely crumbles. And I could practically see the light pooling inside him.

Now that we’ve left Tony behind and it’s just my boyfriend and me, nerves flap in my stomach. Butterfly-nerves—I have them tenfold around Thatcher and his commanding presence and his hard-to-read features that I canvass eagerly.

He has his arms crossed, radio mic attached to a blue outdoorsy jacket that reminds me of Banks. And his eyes have returned to me with such raw intensity.