Bane (Sinners of Saint 4)

Stick a fork in them. Boom. They were fucking done.

With her, I was off my game.

She slid into her seat and reached to slam the door in my face. I had to do something, anything, because I was feeling less and less in control of the situation, and I hated it. Jesse Carter wasn’t responding well to my advances, and wasn’t that an ice cold bucket of shit right into my face? I slid my foot between her door and her car.

“Wait.”

Note to self: never put your limbs anywhere near Jesse Carter when there’s a door in the vicinity. She slammed the door on my foot. Fuck.

I pulled my leg away at the same time she yelped in disbelief. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. Instead of jumping up and down and praying to hell she hadn’t broken any bones, I simply flashed her my cocky grin.

“I didn’t mean to slam it that hard.” She winced, and I think she meant it. The contrast between her black hair and fair skin was shocking. She looked like a painting. Not a weird-ass, provocative painting, like a Peter Paul Rubens. Rather, like a Disney princess. One that was drawn by a horny sixteen-year-old who gave her a pair of fantastic tits.

“Yeah? Make it up to me. Coffee. Tomorrow. Call it a job interview. I need a new barista, Snowflake,” I hissed out the words, knowing they were desperate and not giving much shit.

“I’m not looking for a job.”

“Do you have one?”

“It’s not really any of your business.”

“Good point. Let’s establish a friendship first. I’ll lure you into the position later. For now—coffee.”

“No.”

“What would it take for you to say yes?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. There’s always something.”

“Nope. Nothing would make me have coffee with you, Bane.”

“Think harder. You seem like a bright girl. I’m sure we can come up with an idea.”

She sighed, staring up at the sky like the answer was there in skywriting. “Maybe if you saved my life, and I owed you in some fundamental way. Otherwise, I don’t date.”

“You’re not listening. I want you to work for me. And to be your friend.”

“I’ll never work for you. And why would you want to be my friend?”

Because your daddy will pay me six million bucks for the pleasure.

“Because you seem like a cool chick. Because you’re funny. And quick-witted. And not the worst to look at, despite that shirt. But I don’t date. And I’m not interested in sleeping with you, either.”

Told you I was a goddamn liar.

“Are you gay?” Her eyes lit up. I might as well have pretended to be gay. I let plenty of guys suck my cock when I was younger, to see if I liked it. Then again, there was no point in lying to her more than absolutely necessary. She looked almost hopeful, chewing on a lock of her hair nervously. Like what was standing in our way of friendship was my lack of love for dick.

“No. But my job doesn’t allow for a girlfriend. It’s a long story.” I wiped my forehead again, knowing I was sweaty and greasy and ruggedly delicious to every single woman in the universe who wasn’t Jesse Carter.

“So you just want to be friends?” she asked. She was sitting in her car, and I was trying hard not to look down at my foot to see if it had fallen off, and it was goddamn sweltering. I didn’t want to be her friend at that moment. I wanted to shove my foot into a bucket of ice and curse her into next week.

“And a barista,” I added. “Two birds, one stone.”

Jesse mulled the idea for a few seconds, worrying her lip, before saying, “No.”

Then she threw her SUV into drive and bolted down the road, toward Main Street, probably up to El Dorado. I watched the back of her Rover in the same way I’d watched her ass all those years ago, with a mixture of longing, annoyance, and awe.

She really did remind me of the snow.

Just like it, she was going to melt on my tongue.

ALWAYS PART WAYS WITH PEOPLE you love like you’ll never see them again.

That’s the advice my dad had given me when I was nine, and I’d mulled it over in my head since. I didn’t know why his words made me think of Bane. Maybe because I remembered the last words I told my father so vividly before his death.

I never want to see you, ever again.

We had just found out about his affair, Pam and I. Back then, she used to let me call her Mom. His betrayal cut through every layer of confidence and happiness I’d been wrapped in throughout my life. I halfway blamed him for everything else that happened afterwards. Even Emery. After all, if it weren’t for his affair, Pam wouldn’t have tried to reinvent herself and found Darren. I would still call her Mom. I wouldn’t live in Todos Santos, but in Anaheim. I wouldn’t have a Range Rover, but at least I’d be happy.