Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

“Cleo Whatley thinks I’m pretty?” We walk into the second level of the parking deck, and I can feel him regain his equilibrium as his fingers play with mine. “That’s news.”

“Yeah, right.” I snort.

“You think your opinion doesn’t matter to me?”

I hear a beeping sound, and a few cars ahead of us, his Escalade’s lights flash. “I think you’re a whore, so right, you probably don’t care.”

He walks me to the passenger’s side, opening it for me while still shouldering my bags. I slide my fingers out of his, or try to. He catches them again and nuzzles my shoulder with his forehead, urging me back against the passenger’s seat. I feel his chest brush mine, and then his lips are on mine, warm and soft.

“Cleo—even whores have feelings,” he breathes against my cheek.

He pulls away just enough so I can see his smirk. He leans down to kiss me in between my brows, and then he’s disentangling from me. I give him what I pray looks like a cool-headed, doubtful smirk of my own before climbing up into my seat. He shuts the door behind me, quickly deposits my bags in the back seat, then strides to the driver’s side.

I watch him walking, and I can’t help but admire the utility of his movements. He’s so graceful.

Half the campus calls him the golden god, so at least it’s not just me. And still—how embarrassing. I told him I thought he was perfect. I have a few heartbeats to wonder at his strange reaction before he opens the driver’s door and slides in. He fills the space so thoroughly, I find myself shrinking in my seat. I wrap my hand around the top of the croissant bag in my lap.

He buckles his seat belt, then his eyes flick over me. “Buckle up for safety, Cleo.”

“Right,” I murmur. I pull the belt across my lap, feeling self-conscious as I snap it into place. What’s wrong with me? I need to screw my head on straight.

Kellan shifts the car into reverse, and as he looks over his shoulder, his gaze flickers down to a to-go coffee cup between us.

“For you.” His blue eyes find my own. “A café mocha.”

My pulse picks up, ridiculously, and again I struggle to exude a calm, cool vibe. “Good call.” I smile. “Chocolate is a win with me.” I pick it up and take a long swallow as the car glides backward out of the space. “Damn.” I exhale slowly. “There was whipped cream in here, wasn’t there? It must have melted, but I can totally taste it.”

His mouth curves a little, and I thump his muscular forearm. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”

He doesn’t reply, and I notice we’re driving up the ramp instead of down.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Your car.”

I rifle in the croissant bag as we drive out of the shadows and onto the top story of the deck. “You know where I’m parked? Wait a minute... how’d you find me here in the first place?”

“I went to the Tri Gam house, and one of the girls—Steph, I think—told me you weren’t there. I checked around and saw your car here.”

“Why were you looking for me?”

He brakes behind my Miata, and his eyes meet mine head-on. “Why do you think, Cleo?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

“Yes you do.” His hand encases mine, just briefly, before releasing it. “Give me your keys and I’ll get it out of your car.” It being the brick.

I fish my keys out of my bag, refusing to meet his eyes as I hand them over.

“You got anything else in there? I’d like to leave your car here until later.”

“Why?” I ask suspiciously.

“You worried I’m being shady?” He smirks.

“Yes.”

“I’m not. At least not in a way that’ll bother you.”