Bane (Sinners of Saint #4)(12)

“Almost, No One.”

I was, in fact, nearly done. But I wanted to prolong her departure, because she was about as compliant as a toaster. I wasn’t sure when the next time I’d see her would be. I also knew that, in some fucked-up, fate-ish way, I wanted to help her. I had a dog in this fight. I knew a thing or two about rape. Hell, maybe that’s why I was such a whore. It didn’t feel right to say no when so many women hadn’t had the choice. Then again, I couldn’t leave Jesse hanging there for hours.

“All yours, Snowflake.” I stood up, wiping the grease on my cargo pants. She nodded, still several feet away from me, pointing at the coffee sitting on her hood, so she didn’t have to come closer.

“Snowflake?”

“Your name can’t be No One, so I choose Snowflake.”

“Is that some political commentary on me?” She narrowed her eyes.

I tried not to roll mine. “No political assumptions here. You just look like a snowflake.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re pasty as fuck.”

Because I found you in the dirt that’s called life, and you stood out. Like an opportunity I cannot miss.

Her gaze flicked to my face for the first time. Her eyes were terrifyingly expressive. The color of the ocean. I realized how corny that sounded, but shit, it didn’t make it any less true. “I…well, thanks, I guess.”

“Wait,” I said, dumping the toolbox to the ground with a thud. “Now I owe you a coffee.”

She stared at me like I’d grown a second head, one that was green and had a hat in the shape of a dick. “That’s not how things work.” She frowned, incredulous.

“Who are you to say how things work?” I parked my hip over her vehicle, squinting under the sun.

“Who are you to say how things work?” She widened her eyes, her anger outweighing her distress.

“I own a coffee shop. I know more about coffee etiquette than you, and I owe you a coffee. Let’s have it tomorrow.”

She grabbed the untouched coffee from her hood, walked over to the nearest trash bin, and threw it with purpose. Then she sauntered to her SUV and yanked the driver’s door open. “There. Now you don’t owe me anything.”

“You still paid for it,” I said, not entirely sure I wasn’t fucking it up, but not having much choice, either. She was a hard nut to crack. I was so used to charming my way into women’s panties, I forgot how to worm my way into their hearts. Normally, it was embarrassingly easy.

I flexed my tatted arms, picking up my surfboard.

Gathered my wild, blond hair into a bun.

Curled my fingers and stretched on a yawn, displaying my six-pack.

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.