Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(7)

“Oops,” she says, giving me an apologetic smile that I know is fake. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Really?” My eyes center on her blue mouth. Well, I got the Kool-Aid stain right. She’s leaning on her elbows, holding a blue snowball in her hand. When she wraps her lips around the ice and sucks the juice from it, I suppress the urge to groan. A part of me wonders if she did that shit intentionally. “What you buying?” She walks up to me, leaning over and surveying the contents of my cart. “Cereal, bread, peanut butter, and canned beans. Hmm. Sounds delicious.” She flashes me another blue smile and my lips twitch. Although she’s annoying, I find her interesting.

Turning, I glance into her cart. “Juice boxes, nabs, NyQuil, frozen pizzas, and Popsicles. Well,” I say, with a smile. “The kids will be happy.”

She gives me a disgusted look. “No kids.”

“What about a husband?” I ask, in my shitty attempt to pry into her personal life.

Shaking her head, she takes a bite of the blue ice before answering. “I killed him.”

“With your cooking?” I smirk, and her eyes narrow on me.

“I’m actually a really good cook.” Sure she is.

With challenge written all over her face, she smirks at me. “Let’s make a bet. If you can guess what my favorite dinner is, I’ll cook it for you.”

Well, that’s hardly fair. “Don’t I get a hint?” I ask, wondering why in the hell I’m playing along with her silly game in a supermarket. Not to mention, I’m actually enjoying it.

“It’s on that aisle,” she offers, waving her hand toward the next aisle over. I look up and see the sign that reads “Pasta.” Judging by the items in her cart, I’m sure her skills are limited—leaving only one possible answer. Well, that was a little too easy. She must really want to cook for me.

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and Diem is forgotten as I push past her and take the call from Nationals.

“I need some information,” Chaps, our national enforcer, tells me.

“And I’ll get it,” I respond, grabbing a pack of Gatorade as I round the corner.

“Ever heard of a guy named Fin?”

I search my brain, then remember Fin is the sergeant at arms for Death Mob. He’d given Rookie some shit once in Houston, but I haven’t seen him since then.

“I know who he is,” I growl, remembering how disrespectful he was and how badly I’d wanted to kill him.

“Get me everything you got on him. We’ve heard a rumor that he might be building an army.” Stupid f*cker. Did Death Mob really think they could fight us and win?

“I’ll have it to you tonight.” Hanging up, I see Diem at the end of the aisle bending over to grab something from the bottom shelf. Her round ass is barely concealed by her shorts and I’m practically salivating at the sight.

I usually like long legs, but there’s something about her small, toned ones that send my dick into overdrive. They’re petite, but perfectly proportional. Even her ankles are sexy. Damn. I need to get laid. I’d kissed her twice, so we were halfway there already. I had work to do tonight, so dinner was out of the question. But maybe she’s up for a quick f*ck in the parking lot.

Walking up behind her, I see her still struggling with whatever it is she’s trying to get. All I would have to do is wrap my hands around her waist and lift her just a little to have her centered on my cock. Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I squat down beside her.

“Lose something?” I ask, and she jumps at the sound of my voice.

Glaring at me, I can see her pulse beating rapidly against her throat. “You scared the shit outta me,” she hisses, grabbing her chest dramatically.

Rolling my eyes, I duck my head and peer into the bottom shelf. We’re so close I can smell the blue raspberry on her breath. My cock becomes aware of her too, and I mentally tell him to back the f*ck down.

“It’s stuck on that thingy,” she says, pointing to the last fifty-pound bag of sugar shoved all the way to the back of the shelf.

“What the f*ck do you need with fifty pounds of sugar?” I mumble, attempting to grab the bag while she stays in my personal space. I turn to look at her, our lips a little too close for comfort. “Well, sweetheart, if you’ll move, I’ll unhook it from the thingy.”

She backs away and I give the bag a jerk. It releases, and I effortlessly pull it from the shelf and set it in her cart. Dusting the granules from my hand, I brush them down the front of my jeans. I feel her eyes on me and glance up from beneath my cap to find her staring at my arms in appreciation. Maybe we’ll be having parking lot sex after all.

Giving her my best panty-dropping smile, I pretend to wipe something from her lip that really isn’t there. “Need anything else?” I ask, praying like hell she’s picking up what I’m putting down.

Snapping back to reality, her back straightens. It’s hard for her to look intimidating and like a Smurf at the same time, but I give her an E for effort. “No, I’m good.” I bet she is.

“See you around, Diem.” I start to walk away, but I want to remind her just how good I really am. And that I don’t need to pay anyone for information. “Let me know how that spaghetti turns out.” I wink, feeling a sense of satisfaction when I notice the look of shock on her face. And I’m pretty sure she’s a little turned on too. She’ll probably be moaning Zeke’s name tonight while she touches herself.