Chapter 6
Chapter Six
SINCLAIR
T he man is oblivious.
Gorgeous and sexy and drunk too, but also completely oblivious to my identity, and I thought he’d recognize me the instant he saw me. Not that I think he should remember me. I wasn’t that memorable to him back in the day when I was a fourteen-year-old, painfully shy, brace-face with no boobs and awkward AF. Sometimes when I’m being real with myself, I can look back and recognize exactly why he made fun of me. I was ripe for the picking, as the old saying goes. Na?ve and vulnerable and desperate to belong. I felt out of place, out of my league and scared out of my mind. He could probably smell the desperation emanating from me and honed right in.
“If you ever need me to take him down, I’m your man,” he says with the utmost sincerity. Would he be angry if I started laughing again? Because I’m close to cracking. “But if you want my help, I do have some criteria that needs to be met first.”
“Criteria? Such as?” I sound like I’m teasing. Flirting. Finally. I never feel comfortable enough to flirt with any guy—I get too in my head. But I guess all it took was a boatload of horribly strong scotch to loosen me up.
His expression turns deadly serious. “I need to know a few…facts about you first.”
“Like what?” I ask warily.
“Your age, first of all.”
“Eighteen,” I answer without hesitation.
He makes a tsking noise. “You’re a baby.”
“A legal adult,” I correct.
“Still a baby.” He hesitates. “Don’t you want to know how old I am?”
Oh right. I’m not supposed to know. “Tell me.”
“Twenty-two.” His smile is lethal. “A lecherous old man compared to you.”
“Please.” I roll my eyes and cross my arms, looking like—no doubt—a big old baby. “What’s your other criteria?”
“Your name.” His gaze locks with mine. “I need to know it. Now.”
I blink at him, suddenly terrified. There’s a lump in my throat I can’t swallow past and the truth looms before me. Big and ugly and about to come crashing down upon me the moment I reveal who I am. “I thought you liked the mystery.”
“I’m fucking over the mystery.” He reaches for me, his fingers tangling with mine for the briefest moment and I don’t try to jerk out of his hold. Which is like a small miracle because I don’t necessarily like it when people touch me. “Tell me.”
“Sinclair,” I whisper, bracing myself for the moment he recognizes my name. “Sinclair Miller.”
He studies me in silence while I sit in quaking fear, ready for him to burst out laughing when he figures out that I’m the very girl he used to taunt for being ugly. Pathetic. Dumb. “Sinclair.”
I nod once, still trembling.
“Sin.” His smile becomes pure sin as well. “I like that. ”
That’s all he says and it hits me—he doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t recognize my name. This man that has loomed large in my memories for so many years, doesn’t recall me at all.
And that pisses me off.
“What’s your name?” I toss at him, my tone hostile, which matches my new mood.
“Promise you won’t freak out?”
Is he for real right now? “I promise.”
A sigh leaves him and he runs his fingers through his golden-brown hair, messing it up in the most adorable way possible. God, he’s gorgeous and it’s infuriating. “August. August Lancaster.”
“Ahhh.” That’s the only thing that comes out of my mouth and I can tell he hates it.
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
“What do you want me to do? Slobber all over you because you’re a Lancaster?”
“Want the truth? That’s what usually happens.” He shrugs.
“Well, I’m not interested in you like that.”
“Really.”
“Really,” I return, deadpan.
“Prove it.”
I’m frowning. “Huh?”
“Prove it.” He sprawls his big body across the couch, spreading his legs and patting his thigh. “Come here.”
“What? No.” I shake my head as he’s reaching for my hand, tugging on it until I have no choice but to practically fall into him. He catches me at the last second, his gaze locking with mine.
“Sit on my lap, Sin.” His smile is devilish. “See if I can tempt you.”
Next thing I know I find myself perched carefully on his hard, muscular thigh, my heart racing, my head spinning. Being this close to him, I can smell his delectable scent. To the point that it’s overwhelming me, and not in a bad way. I take in his incredibly smooth skin, the lush curve of his lips, the thick eyelashes that frame his intense, icy blue eyes. He is truly beautiful and the memories come back, one after the other, crowding my brain and reminding me why I hate him.
The taunting sound of his voice. The choice words he used to hurt me. It was like he knew all of my weaknesses and I never understood how he was able to get inside my head like he did. Maybe he had some sort of sixth sense or something, but it was disconcerting how he left me in shambles every time we had an interaction.
I’m in shambles at this very moment but for different reasons. There’s something bubbling between us that I don’t recognize and it scares me. Far worse than his humiliating words and the way he used to laugh at me, always coaxing his friends to join in.
I hate him. Sitting on August Lancaster’s lap is the opportunity that younger me would’ve wished for. It would take nothing for me to grab him by the balls and twist until he screamed in pain. Or I could kick him. That might be easier because I could run right after I did it, reveling in the sound of his agonizing groans the moment my foot made contact with his nuts.
I’ve never done anything like that in my life, but I can envision it and lord help me, it makes me smile.
“You should do that more often,” he murmurs.
I jerk my gaze to his, startled. “Do what?”
“Smile.” He leans in, mouth mere inches from mine. “Are you tempted yet?”
“N-no.” Damn it, my shaky voice just gave me away, because I am tempted. Despite everything, the hate burning in the pit of my stomach, the unease slipping through my blood…
I want to touch him. Just once. Pretend that we don’t have a shared past and just revel in him. Something I’ve never been tempted with before.
“Liar.” The smirk that appears on his face is as infuriating as it is appealing. “I bet I could have you naked and screaming in my bed in the next twenty minutes.”
The vision his words conjure up leaves me feeling sweaty. “Twenty?”
“Okay. Fifteen.” His smile is as cocky as I’ve ever seen it.
“I would never.”
“Oh, but you might.” His hand settles on my cheek, angling my head just so. “It would be good between us.”
I’ve never done anything that he’s referring to so I have no idea if it would be good or not. Sex doesn’t interest me because it involves feelings and feelings are messy. Watching my mother weep in despair after discovering another one of my father’s affairs has turned me off of love completely. It doesn’t exist. Why bother?
“You don’t know that for sure,” I whisper because it’s like my voice has disappeared, and I don’t know where it went. When he threads his fingers into my hair, slightly tugging on the strands, I close my eyes for a moment and enjoy the way he’s touching me. Soft yet rough. The contradiction is alluring.
Tempting.
“I can just tell. Can’t you?” His lips brush mine in the briefest of kisses. There and gone in an instant but leaving an imprint on my fucking soul if I’m being truthful. My entire body tingles at the short contact, leaving me a quivering mess.
As if he can sense my giving in, he quickly stands, grabbing hold of my hand and keeping me upright and I’m grateful I don’t fall. He doesn’t say a word to me as he yanks me through the crowds of people in the frat house. Just leads me toward the stairwell and practically runs up the stairs, me trailing behind him, our hands still linked, our fingers curled around each other’s. I let him take me down the hall, anticipation buzzing through my veins as he whips out a key from his pants pocket when we stop in front of a closed door. He unlocks it and pulls me inside, shutting the door and pushing me against it.
Our mouths clash, a whimper leaving me when his tongue thrusts between my lips, curling around mine. The kiss is hungry and all-consuming and terrifying, and I rest my hands against his broad chest, desperate to stop him so I can escape.
Instead, it’s like my hands have a mind of their own, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer. The moan that ripples through the air startles me, even more so when I realize I’m the one who made the sound. His hands are everywhere, slipping beneath my shirt, his assured fingers drifting across my bare skin and oh God, I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Only to realize it’s my tormentor who’s making me feel this way.
The clarity hits me like someone punched me in the face. What the hell am I doing, letting August touch me like this? Kiss me like this?
I push him off of me with a strength I didn’t know I had. He stumbles backward, glaring at me. His chest rises and falls at a rapid pace and his lips are damp and swollen from kissing me. I’m filled with the sudden urge to grab hold of him and beg him to do it again but I can’t. I won’t. I need to take control of this situation.
And get the hell out of here.
“Let’s try this…” I clear my throat, trying to channel my inner seductress who’s never come out to play before. “In your bed.”
The irritation in his eyes clears and he’s reaching for my hand again, which I give him willingly. “Best thing you’ve said all night, Sin.”
No one has ever called me that in my life and I shouldn’t like it, but I do .
August leads me to the massive bed that’s covered in a thick black comforter and trepidation fills me. I’ve kissed a handful of boys, but I’ve never done anything else. What this boy did to me freshman year ruined me for the rest of my high school life. Any guy who remembered what I went through wasn’t interested and any guy who didn’t know or remember and approached me? I turned him down flat. Every single time. That fear always lingers in my head, reminding me that I’m not good enough, that they’re all awful. Like him.
The very one who’s trying to get me in his bed.
Deciding I need to turn the tables, I let go of his hand and get in front of him, shoving his chest as hard as I can. He has no choice but to fall backward onto the bed and he lies there for a moment with a startled look on his face before he rises up on his elbows, contemplating me with a satisfied smile on his face.
“I like a woman who takes charge.”
“Really?” I find that hard to believe. I get the sense that he is a take-charge person at all times and I secretly like it.
No, you don’t. He’s an asshole who will use you and discard you as quickly as possible. You’re doing him a service, putting him in his place.
His smile grows. “Nah. But I’ll let you do whatever you want just so I can see you naked. Maybe on your knees with my dick in your mouth?”
My knees literally wobble at his proposition and I lock them, tilting my nose into the air. “I usually don’t have dicks in my mouth on the first date.”
August bursts out laughing and I swear it sounds rusty. Like he doesn’t do it often, which isn’t a surprise. I’m sure he sits around and plots people’s demise on a regular basis, which doesn’t call for much laughter, except for the evil kind. “You’re funny, and I don’t think anyone is funny.”
“I should take that as a compliment?”
“Definitely.” He collapses on the bed, staring at the ceiling and I watch as he closes his eyes for a moment. “The room is spinning.”
I glance up at the slow-moving ceiling fan above him. “That’s just the fan.”
He ignores what I said. “I’m drunk as fuck.”
“Me too.” I shuffle my feet, nearly tripping over them, and I almost fall onto the bed, saving myself at the last second. “I should go.”
“No. No way.” He rises up like Dracula sitting up in his coffin, back from the dead. All he needs is a cape, his hair slicked back and some sharp canines—he’d make a great vampire. “You can’t leave yet.”
“It’s late.”
“I’m horny.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
“Fuck, it is.” He flops back onto the bed, shocking me with how honest he’s being. And how relaxed he seems. Maybe alcohol is some sort of truth serum? “I just had sex last night. Why do I want you so bad?”
My stomach curdles like I ate something past the expiration date and I take a step back. His confession is like a bucket of cold water poured over my head. “Last night.”
“Yeah.” He sounds miserable. “I can’t even remember her name. Or her face.”
Anger washes over me, leaving me cold. A tiny, flickering flame burns low in my belly and I recognize it. It’s pure, unadulterated rage.
“Does that make me an asshole?” he asks after I haven’t said anything. “I am. I know I am. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I’m okay with it.”
“What about the other one percent?”
“Like right now? I hate myself for being so…callous.” He props himself on his elbows once more, studying me with a da zed look on his handsome face. “I’m drunk. That’s the only explanation for me feeling this way right now.”
“Right.” I nod. “Because normally, you don’t have feelings.”
He frowns.
“And you’re cruel,” I tack on.
His brows lower and I realize I’ve said too much.
Turning away from him, I scan the top of his dresser, which is immaculate. I take in the sleek, brown leather box sitting there, a watch discarded on top of it that is expensive. I recognize the brand because my father owns a few. I’m guessing that’s why August keeps his bedroom door locked.
My gaze lands on the tube of lipstick that’s sitting next to the leather box, and my stomach twists. I’m sure the last nameless, faceless girl he had sex with left it behind as some sort of memento, and without thought I stalk my way toward the dresser, swiping the lipstick off the top of it and taking off the lid. I twist the bottom of the lipstick, and the rich, dark red color has me so pissed, there might be steam coming out of my ears.
I would never wear lipstick like this. Would never allow myself to be used by a man like this ever again. It happened once before for an entire freaking school year, when I was young and stupid and defenseless, but not anymore. Tonight, I make a stand.
Emotion sweeps over me, possessing me as if a ghost entered my body, and I take a step closer to the dresser, pressing my stomach against the edge as I twist the lipstick to about halfway up, not wanting to break it off. I start writing with it on the mirror, my movements jerky, my breaths coming faster, and when I’m finished, I take a step back, admiring my handiwork.
“What are you doing?” August groans, rolling over on his side, and I chance a quick look at his face, noting that his skin has a pale green tinge to it .
“Leaving you a message.” I cap the lipstick and unable to help myself, I toss it at him with all my might, but my aim is for shit. It hits his leg.
“ Ow. What the hell was that for? Fuck, I think I’m going to puke.” He doesn’t even look at me. Just scrambles off the bed and runs into the connected bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Ignoring the disappointment that threatens, I remind myself I did the right thing. A good thing. Studying the message I wrote on the mirror one last time, I turn and make my way out of August Lancaster’s bedroom, knowing that I’ll never see it—or him—again.
Good.