He jerks forward suddenly, slamming his lips down on mine. Before I can protest or push him away, he reels back, grinning madly. “Nice doing business with you, girlie.” I stand, and he swats my ass. “Now scoot before Chewie starts getting ideas. He likes ’em young.”
I’ve never run out of a place faster, scrubbing at my lips, and I don’t release the breath I’m holding until the bar is a blip in the distance.
CHAPTER 21
IMEET SARIAHdowntown and work out some aggression in the ring. Then, I shower and change, and we meet Sean and Emmett at the diner for something to eat. The guys are all worked up over what the Saints did to me and my new plan to stop fighting them, but I talk them around, assuring all three of my friends that I know what I’m doing.
“How’s your sister doing?” I ask Emmett after the waitress has refilled our sodas.
“She’s good, thanks. You’ll have to drop by the house sometime. I know she’d love to meet you.”
My eyes climb to my hairline. “You told your sister about me?”
“Course I did.” He shoots me a cocky grin. “I tell her about all my crushes.”
I throw a few fries at him across the table, and he laughs. “Relax. I told her we were friends, and I might’ve mentioned you take kickboxing classes. She’d love to join, but it’s out of the question while she’s so ill. I think she wants to live vicariously through you.”
“I can drop by sometime and talk to her about it.”
“Cool.”
The bell over the door chimes, and a deathly hush settles over the room as footsteps enter the diner. I don’t need to look around to know who it is because my body is already so attuned to Saint Lennox I can detect whenever he’s close. That crazy connection between us sparks to life when he’s near, lifting all the tiny hairs on my arms, making my heart beat faster, my skin heat, and my body ache with need.
It freaks me the fuck out.
Because I always thought it was a myth authors created to make readers believe in soul-mate love.
I have zero desire to live in my own twisted romance novel.
The Sainthood lit a flame to my childhood and murdered my father, and they’ve stolen my mother from me. Saint, Galen, Caz, and Theo may not have been directly involved, but they’re part of the same organization. They own the same crimes.
I donotwant this connection with him.
I don’t want to feel the way I feel when I’m aroundanyof them.
I’ve spent years successfully caging my emotions, and they are breaching barriers left and right. They are breathing new passion into me, bringing me back to life, and I hate them for it.
If my friends knew I felt like this, they would nuke this new plan of mine without hesitation, because it’s hella risky.
Yet I don’t feel like I’ve much choice. Saint has already decided, and it’ll work better for me if I appear to be going along with it.
Footsteps approach, and even if I didn’t already know who it was, the dark glare from Emmett would confirm it. I kick him under the table, cautioning him to get with the program.
“Get that to go, princess,” Saint says, looming over our table. “We need to leave.”
“For where?” I ask, pretending I don’t notice how hot he looks in his creased, worn black leather jacket and ripped skinny jeans. My stomach flips when I spot The Sainthood logo on his jacket, and I know all the guys have the same logo inked on their skin.
“Get. Up.” He challenges me with his eyes. “Unless you want me to make a scene.” He cracks his knuckles, drawing my gaze to the intricate ink on his hands, as he grins wickedly. “You know how much I love that.”
“No need to get your panties in a bunch. I’ll go with you. I was just wondering where.” I grab my bag, plate, and my drink. “Catch you guys at school,” I say to my friends. They mumble their goodbyes as I wait for the waitress to bag my food. Then, Saint grabs my elbow and steers me out of the diner, surrounded by the other three goons.
“Where the fuck were you all weekend?” Saint asks as we walk toward his Land Rover.
My eyes lower to his crotch. “How’s the aftermath of the manscaping?” I inquire, lowering my voice but not whispering. “Bet you’re itchy as fuck, right?” I can’t help smirking.
If looks could kill, I’d be ten feet under with the way he glares at me. “Keep your voice down,” he murmurs. “You’re lucky you’re still breathing.”
“Now, now.” I pat his arm. “Don’t be like that. We had a deal. I was pissed at you. You were pissed at me. Now, we’re even.”
