I gasped and straightened before I realized he was fucking with me. “Bastard.”
“Prude.”
I dropped my towel. “Not in the slightest.” Then I picked up the bag with my things and walked to the bathroom as haughtily as one could nakedly carrying a trash bag.
When I opened the bag, I almost squealed in delight when I saw what Birdie packed—several days’ worth of clothes and my toiletries. Nap first. Shower second. Things were finally looking up.
Once dressed, I found Sugar sitting at his kitchen table rolling a blunt. “Is that the pain strain you mentioned earlier?”
“You have no shame, do you? Or is it self-preservation?”
I shrugged. “If you didn’t want me to hear your conversation, you shouldn’t have had it in front of me.”
“Yes, this is the pain strain.”
“I’ll take your blatant ignoral of my valid point as silent acceptance.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he groaned and walked to the sliding glass door that led to a covered balcony.
I scrunched my nose. “No thanks. It’s not worth getting soaked again.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, sliding the door open. Then he lit the blunt and stood inside as he smoked it.
“Why are you like this?” I asked.
His eyes widened comically for a brief second before he choked on the smoke he was inhaling. “Me?” he asked incredulously. “That’s cute.”
I flashed him an obnoxious smile and reached for his blunt. “Thanks.”
“Take it easy with that,” he said. “It’s too much for some people.”
“I can assure you, they’ve yet to make a weed that was too much for me.”
He laughed. “That tracks.”
“We should use this time to unstranger you,” I said. “Give me all the deets.”
“I will take the weed away if you keep talking like that.”
“Fine,” I huffed. “Tell me some stuff so you’re no longer a stranger.”
“I haven’t used my legal first name since I left prison, so as far as you or anyone else is concerned, my name is Sugar Kane. I’m thirty-three years old, and I’ve been a patched member of the Kings of Anarchy for seven years. I like to take long walks on the beach before I kill someone. Then I like to clean up and end the day with a good, hard fuck.”
I blinked at him. “I honestly don’t know if you’re lying about your name, but I’m lowkey judging you if it really is Sugar Kane and you chosenotto lie about it.”
“Why do I care if you’re judging me?”
“Why do you think I care if you care?” I retorted. “I’m the judge, meaning I only care about my opinion.”
He stuck his fingers in his ears. “La, la, la! I can’t hear you!”
I waited until he unplugged his ears. “Is this weed too much for you?”
“How many people have tried to kill you?” he asked.
I laughed. “Less than you’d think, but I have had more than one boyfriend suddenly develop a strangulation kink.”
NINETEEN
