Page 2 of Heartless Sinner

He was officially done being the polished president’s son for the day.

Like always, he found me before he made it halfway across the room.

Also, like always, he stared at me like I was trash left in his favorite chair.

I was a Kenward. People used to want that name on their guest lists. Now, they acted like saying it out loud might get them investigated by the FBI.

I lifted my glass in a mock salute before taking a slow sip.

“Anddd here we go,” Blair said with a laugh beside me.

“What?” I asked innocently, keeping my eyes on him.

Brooks dragged a hand over the back of his neck as he headed toward the bar.

“What level of crazy are we getting tonight?” Blair shifted sideways on the couch to get a better view of him. “I’m going with … a seven.”

I gave him another once-over. He hooked a finger inside his open collar and tugged it farther from his throat.

Yeah, tonight was nowhere near a seven.

He’d attended a White House event today.

For Brooks, that was the equivalent of me being stuck in my luteal phase for a month straight.

He snatched the bourbon bottle and filled his glass nearly to the rim, as if enough alcohol could fix whatever had crawled up his ass tonight. After knocking it back, he wiped his thumb across his lower lip and poured another.

On his way back to the other corner, he flashed me the middle finger. I smiled sweetly and returned the gesture.

“I take that back.” Blair grabbed my arm, fully invested now. “He’s looking rough. I’m changing mine to a nine.”

“Fifteen for me,” I said as Brooks dropped onto the sectional with his back to me.

She released my arm. “Shit, you’ve never gone that high before.”

“His dad’s latest approval ratings came out tonight.”

“That bad, huh?”

I nodded. “That bad.”

“But they’re not his poll numbers.”

“He takes them just as personally. In Brooks’s head, those numbers are his odds of becoming president one day.”

“I’m changing mine to a ten then.”

“Nope. You know the rules. You only get one change.”

“Ugh.” She threw her head back. “I hate that rule.”

We didn’t play the game for actual money. We kept score, and at the end of every month, the loser owed the other a latte.

Blair tipped her head in Brooks’s direction. “I don’t get his hatred toward you, though. It’s not like you helped your dad.”

I took another drink, needing the alcohol more than I had thirty seconds ago.

“We can’t help who we’re born to. Some of us get good dads. Some of us get shitty ones.”