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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 ceilingand 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 dazed 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.