Page 12 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

He places my grilled cheese and hot chocolate on the opposite side, along with a bowl of tomato soup, leaving a basket of fries and an enormous greasy cheeseburger for him.

I won’t lie. That cheeseburger looks amazing.

I don’t sit. I continue to stand there as if I’ve grown roots, staring at the food and him. “What are you doing?”

He tosses a fry into his mouth as he meets my eyes. “What are you? A parrot? I’m eating my food. You should do the same before it gets cold. Grilled cheese is disgusting if it’s not hot.”

Pursing my lips, I shed my coat and slide into the booth. An annoyed huff escapes me as I lift a triangle of grilled cheese and dip it into the soup, then bring it to my lips.

My eyes roll back when I take a bite, moaning for the entire diner to hear. When I open them, Jagger is staring at me with a wicked smirk on his face. “What?”

The grin grows until all his teeth show, and I’m a little surprised to see they’re not perfect. Almost, but a couple of the bottom ones overlap slightly. “Sandwich good?”

“Yes, why?”

He pops a French fry into his mouth. “Because those moans sound like someone is eating you .”

“There’s not a thing a man can do that would top this.” These lies will get me struck down one day, but for now, I dip my sandwich again and take another bite. This time, exaggerating the moan.

“I bet I could.”

“That’s pretty big talk, but I have to disagree. Nothing can beat the way the buttery crisp bread explodes on your tongue, or the silky, smooth cheese melts in your mouth. And the soup…the delicious salty tang when it hits your throat…” I kiss my fingers, tossing them in the air. “Perfection.”

He clears his throat, shifting in his seat, and a wry grin spreads across my face that my innuendo wasn’t missed.

Shaking his head, he takes a sip from his drink, then leans forward and says, “Sweetheart, I bet I could make that pretty little pussy of yours weep without trying. I’ve been told I have a talented tongue. ”

I choke on my food. Death by sandwich without experiencing all that tongue has to offer sounds like a travesty.

If what I experienced last night from a simple kiss is a sign, then he has more than a talented tongue. It is fucking magical. And that was just a kiss.

I know he was with my sister, but he also has a player reputation. At least, the gossip sites say he does. But who minds being played by a mouth that skilled?

The thought of what he could do with my lady bits sends a sharp jolt of electricity right to my clit.

Cut that out! You know you can’t have any part of him.

Except you sort of already did.

Shut up. No one is talking to you.

He grins as I wipe my mouth, trying to hide my blistered cheeks. “Rude.” I stick my tongue out.

He chuckles and picks up his burger, and my thoughts return to the bruising along his jaw. I wonder if it hurts to eat.

“You keep staring. Are you sure you don’t want to ask?”

Busted again. Though I’m not being inconspicuous. My red hair dances around my shoulders as I shake my head. “It’s none of my business,” I lie because he has no clue I already know what happened. “But I do want to know what you’re doing here.”

“You really fixate, don’t you?”

“Not in general.” I shrug. “But it’s a little strange you just appeared here.”

“Why?”

“Because you should be with your family—with Casey and your brother .” Like you should’ve been last night, instead of beating someone almost to death then dry humping me in the locker room. “Not in some random diner, buying food for some girl you don’t know.”

He leans back against the bench. Skulls dance across his veined forearms, and his black t-shirt stretches across his hard chest as he extends his arms along the wooden back.

“All right.” Inked fingers drum against the wood. “My brother and sister…” He makes a face and shakes his head. “ Graham and Casey went for dinner alone because Graham had plans. If I had to guess, the fucker is probably down on one knee right about now.”

My eyes widen. Giddiness and excitement bubble in my chest, eager for my friend.

Casey will be so surprised. And happy. I know she’s young, even younger than me, but I’ve seen them together.

Six months or sixty years, there’s no one else for either of them.

But it seems Jagger doesn’t agree. “You don’t approve. ”

“I approve. They’re meant to be together,” he says what I was just thinking, but I suppose in his shoes, it is weird.

“I knew this was coming years ago.” It seems he realizes what he said because his lips press together before he explains.

“Graham didn’t groom her or anything. He didn’t see her as anything but a kid for a long time.

Casey was the one with the unending crush.

It just kept growing. And she did too. I guess one day Graham woke up and realized she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

But it doesn’t make it less weird for me because Graham is my brother by blood.

Casey may not be blood, but she’s been my little sister for almost eleven years. ”

“Makes sense.”

“Anyway, I left the theater to go do my thing. I was hungry, and I like the burgers here. My sister’s friend was standing at the counter, and she couldn’t find her cash.

I didn’t want to wait for her to turn her card on—who turns their card off, by the way—so I paid.

Little did I know the girl would be suspicious of everything I did.

Just so we’re clear, I don’t expect to get laid for this. ”

Contrition—and maybe disappointment—floods my cheeks, and I wince.

I have been more than a little ungrateful.

The thank you earlier probably didn’t seem sincere since all I’ve done was question his motives for doing it.

“I’m sorry. I’m not used to people helping me.

Thank you for buying me dinner. And I didn’t think you expected that kind of payment. ”

“Good.” He lifts his drink and stares over the glass.

Mischief dances in his pale green gems. “I would expect to do more than buy you soup and a sandwich for that to happen.” The muscles in his cheeks twitch.

“But I think the hot chocolate at least deserves a hand job, right?” When my jaw drops, he bursts out laughing.

Shaking my head, I throw a napkin across the table at him.

We finish eating in comfortable silence. Once the last of my hot chocolate is gone, I excuse myself to the restroom. When I return, I grab my coat. “I hate to eat and run, but I don’t want to miss the next train,” I tell him as I push my arms through the sleeves.

He stands, grabbing his jacket. “I could drive you home,” he says as he tosses a twenty onto the table.

The offer is tempting, especially after the creepy feeling I had walking here. And the subway sucks. I hate it with every fiber of my being.

Besides, what’s the worst that could happen ?