Page 12 of Sinful Like Us

I knew he’d run me over the fucking coals, but I didn’t think he’d do the job so bluntly and without hesitation. “Yeah,” I say, not denying that fact. “It’s been consensual.”

“I know,” Connor says. “You’d already be in jail if it weren’t.” He says the words casually, like this is everyday conversation. Somehow, his calm tone sounds more threatening than if he were screaming in my face.

“And I would want the same thing,” I say and then shake my head. “That’s not true, actually.”

Connor tilts his head, but his stare is blank. “You wouldn’t want someone who forced themselves on Jane to be put in jail?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” My voice is deep and assured. “I’d want them dead.” I’d also like to be the one to carry out the murder, but I don’t add that fact. I’m not sure Connor would appreciate how easily I could kill someone, even if it’d be for Jane.

Connor sizes me up for a second. “Coffee?” He’s the one who moves to the pot and starts pouring liquid in a pastel pink mug.

He hands me a cup.

“I can get yours,” I tell him, but he’s already filling up another one.

My grandma is at home clucking her tongue in disapproval. I should be feeding a guest, not making them do all the fucking work.

I’m an assertive man, but something about Connor is slowing my reflexes.

He raises his cup to his mouth. “Jane is many things, but I would never call her irrational nor spontaneous. So when she told us that her boyfriend of—” he gives me a look “—how long have you two been together?”

My hand tightens on my mug. “I can’t calculate an exact number.”

He arches a single brow. “You can’t?”

I hold his gaze.

In my head, Jane and I didn’t wake up one morning and decide that our fake relationship was real. It was gradual, and the feelings inside the fake-dating op were never fabricated. But Jane was slow to let me in, and she’d say that we were “pals who fuck” for most of that time.

The technical answer is two days ago.

The answer I feel is more ambiguous, and both are wrongones to tell her dad.

Make a decision, Thatcher.Steam billows from my cup and heats my face.

“It’s felt like a long time,” I say.

“Feelings tend to blur rationality.” He rests an elbow back. “Since Jane seems to care a great deal for you, let’s say that you two officially became a couple when you started sleeping together. That would be when?” He takes a sip from his coffee.

“Over a month ago.”

“Four months?”

“No.”

“Three?”

I shake my head.“Less than that. Just…over a month”

He inspects his coffee, then me. “Let’salsoconsider that you were her bodyguard and around my daughter for longer periods throughout a day. That increases the value of time you’ve spent together. So we’ll round up ‘over one month’ to three months.” He sets his mug on the counter behind him. “So when Jane told us her boyfriend ofthree monthswas moving in with her, I thought it was fast. What do you think?”

It’s not slow.

Don’t fucking say that, Thatcher.

“It’s the speed that works for us, sir.”

“But you didn’t think to wait to move in until you met her parents or told her siblings you were dating their sister.”