Page 29 of Sinful Like Us

“Oui.” I straighten up and tuck a flyaway hair behind my ear. “He mentioned you and your brother.”

Lines crease his forehead. “Which brother?”

“Skylar.” I shake my head hotly and cringe. “He said,Thatcher never even visits his dead brother’s grave, and he wants everyone to be sympathetic about that shit.”

Thatcher mumbles an Italian curse word and almost rolls his eyes. “He’s unbelievable.” He looks back at me. “I visit Skylar’s grave.”

I bristle. “So he’s inaccurate and cruel.”

“He got us confused,” Thatcher clarifies. “Banks is the one who never goes to the cemetery.”

I wonder why.

If I could classify my relationship with Banks Moretti now, it’d be filed undernew.Simply, he’s been more of a bodyguard to me and I’ve been more of a famous client to him. Whatever we knowpersonallyabout each other has been what Thatcher has shared.

I whisper, “Tony has no empathy for you or Banks.”

Thatcher scowls. “He wouldn’t. To him, we’re a punch line and fucking twin gag like Thing 1 and Thing 2.”

I understand being dehumanized by internet trolls and media outlets. But Tony isn’t a nameless internet user. He grew up with the Moretti brothers, and I can’t even imagine how much worse that would hurt.

“He’s like an impenetrable, grinning Cheshire cat,” I say softly. “I think it’s easier when we both shut him down together.” We’re frowning because under our current situation, Thatcher can’t help me this way.

He dips his head, his voice low. Eyes serious. “I should be next to you.”

We both know he has to be with Xander. “It’s two months,” I breathe. “Once the probationary period is over, he’ll be transferred.”

Thatcher glances down.

At my hand.

That’s been on his thigh. “Oh,” I say aloud, warmth spreading throughout my body. “I didn’t realize I was…”touching you.

“You can keep it there.” We’re impossibly close now, and I don’t move away anymore. I don’t freeze, and his large hand hovers next to my cheek. Sensitive places tingling, electricity sparking, and an ache pulses harder and begs for him to just pick me up and devour me whole.

I whisper, “Thatcher.”

His forehead nearly presses to mine.

My eyes scald. “I can’t believe I’m going on a trip without you.” It’ll be strange. He was my bodyguard for almost a year. With me every day, and now…

I drop my gaze.

His hand encases my cheek. “Fuck it.” He’s a breath from my lips. “We’re switching places.”

“What?” I shake my head, utterly confused.

“Me and my brother. I’ll explain everything.”

7

JANE COBALT

“You can’t be serious,”I whisper to the Moretti brothers, and I can’t believe I even ask. Both areveryserious men, Thatcher more so than Banks. They’re definitely not playing a practical joke on me.

My bugged eyes dart between my boyfriend and his twin brother in the noisy South Philly sports bar. So crowded here that only one barstool was unoccupied.

Thatcher has taken the stool. And while I clutch a pint of beer, I sit across his lap, his strong arm around my waist—and I’ve been really,reallytaken with our seating arrangement. Especially the nearness of his chest, his body heat flushing me all over, and how my arm brushes against his abs.