King of Sloth (Kings of Sin, 4)

“I won’t say I told you so, but I told you so,” Isabella said. “I knew you and Xavier would eventually give in to your sizzling, delicious—”

“Please stop. I’m in a cab, and I’m going to hurl.”

“I hope not, considering you’re on your way to a first date.” I could hear her grin over the phone. “Have fun. Fill us in on everything later, and don’t worry about the Perry thing. We got you.”

I hadn’t forgotten about Perry Wilson’s attempt to throw me under the bus. Since I was back in the city, I could focus on taking him down with some help from my friends.

“Thank you.” The cab rolled to a stop. “I’m here. Talk to you later.”

“Ooh. Send us a picture of—”

I hung up before Isabella said anything else inappropriate. I paid the driver and climbed the steps to Xavier’s West Village town house, the nerves in my stomach sprouting teeth and fangs.

It was Saturday, two days after my questionable decision to say yes to casually dating him (emphasis on the casual). Xavier didn’t tell me what he had planned, only that I should wear “cozy clothing,” and if it were anyone else, I would’ve balked the second he told me our first date was at his house. That was how charming serial killers lured their victims to their deaths.

My showing up anyway was either a testament to how comfortable I felt with him or how stupid I was. Honestly, I preferred the latter explanation over the former.

I lifted my hand, but the door opened before I could knock.

Xavier’s tousled black hair and lean, sculpted body filled the frame, and I was beset by the strange sensation of my heart sputtering. He wore his version of cozy: jeans and a fine cashmere sweater that outlined his broad shoulders and arms. No shoes.

For some reason, seeing him barefoot at home felt unbearably intimate.

I dropped my arm with a twinge of self-consciousness. “Hi.” “Hi.” His smile displayed a flash of his dimples. “Before you think I’m a creep who was waiting at the window, I came out to get this.” He picked up a small brown box from the front stoop. “You just happen to have perfect timing.”

“That’s not a knife you bought to murder me in your secret basement, is it?”

The dimples deepened. “I guess you’ll find out.” “Funny.”

I hung my coat on the brass tree by the door and followed him deeper into the town house. I’d visited once before to drop off some papers but never made it past the living room.

Xavier gave me a quick tour and explanation of each room we passed.

Contrary to what I’d expected, his house didn’t resemble a college fraternity’s. It was surprisingly cozy despite its vast layout, and the coastal decor was a refreshing mix of soft whites, moody blues, and dusty yellows. He either had an excellent eye, an excellent interior designer, or both.

“This is where I spend most of my time.” He gestured at the second-floor den, which was part TV room, part library, and part home arcade. “It’s the jack-of-all-trades in the house.”

“Is that a claw machine?” I walked closer to the metal container filled with stuffed toys. It occupied the far-right wall between a vintage pinball machine and a retro popcorn cart.

“Ah, yes.” Xavier rubbed the back of his neck, pink tinting his cheeks. “I hated those things when I was younger. I spent a fortune on them but never got the toy I wanted, so I installed this and rigged it so everyone who plays gets what they want.”

The boyish explanation was so unexpectedly charming that I didn’t bother hiding my smile.

“The scars from our childhood enemies run deep,” I said solemnly.

“Yes, they do.” Xavier fixed me with a grave stare. “Don’t get me started on Doris’s old cat. She almost killed me and Hershey in our sleep once.”

“Hershey?”

“Childhood pet. He was a brown Lab, hence…” “The name.”

“Bingo.”

A mental image of a young Xavier with his dog popped up, and my heart melted the teensiest bit.

Ugh. Our date hadn’t officially started, and I was already softening. What was wrong with me?

“Did you have any pets when you were younger?” Xavier’s hand brushed mine when we left the den. Electricity sizzled up my arm, and I instinctively jerked it away.

I smoothed a hand over my bun to hide the knee-jerk reaction, my heart pounding. I wasn’t sure if he’d noticed, but a tiny grin played at the corners of his mouth as he led me past the third-floor bedrooms and to the rooftop.

“No,” I said a tad belatedly. “My father doesn’t like any animals except horses.” I made a determined effort not to glance at any of the bedroom doors and picture what was behind them.

What did Xavier’s room look like? His childhood bedroom in Bogotá had been stripped and transformed into a generic guest suite. Did he display items from his travels? Artwork? Posters? If so, posters of what?

“But I have a temporary pet fish,” I said, determined not to dwell on such silly questions. “The person who rented my apartment before me left him behind.”

Xavier opened the door to the rooftop. “What’s his name?” “The Fish.”

He stopped and looked askance at me. “You named your pet fish…Fish?”

“The Fish,” I corrected. “Articles of grammar are important, and like I said, he’s a temporary pet. There’s no use giving him a real name.”

“Right. How long have you had this temporary pet?” “Five years.”

His laughter sent white puffs of breath into the chilly fall air. “I hate to break it to you, Luna, but once it passes the one-year mark, pet ownership is no longer considered temporary.”

I constructed a whole argument about how temporary didn’t have a defined time limit. Therefore, if I’d adopted The Fish with the intention of rehoming him one day, it was considered temporary regardless of how much time passed.

However, the words died on my tongue when I stepped fully onto the rooftop and saw what he’d planned for our first date.

Oh my God.

A giant standing TV screen dominated one side of the rooftop, kitty-corner to a table covered with every snack one could think of. There were white ceramic dishes filled with M&M’s, pretzels, gummy bears, and other candies I couldn’t identify at this distance; plates groaning with chips, cookies, and sundry snacks; massive bowls containing six different types of popcorn; and a full charcuterie board. A champagne bucket sat next to tea, coffee, and three bottles of wine (one red, one white, one rosé). Beneath the table, a glass-fronted minifridge boasted an assortment of water, juice, and soda.

Area rugs and potted plants scattered across the floor, lending the scene a cozy feel. Strategically placed candles and the canopy of lights overhead illuminated the rooftop in lieu of the setting sun while portable heat lamps warded off the cold.

However, the real star of the show was the giant mattress laid out in front of the screen. Piled high with pillows, cushions, and cashmere blankets, it looked so cozy I wanted to dive right into the middle and never get up.

The entire setup was so cheesy, it looked like something out of a rom-com.

And I loved it.

Emotion prickled my chest. When was the last time someone put this much thought into something for me?

My exes had taken me to expensive dinners and exclusive shows, which were nice, but they only cost money. Time and care required far more effort, and no one had ever deemed me worthy of those things.

“Since it’s Halloween, I figured we could do a double feature,” Xavier said. “One witchy rom-com and one Christmas rom-com that doesn’t release until the holidays. Friend of a friend is high up at the studio and pulled through for me.”

For once, I didn’t have a sarcastic reply.

“That…” I cleared my throat of its hoarseness. “That sounds nice.”

We filled our plates with food and settled on the mattress. He’d pushed it up against the low brick wall so we had back support, but a mountain of pillows softened the hard surface.

The opening credits rolled across the screen. I tried to focus on the lead actors’ names instead of Xavier’s presence.

We weren’t pressed against each other, but we were close enough that every time one of us moved, something grazed.

His arm against my shoulder. His leg against my knee.

His hand against my thigh.

Moments of contact so brief they barely counted as touches, but so potent they wreaked havoc on my body. My entire right side tingled from his proximity, and awareness pulsed to life in my veins.

We were on a New York rooftop in late October, and I was burning up. It wasn’t because of the heat lamps or the blankets; it was because of him.

“I’m surprised you scheduled this for Halloween.” I made conversation simply to divert attention away from the rapid patter of my heartbeat. Get a hold of yourself, for Christ’s sake. “There are dozens of parties tonight.”

“Those are boring. This isn’t.”

“You would rather watch a rom-com about a witch and a plumber falling in love than attend a costume party with celebrities?”

“One hundred percent. As long as I’m watching it with you.” His answer came out so casually, it took a second to register. Once it did, the patter morphed into a full-blown marching band, drums and all.

Damn him.

Tonight was supposed to be an obligatory date. I wasn’t supposed to like it this much.

You know you have to actually give him a chance, right?

Vivian’s gentle reminder from our happy hour yesterday floated through my mind. Don’t go through the motions waiting for the trial period to expire. It won’t be fair to either of you.

I hated when other people were right.

“What about you?” Xavier asked. “No Halloween plans with the girls?”

“No. They’re with their families.” A small pang hit my gut. “Vivian and Dante took Josie to this Halloween thing at the zoo. Kai and Isa have a Mode de Vie event, and Dominic and Alessandra are at Valhalla’s fall gala.” Kai and Isabella technically weren’t married yet, but they might as well be.

I was the odd one out. I didn’t mind it; I would rather be single and content than in a relationship and miserable. But there were slivers of time when I wondered how it would feel to exist in the world knowing there was someone who loved me totally, unconditionally, and whole-heartedly for who I was instead of who they wanted me to be.

“Speaking of Dante, did you figure out why he’s on the inheritance committee?” I asked, eager to think about something—anything—else.

“No, I haven’t spoken to him yet. I’ve been focusing on next week’s meetings.” Xavier’s leg brushed mine again, and there was that stupid zing again. He glanced at me, the moving images onscreen throwing his features into light, then shadow, then light again. “He did a lot of business with my father, so I assume that’s part of the reason.”

“Maybe. I can ask Vivian—”

“Luna.” He gently hooked his pinky around mine beneath the blanket, and my knowledge of how to breathe evaporated. “This is a date. No more work talk.”

“Right.” In and out. You know how to do this. “Are you ever going to tell me why you call me Luna?”

“One day.” His dimples winked into view. “If you’re really nice to me.”

I tamped down a smile. “I’m nice to you right now.” “You forgot a word.”

“Really nice. What does that entail, a blow job?”

My quip trailed off when I realized my mistake. Discussing blow jobs with Xavier? Bad idea.

Abort, abort! Alarm bells clanged in my head, but it was too late.

Something intense swallowed the humor in his eyes, and my already-scarce supply of oxygen dwindled to emergency levels.

Neither of us was paying attention to the movie at this point. Unfortunately, that meant all my attention had rerouted to 1) the delicious warmth of Xavier’s body, which had inched close enough to short-circuit my brain, and 2) a salacious mental gallery of images that revolved around me, him, and a certain activity with the initials BJ.

My blood sang with sudden heat.

“Perhaps, but not tonight.” His silky murmur ghosted down my spine. “I don’t pass first base on the first date. What kind of man do you think I am?”

“You’re telling me you’ve never done more than kiss someone on the first date.” It wasn’t a question, but the voice that delivered it was so breathless, I didn’t recognize it as mine.

“I have, but that was years ago, we weren’t dating, and I wasn’t trying to woo them.”

Another type of warmth, one that had nothing to do with arousal, pooled in my stomach. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Woo me?”

“Depends.” A smile played on his lips. “Is it working?”

Yes. “No.”

“Liar.”

“A suitor shouldn’t call the object of his wooing a liar. It’s poor etiquette.”

“I’m honest when the situation calls for it, and you’d die of boredom if someone simply agreed with everything you said and did.” His pinky, still hooked around mine, curled just a bit tighter. I wished I minded.

“You think you know me so well,” I whispered, even though he was right.

“Only parts of you.” The gentle brush of his thumb against my hand unlocked a colony of butterflies in my stomach. “But we’ll get there.”

The implication that we would last until that point sent my defenses into overdrive, but the evening was so nice, and his touch felt so good, I ignored it.

It was only when the witch movie ended and the Christmas one began that I realized I’d watched a rom-com without writing a review for the first time in five years.