The left corner of his mouth tugs up. “No, I don’t imagine he would be.”
Instead of texting Rafe back, I look across the table at Sin. “You know what’s weird? Rafe seems to think I’m back in Connecticut.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah,” I drawl.
“Strange.”
Huffing, I put my phone down on the table. “Well, what am I supposed to say to him?”
“Ask why he’s texting you,” Sin directs.
“He’s asking about my flight.”
“He doesn’t give a fuck about your flight,” he returns. “He’s making up reasons to talk to you. Find out why.”
“I don’t care why,” I tell him, honestly. “Why do I have to do this? What are you hoping to get out of it?”
“Would you just send the damn text?”
“I don’t want to,” I say, pushing the phone away. “He was a dick to me and I don’t want to indulge his bullshit behavior. Chain me to your bed for the rest of my life, or let me go home, but I’m not texting Rafe. He can go suck a dick.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sin mutters, grabbing my phone off the table and tapping out a text himself.
While he texts Rafe from my phone, I stuff myself full of pasta. I’m already starting to feel full, but it tastes so good, and there’s still so much left. Once he’s finished, he slides the phone back across the table and eyes me skeptically.
I grab my water and wash down the mouthful of pasta. “What?”
Instead of answering me, he just shakes his head.
13
Rafe
I sit in the car outside the club, growing more and more agitated as the minutes tick past. Sin is late on occasion, but today he is really fucking late, and Edmund Carmichael needs to be dealt with.
He is so late at this point that my phone begins to buzz and I see it’s my cousin, Gio. I was supposed to text him when we were done, and it’s been so fucking long, he’s calling to see what’s keeping us.
I put the phone to my ear. “Yeah?”
“What’s the hold-up?” he asks without preamble.
“Sin still isn’t here,” I state.
“How the fuck is he not there? You should be out of there by now.”
“I don’t know. He’s been quiet all day. I think he’s pissed off at me.”
“Why? What’d you do now?”
I haven’t clued Gio in on this Laurel situation. Obviously if I actually impregnated her, I would have to, but as things stand now, she has nothing to do with the business side of my life.
Without actually saying much, I mutter, “Nothing that’s any of his business, but that doesn’t stop him from having an opinion about it.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
“It is. Lovers’ quarrel; don’t worry about it,” I quip. “I’m gonna call him now and see where he is.”