Page 32 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘One drink.’

We walk over and take a corner table, both of us sitting with our backs to the wall so we can monitor the room. Old habits and all.

He goes to the bar, giving me two minutes alone to mull over the day.

I can’t believe he kissed me. Again. Sure, I ordered him to go down on me before, but this is different. This is me letting James in. Incrementally, he’s worming his way in, and I know how much it hurt last time I let that happen.

My nails scrape the tabletop.

If it’s him, coming to ruin my life again with this contract bullshit, I won’t let him survive. Fool me once, shame on me, and all.

And now I’m stuck trying very hard not to fall arse over tit into a thing with my step-brother.

I hadn’t meant to talk about Mum either. All it does is bring awkwardness, or worse – pity. I despise being pitied more than almost anything else. Pity makes me feel weak and vulnerable, and I haven’t spent my life building up my reputation only to get sympathy for the dead mum card.

James didn’t look at me like that, though. He understands because of his dad.

He comes back with two glasses of whisky.

‘Large,’ he says, setting mine down.

‘Always.’ I wink. It’s not my go-to drink, but it’s always good for brooding over. And I’m in an especially broody mood. Hell, I’m not even horny after this kill, which is world-endingly worrying.

The pub is quiet, with it being so close to closing time. There is a lack of atmosphere here, nothing like the little pub near the estate back home. That one’s full of retired criminals and contract killers half the time, but it’s never so dreary as this.

‘Come back to mine?’ James asks. Given that he can’t exactly invite himself to my place.

‘Firstly, me letting you kiss me once doesn’t mean I want to jump in bed with you.’ Liar. ‘Plus, I’m drier than a camel’s armpit.’

James lifts a brow. ‘Do camels have armpits?’

‘Legpit?’

‘Whatever. Either way, there’s nothing going on down under, or between us.’ I shrug.

‘We could always just hang out?’

For a heartbeat, I’m tempted. But leading him on is only going to hurt one of us. Or both of us.

‘I need to sleep. I’m going to Scotland tomorrow,’ I say. ‘We can share the drive if you like?’

‘What time?’

‘We can go straight after your dentist trip.’

‘My tongue might be numb.’

‘Well then, it’s a good thing I’ll have no need of it, isn’t it?’

James rolls his eyes before muttering something into his glass.

‘What?’

‘Twice,’ he says. ‘I kissed you twice. Not to mention getting on my knee⁠—’

‘Goodnight, James,’ I say as I stand, downing my drink. The last thing I need is to think of him between my thighs. It’s already got my panties feeling like I’ve put them on straight from the washing machine.

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