Page 67 of Sinners Reunion

I raise my hand in front of my mouth. “What about my breath?”

“My beauty, I have been driving for almost an entire twenty-four hours. Might we discuss your oral hygiene and the finite terms of our arrangement once I’ve gotten a catnap?”

“Dick,” I mutter before sticking out my tongue at him. He doesn’t see it.

I climb out of the RV and stretch my back. My mind wants to stray to other, much more interesting ways to stretch my back, but I bite the inside of my cheek and start running through multiplication tables. If I want to beat King at his own game, I’ll have to utilize some of those tactics they taught in therapy, like running math problems because math is the least sexy thing I can think of.

Because really, it’s not that I can’t control my impulses.

It’s just that I don’t fucking want to.

But if he has something up his sleeve, I might as well tuck something away in mine. Impulse control, locked and loaded. No more thinking about sex. I just need to find something to occupy my mind.

Music drifts to me from one of the RVs further down the line, so I meander toward the sound. The tune is familiar, but I can’t quite place it. As long as it isn’t “Pony,” I think I’ll be okay. Then again, “Back That Azz Up” might get me in trouble too.

“Two times two is four,” I mutter. “God, this is what I get for being attracted to older men. I don’t even like normal music for my age. The things he can do to the beat of those—” I grit my teeth. “Four times four is sixteen.”

I breathe a sigh of relief when Tom Jones’ vocals ring clear enough to understand. I can stop torturing myself with math. There’s nothing unusual or sexual about this song.

A rhythmic tapping sound accompanies the music, growing louder the closer I get. I snap my fingers to the bump-bump-bump. Is someone dancing? The timing is too impeccable to be anything else.

I swing my arms and do that goofy Carlton dance as I approach the RV door. It’s wide open, which explains why the music is so loud. Now I just want to find the source of that knocking sound.

My knuckles rap against the side of the camper, but I doubt anyone can hear me over Tom Jones. Even so, I’m pretty sure I heard someone say to come in, so I step into the RV, arms still swinging in that weird little dance. I figure, at the very least, I won’t look threatening.

Unfortunately, what I didn’t figure . . . is that I’d walk in on two people having animalistic sex on the floor of their camper. And really, I blame that fucking impulse-control bullshit. If I’d had my sex detectors on, I’d have seen this coming a mile away. I know about the pineapple incident.

Bennett lies back, hands beneath his head and a grin on his face. His eyes are closed, and the only movement he makes is to ram his hips into Cat to the beat of that song.

I wish I could say her eyes are closed as she straddles him. I also wish I could say I stopped doing that stupid fucking dance the moment her terrified gaze connected with mine.

I wish I could say so many things, but what I manage is, “Hey, at least it isn’t a pineapple this time.”

Cat screams and leaps off Bennett’s lap. She turns to cut off the music, and the room goes silent. That’s when I spy the cucumber poking out of her ass. But the sex salad doesn’t end there, because when I look down, I see a bottle of Ranch dressing. I can only hope it’s not for that cucumber.

“Glad to see you guys are expanding into different food groups,” I say.

Realizing he has an audience, Bennett grabs a pillow from the couch and covers his dick, but not before I accidentally see where the ranch dressing was used. Not gonna lie, I’m fucking relieved.

Cat snatches a blanket from the front seat and covers her body. She averts her gaze, looking anywhere but at me.

Meanwhile, my awkward ass just stares.

“I’m sorry,” I finally blurt. “The door was open, and I knocked, and then I thought you said come in, but now I realize you were actually saying that you were coming. And did I mention that I’m sorry?”

They blink at me.

“I’m just gonna . . . go.”

I hurry out the way I came as Cat chastises Bennett for not shutting the door. I’m pretty sure I hear her whack him with that cucumber a few good times, but that might just be my overactive imagination.

“Two times two is four,” I whisper.

This is going to be a long night.

We sit in awkward silence as the limo ferries us into town. Rose wears a pair of overalls with daisy buttons. She’s the picture of someone’s cute little grandmother, minus the fact that she murders people for fun.

Grim opted for a gray suit, and I’m surprised King didn’t rush back into the RV to change. He’s in khaki shorts and a navy polo. The color looks amazing against his silver scruff.