King of Sloth (Kings of Sin #4) by Ana Huang

Note to self: Buy more sunscreen ASAP. The continued burn on my skin wasn’t normal.

“I’m not. I hate-watch them.” My drawer of handwritten movie reviews at home attested to that.

“Right. And how many have you hate-watched so far?” Hundreds, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Shut up and watch the movie.”

However, as I rewound the parts I’d missed when he showed up, a teeny-tiny part of me was grateful for his company, unwanted leg grazes and all.

It was a little sad to watch rom-coms alone while on vacation in Spain, even for me.

I never had movie nights with anyone other than my friends, but Xavier was a surprisingly fun companion. He was mostly quiet, but every once in a while, he’d toss out a blithe remark about the plot or acting that made me smirk.

As a client, he was difficult, but as a person, he was decent. I’d never heard him raise his voice once in our time working together. When he found out about his father’s cancer diagnosis, he hadn’t cried, and when an ex leaked lurid photos of them to the press, he hadn’t sought vengeance the way I would’ve. He was unflappable no matter what life threw his way.

Then again, maybe his preternatural calm wasn’t a good thing. Maybe it was a different manifestation of the same issues that kept me guarded from anyone outside my inner circle.

Ugh. The only thing sadder than watching a rom-com alone on vacation was psychoanalyzing Xavier while watching said rom-com.

“What do you keep writing in your notebook?” he asked during the movie’s obligatory post-breakup montage of the couple’s relationship.

A needle of self-consciousness pricked my skin. I debated lying but eventually opted for the truth. “I write reviews of all the rom-coms I watch.”

It was nothing to be ashamed of. If Roger Ebert could do it, so could I, but nerves rattled in my veins when Xavier leaned over to read my notes.

“The film strives for charm but falls flat in its attempt,” he read aloud. “Although fiction generally requires some suspension of disbelief, the utter ridiculousness of the balcony scene gives me so much secondhand embarrassment I want to bleach my memory so I never have to think about it again. I have more chemistry with my bedroom lamp than the lead actors have with each other, and the dialogue sounds like that of a parody rather than an actual romantic comedy. If AI wrote and performed a movie, it would look like this.” He was quiet for a second before looking at me. “What the hell have you been doing with your bedroom lamp?”

Laughter rustled my throat, so quick and unexpected it took me a second to realize the sound came from me.

Shock flashed across Xavier’s face, followed by a slow bloom of pleasure. An answering warmth pooled in my stomach.

“Turning it on,” I said in response to his question. I cringed before the words fully left my mouth. “Oh God. That was terrible.” His howl of laughter drowned out my next words. “Do not ever tell anyone I said that. I—stop laughing.”

“Don’t worry.” His shoulders convulsed as he wiped tears from his eyes. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“It wasn’t that funny,” I grumbled. I tried to maintain my sternness, but his amusement was contagious, and soon another smile cracked my face.

If someone had told me two days ago that I’d have a movie night with Xavier Castillo and enjoy it, I would’ve asked what drugs they were on, but Friday’s gala and visit with Penny seemed like a lifetime ago.

Perhaps that was why I rarely went on vacation. It lulled us into a false sense of security only to thrust us back into our regular lives, where we were confronted with a world that kept spinning without us and the realization that our presence didn’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things.

My mood sobered.

“You know rom-coms aren’t supposed to be realistic.” Xavier wasn’t over my review. “They’re supposed to be entertaining.”

“They would be more entertaining if they were realistic.” I pointed at the end credits rolling across the screen. “What are the chances longtime rivals would fall in love just because they’re thrown together on a work project?”

“Less than a hundred and more than zero.” “Your optimism is nauseating.”

“I think that might be the gallon of ice cream you ate.” He cocked an eyebrow at the half-empty carton of French vanilla melting on the coffee table.

Embarrassment crawled over my face, hot and itchy. “You drink your beer, I eat my ice cream. Now, since the movie is over, it’s time for us to part ways and go to sleep.”

Xavier stared at me like I’d asked him to fly to the moon. “Are you joking? It’s only nine.” He tapped his phone. “The night’s barely started.”

I hated how he always made me feel like a buzzkill, but a girl had to draw the line somewhere. “I have no desire to get wasted.” “Who said anything about getting wasted?” He stood and extended a hand to me. “Come on. It’s time for your dance lessons.”

I crossed my arms. “Absolutely not.” That was even worse than getting wasted.

“So you enjoy looking like a malfunctioning robot every time you dance?”

“I don’t…” Breathe. I counted to three and tried again. “I rarely dance. Therefore, I don’t need lessons.”