“No. Sweet, open guys regularly wander into a life of crime. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He picks up a twig with his good hand and taps it against the ground. “I think you’re interesting too.”

I take a minute to think that over. Outside of the club, I don’t think I do all that much. I’m not interesting. I don’t have fun little “things” about me that are interesting to find out. I work a lot, I drink a lot of coffee, I’m a sucker for a guy with pretty eyes and a big smile, and I still share an apartment with my best friend. “Tell me more.”

“Well, I never know what you’re going to say half of the time⁠—”

“Likewise.” In fact, more with Perry because he’s never on the same wavelength as the rest of us.

“But whatever you say, I dunno, it usually makes me feel good. I like when you talk.”

I like when you talk shouldn’t be a huge compliment, but it’s a different one. And somehow, that makes it feel more genuine. “Okay.”

“You always feel like you have a purpose. Nothing gets to you. Sometimes it’s like life is a huge joke to you, and I want to be in on that. Sometimes the smallest things trigger me to panic and get so in my head that I’m in my own way a lot of the time.”

I never would have guessed that about Perry. If either of us is a go-with-the-flow kind of guy, it’s him. The panicky thing … I wouldn’t have guessed that either, but I guess it makes sense. It’s what had him jump into this hitman thing without stopping and thinking it through.

“And then the other thing,” he continues, throwing me a sly look. “Is your name.”

I try to figure out where he’s going with that and come up empty. “My name?”

“Yeah. I can’t for the life of me figure out how someone that’s as filthy as you are was sainted.”

I stare at him, waiting for the meaning of what he’s saying to sink in. I’m still lost. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s awesome. Ah—both things. How amazing you are at sex and being recognized in that way.”

“Recognized?”

“Yeah.” He turns curious eyes on me. “How did it happen anyway? I didn’t even realize saints were still a thing these days.”

Saints. How did it happen? Does … holy shit. Is he saying …

I stare at him, waiting for him to drop the act. He doesn’t. He just goes on waiting for an answer, and it slowly sinks in that I’m the one who has to give it to him. “Perry … do you, umm …” How the fuck do I even ask this? “Do you think my name is Clare?”