Page 55 of Released from the Sin Bin

Another line change and the right corner of his mouth lifts half way up.

“That was a smirk, not a smile.” I point crazily at the television.

Carter laughs at me and tips his glass to his mouth. “He’s always fucking smiling. It’s fake as shit.”

“I never realized it,” I say as they once again pan the camera up at the team to see Coach Higgins’ wide grin.

We’re losing by two goals. No one should be happy about that.

Finally, there’s a commercial break and our glasses are already half full.

I bring my leg up to stretch and massage my ankle like the doctor showed me when it cramps.

“Here,” Carter reaches out and I wearily pass my foot to him. I’d hesitate more if I didn’t just drink eight ounces of rum. “I broke my wrist once, and they showed me the same type of stretches.”

“How’d you break your wrist?” I ask while leaning back to give him better access to my ankle.

“I punched a statue,” he deadpans and focuses on the massage.

“Why?” I drag out my question, afraid of what the answer will be.

He shrugs. “I didn’t like its face.”

“You’re an ass.” I slap his arm and he smiles proudly. His hand smooths up my calf and back down, massaging the tight muscles, and I press my lips tightly closed to stifle my moan. “You’re good at this.”

“Give me your other leg. I bet walking on one leg is giving you a good muscle on the other one.”

He’s not wrong. My calf muscles are now freakishly uneven. I let out a soft grunt when he does the same massage.

“Vic never massaged your legs for you?” He glances up at me through the top of his eyes and thick lashes. Lashes any woman would yearn to have and do anything to recreate them for themselves.

“No,” I scoff. “I asked him to rub out a knot in my shoulder once and I was lucky he did it for two seconds.”

“What a great guy. I wonder why you ever let him go,” Carter teases sarcastically and I kick his thigh, making sure I get close to his balls. “Hey, watch the goods.”

“Don’t be a jerk.” I sneer at him.

He laughs, and I realize the alcohol we consumed is already giving him a buzz. I sit back and can’t help but to think of Vic. At the mere mention of his name, my mind drifts over memories of us just sitting around and watching TV. There aren't many.

Most times we were together, there was a party somewhere. It was a party or a small gathering of his frat brothers. And there was always alcohol.

“What are you thinking about?” Carter nudges my good leg.

“Vic,” I answer, not even trying to hide it.

“I knew it,” he groans with his head back.

“He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with.” I spent over three years of my life with him. And he never once massaged or rubbed my back or legs. Isn’t that a thing couples do? Don’t they want to touch each other?

“Fuck, that sucks. I hope you used protection.” Carter gives me a sideways look. “You have no idea how much pussy that dick has been in.”

I take one of my pillows and throw it at Carter’s face. “Don’t be an asshole or you can leave. I hate that word.”

He laughs and places the pillow under my feet. “Dick?”

“No, pussy.” I cringe at its use. “It’s so vulgar and disgusting.”

“I’m just joking. Sorry.” He holds his hands up defensively. “Game’s back on.”

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