Page 27 of Sin Bin

I shake my head. “Saidno.”

He lifts his coffee mug to his mouth and blows the steam away, as though buying himself time. Over the rim, he asks, “Breakout?”

“No.”

His thumb slips down the handle, caressing the white porcelain. It’s hard not to imagine that thumb skimming down the ridges of my spine. I slam the brake on those thoughts, and mentally shove them into a metal box with a Never Open Againlabel.

“Okay, so non-hockey magazines.” He lowers the mug to the table a little too forcefully, and the tea in my cup sloshes over the rim. I steal back my football-shaped napkin, unraveling it so that I can wipe up the mess. “Time Magazinereached out a fewmonthsago.”

“I already called. I spoke to two editors, but after being stood up by you, and then the way you’ve treated some of their reporters in the past . . . they aren’tinterested.”

“Fuck.”

He says it with no prelude, but I can sense his shock. A year ago, I may have even slid onto his side of the booth to put an arm round his shoulder in comfort. In this moment, however, I still myself by holding onto the edges of the booth. Lowering my voice, I ask, “What happened this last year,Andre?”

Once again, the IHOP gods save Andre from having to confess. Our server chooses that exact moment to swing by our table with our feast. Or, Andre’s feast, and my smallportion.

At the sight of his plate of bacon, I regret my life decisions and shove a spoon into my soupyoatmeal.

He must catch my bacon-ogling, though, because he holds up a crispy piece. “If I give you this, I’ll answer your question and then you have to promise not to pryanymore.”

My gaze lands on the bacon, and I swear I begin to salivate. “Is this another condition?” I ask, swirling my spoon around in the oatmeal bowl. “Like when you told me last week that we won’t be having sexagain?”

As if on cue, the bacon gives up on being stiff, and cracks down the middle to dangle limply intheair.

A laugh breaks free from my chest, just before I clap my hand over my mouth. “Oh, God,” I whisper from behind my splayed fingers, “it’sasign.”

Dark eyes narrow on me, even as Andre drops the bacon on his plate like he’s embarrassed to be holding a wilted slice. “A signofwhat?”

“Ourlives.”

Uncontrollable laughter takes hold of my body, because, holy cow, it’s so incredibly accurate. Like the piece of bacon, both Andre and I have been broken this last year. I mean, if you really want to look at it, we’rebothstill trying to pick up the pieces of our ill-timed shagging at the Red Wings’facility.

There’s a beat of breath before Andre, no doubt sensing the irony, gives in. His shoulders don’t bounce the same way that mine do, but the corners of his eyes crease, and his mouth ticks up from its permanentfrown.

When he’s smiling, his features move from broodingly attractive todownrightsexy.

Before I can halt the words, I blurt out, “You should smile more. It looks goodonyou.”

His laughter slowly edges into silence. Then, so quietly I almost don’t hear him, he says, “Maybe I don’t feel like smiling. You thought ofthat,Zoe?”

And just like that, we’ve come back full circle. “Tell me what you were going to say. Before the server came around withourfood.”

I watch him dig into his blueberry pancakes, and I take the not-so-subtle hint. Okay, so, his year is off-limits. I can get behind that, though it does feel a little unfair that he should dangle questions in front of me and then snatch them away. Then again, we aren’t exactly friends any longer, so Iprobablyshouldn’t feelslighted.

Fun fact: I totally do,though.

So, it comes as a surprise when two pieces of bacon land on my plate. Neither piece is the broken, half-danglyone.

My gaze cuts to his face. “Thankyou?”

“This is going to be my lastseason.”

That’s all he says. That’s it. And yet I feel the weight of his depression migrate onto my shoulders. I stare at him openly, trying my best to make the words mean something in my head. “What do youmean, this is going to be your lastseason?”

With a sigh, he pushes his plate away and folds his arms over his chest. “I thought we agreed that youwouldn’tpry.”

“No,youtold me that I shouldn’t pry, but that was before you dropped that bomb on me.” I snag one of the bacon slices he’s given me, and pop it into my mouth. Chewing, thinking, I decide I need more time and opt to eat the second slice now instead of saving it. “Why will this be your lastseason?”

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