Page 42 of Sin Bin

There’s a small pause before we both erupt into laughter, and it actually seems to break the ice (pun unintended) because the next thing I know, I’m telling her everything. And, I do mean,everything.

“Wait, you did it in the laundry room?” she asks, gasping for air as we sit on the floor ten minutes later, our backs against the wall and our legs outstretched. I’ve kicked off my stilettos so my toes can enjoy their freedom. “That’sinsane.”

“It was hot,” I tell her with a small sigh. “Hands down the best sex I’ve ever had. Well, until itwasover.”

“And then he went back tobeingcold?”

“Or, to use your other word, he went back to beingstiff.”

“Insane,” she mutters again, shaking her head like she just can’t believe it. She’s a good egg, the kind of person I’d kill to have as a friend. Propping her elbow on a bent knee, she picks at a torn hole in her jeans. “But, hey, of the two of us, I think your story takesthecake.”

“Yeah, well, you’re at leastdatingthe guy you hooked up with. I’m back in the same position I was in the first place, with him as a client. It’s likeGroundhog Day. I swore that I woke up from this dream a year ago, and now I’m right back in itagain.”

“Maybe you should shag him one more time. Do it and be donewithhim.”

She sounds just likeAndre.

Without warning, the locker room door slips open and the Blades exit in groups. It’s a sight to see, really. Hot man after hot man files out. For the most part, their hair is wet, slicked back, and they’re decked out in jeans and T-shirts.

“You hitting up The Box after this, right?” one guy says, and I recognize him instantly as Marshall Hunt, Ladies’ ManExtraordinaire.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” another guy responds. “Going to swing by my old lady’s house first, though. Want to say g’night to her and the kid before I meet you forabeer.”

Hunt snorts derisively. “Jesus, man, you’rewhipped.”

“No. I just love mygirls.”

“Yeah? Then when are you going to put a ring onit,dude?”

They move out of earshot before I can hear the rest of the conversation. Beside me, Charlie jumps up, swiping at her jeans as she cranes her head, no doubt looking for her hotshotboyfriend.

Time to get outofhere.

With a prayer on my lips that Andre will be theverylast player out of the locker room, I snag the straps of my stilettos and begin stuffing my sore feet backintothem.

“Zo?”

Dammit.

A pair of boots enters my peripheral, and then my gaze is climbing his legs, pausing at the noticeable bulge at his crotch (don’t judge me!), and skating upward. I don’t make it past his broad chest because his kneespop! pop!as he crouches down in frontofme.

Black eyes meet mine. “What’re you doinghere,Zoe?”

Setting myself up for inevitable heartbreak, itseems.

I drop my head back against the wall in defeat. “Gwen invited me tothegame.”

“And you came?” He sounds surprised, not that Iblamehim.

“She promised me that there might be sponsors around to preach my cause to, but, alas, no one wasthere.”

Andre doesn’t laugh at my theatrical tone. “That doesn’t explain why you’re down here, by thelockerroom.”

“Would you believe me if I said that I had something important to discusswithyou?”

“No.” His damp head ducks as he reaches out to touch my ankle. But my ankle is bare, my stiletto still dangling from my toes, and I feel that one brush of his finger like he’s wrapped his entire hand around my heart and not my foot. “How is this?” he asks, not going so far as to tap the bone, though he does apply slight pressure. “Did you put ice on it like Itoldyou?”

My breath hitches. “I-I didn’thaveany.”

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