Page 45 of Sin Bin

I am, what some would call, flying by the seat of my pants. But I wait anyway, making small talk with Charlie and the bartender until a sullen Andre comes strolling back toward the bar, Marshall Huntintow.

Up close, Hunt looks just as American Golden Boy as he does on TV. Light brown hair, indeterminable colored eyes in the muted bar room. He’s big without being massive like Duke Harrison or Andre. When Hunt meets my gaze, the corners of his eyes crease with humor, and he leans in for a kiss to mycheek.

“I heard I was summoned,” he says, “though Beaumont here wouldn’t tellmewhy.”

Andre says nothing, and Marshall Hunt visiblyshudders.

Yes, this will beperfect.

I take another long pull from my wine, then pop the glass back on the bar top. Turning back to the men, I say, “That’s because I didn’t tell him. Marshall, I’ve heard you’re a bit of aplayer.”

His eyes go wide. Andre thumps him on the back. “Hell,” Hunt mutters after a moment, “warn a man before you catch him offguard.”

“Sorry,” I say without being all that sorry. No, this is perfect.Heis perfect. “My point is that you’re a ladies’ man. But the ladiesloveyou. The media loves you. You’re like . . . aunicorn.”

Andre lets loose a groan. “I think you’ve had too much to drink, Zoe.” Softly, he presses his inner wrist to my forehead, as if checking my temperature. It feels . . . well, dammit, it feels quite lovely actually. “You’rehot.”

Charlie leans over, one hand outstretched for a high-five. “You got that right, Beaumont. Our Zoe isbeautifulll.”

Andre slides her a hard glare, and I leap at the opportunity he’s presented me. Batting his hand away, I announce, “See! That look right there. You have to stop scaring people, Andre. This is why Marshall isperfect.”

“Because Idon’tscare people?” Hunt asks, his voice sounding every shade of confused. “Should I beinsulted?”

“No!” In the far, far corner of my brain, I realize that I’ve hadwaytoo much to drink. But whether it’s the wine or the fact that, for the first time in months, I’m hanging out with people my own age, I feel happy. Even if I am earning myself a spot on Andre’s mile-long shit list. Pressing my shoulders back, I say, “Marshall, I need you to teach Andre how to be the kind of guy everyoneloves.”

“Jesus,Zoe.”

No surprise on who says that, but I ignore the man simmering beside me. This is for the greater good—Andre’sgreatergood.

“Andre, pretend that Marshall is a woman you’rehittingon.”

For a moment, there’s only silence, but boy, is it substantial. Hunt comes up sputtering from his beer, Charlie keels over the bar, rolling with laughter, and Andre . . . Andre turns to me, his dark brows drawn when he growls, “Are you seriousrightnow?”

“Yes,” I tell him. “Charlie and I will be the judges—right, Charlie?” Beside me, Charlie throws up her hand to order another round of wine. I take her silence as confirmation. I fold my arms over my chest, trying not to wobble too hard in my seat. “We’ll be the judges. Then, once you’ve gotten it exactly right, we’ll head up to the front part of the bar and let you loose on realwomen.”

“I’m gonna need another fucking beer for this,” Huntmutters.

Less than five minutes later, we’re all in position, and, sure enough, we’ve gathered a crowd of eager onlookers. Duke sits behind his girlfriend, his hand clutching Charlie’s on top of her knee. A few of the other players have pulled up chairs, the poker game forgotten in the face of watching Andre make a fool out of himself. The chalkboard that sat behind the bar now sits in my lap, so that I can tally the number of times Charlie and I feel as though Andre has done somethingright.

Clapping my hands together loud enough to end the chatter, I say, “Okay! Our first round will begin . . . now! Andre”—I point a green piece of chalk at him—“you’ve just walked into a bar and noticed our beautiful, lovely lady right here. What doyoudo?”

Andre cuts a glare at Hunt, who is now fully invested in the scheme. He presses his chin to the tops of his clasped hands, and flutters his eyelashes outrageously, making his teammates roar withlaughter.

“Find someone better looking,” Andregrunts.

“Wrong!” I make abzzingsound with my teeth. “Tryagain.”

With a little sigh of defeat, Andre pinches the bridge of his nose. “I would walk uptoher.”

“Baby steps,” Charlie says, “very good baby steps. Now, if you were doing this as yourregularself, what would be yournextstep?”

Andre doesn’t have the chance to defendhimself.

One of his teammates, Jackson, I think, points his beer in Andre’s direction. “He’d ask if she had a boyfriend or ahusband.”

My nose scrunches. “You ask that? That’s the first thingyousay?”

“It’s not—” Breaking off, Andre rakes his fingers through his hair. “I don’t say thateverytime, but sometimes it helps to know whether I’m barking up the wrong tree. Itsavestime.”

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