Page 48 of Sin Bin

Another thought hits me, and this one packs quite the punch. Not in a good way. “Am I not acting enough like a gentleman for you, Zoe?” The words come out huskier than I intend them to. “Not living up to the charming hype ofMarshall?”

She rears back. “You’re not eventrying. You just waltzed over, used your sexyvoice—”

I feel a grin pull at my mouth. “I have a sexyvoice?”

Zoe promptly ignores me. “This is your problem,” she rages, fisting her hands in her lap. “You can’t bother to drop the macho act for even five minutes. It’s all,I’m too much of a badass to be vulnerableoremotions are overrated. Newsflash, Mr. Beaumont, not everyone is an emotional ice block likeyouare.”

I freeze—just like the ice she accuses me ofbeing.

My vision blurs. Images I don’t want to see. Memories I don’t want torecall.

No one realizes that I’ve been living in a self-made penalty box for years now. Since Hannah walked out on me. Since I gave in to the temptation that was, and still is, ZoeMackenzie.

And when I take a desperate, steadying breath, I act strictly upon an impulse formed byanger.

I wrap a strong hand around the back of her neck, gently tugging her close, until our lips are nearly touching. Her eyes are wide and blinking rapidly, and I take advantage of her momentary silence by adjusting my grip, cupping her face, gently caressing her cheek with the pad of mythumb.

“Is this why you didn’t want me to kiss you the other day?” I murmur softly, skimming my gaze over her features. “Because I haven’t spilled all of my secrets to you?” I take her chin, shifting it up so that I can press my lips to her neck. She shudders under my touch. “Do you want me to tell you my fears and my worries? Rip open my wounds so that you can take pride in healing them, in healing the big, bad Andre Beaumont?” I release her chin. Drop my fingers to her collarbone, where I peel her shirt away from her skin and dust another kiss to her neck. “Is that what you want, honey? What you’vealwayswanted?”

“Yes,” she breathes out, her eyes squeezedshut, “yes.”

I don’t think she even realizes what she’s said, and, with an acute pang, I know that I’ve taken this too far. The jeering from my teammates has quieted to crickets. My heart thunders in my chest, an identical twin to Zoe’s pulse leaping to life beneathmypalm.

The part of me that’s been craving her presence, her spirit,her,for a year, demands that I apologize for my asshole behavior. For exposing her like this in front of strangers or even potential futureclients.

Fuck,fuck,fuck.

I pull back at the same time her pretty, dark eyes peel open. There’s no hiding the embarrassment swirling in their depths, nor thehatred.

I am the worst kind ofasshole.

Fuck.

“Zoe—”

“Don’t touch me.” Her voice is a quiet crack in the otherwise quiet bar. “D-don’t—” Her lids slam shut, her chin turning away. “I have to go. I have to gorightnow.”

I reach for her purse off the bar. “I’lldriveyou.”

She gives a sharp shake of her head. “I don’t . . . I don’t want to go anywhere with you, y-youbastard.”

Little does she know that’s a more accurate term for me than she could have ever chosen. Bastard. Asshole. Cold. I’ve heard it all. To be balls to the wall honest, the words don’t bother me when it comes from the general public. But falling from her lips . . . it’s a sharp knife to an already festeringwound.

Tears bloom, turning her eyes bloodshot red. Another stab—this one right to the heart. “Let me drive you, Zoe. We can sit in silence. We don’t have to say a single word. Just let me takeyouhome.”

Let me atone formysins.

Whether it’s the fact that we’re currently the center of attention or something else, she agrees with a short, barely-there nod. It’s all I need to rise from the stool and to quickly payourtab.

In silence, we walk out of The Box side by side. None of my teammates reach out to fist bump me good-bye, and not a single soul gives even a short wave. They know I’ve gone too far this time. Hell,Iknow I’ve gone too farthistime.

I meant what I said though—if she wants to sit in silence during the drive to her parent’s house, that’s whatwe’lldo.

She steals in front of me as we exit the dark hallway that leads into the main area of The Box. But instead of moving toward the front door, she swivels unexpectedly and struts straight over tothebar.

I catch up to her as she two-finger salutes the bartender and orders a vodka andtonic.

“What are you doing?” My voice is low, because I have no interest in attracting the attention of the bar’s patrons. While The Box caters to Blades players all day and every day in the back of the establishment, this general area of the bar is not ourscene.

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