Page 30 of Sin Bin

Guilt punches me inthegut.

“Zo—”

She cuts me off with a raised palm. “You’re right. Idowant to talk the rest of the way to New York. Is thatsobad?”

“Is this a trick question?” I ask her, easing the car along a curve in the road. “One of those times where it starts out all fun and games and ends with one of uscrying?”

“No.” From her defensive tone, I gather that she actuallymeansyes.

Don’t let her see how much she gets to you.In a rough voice, I say, “What if I have nothingtosay?”

She shrugs. “I guess we could sit in silence for the next two hours. I mean, if that’s whatyouwant.”

“Iwantto listen to the radio.” Scratch that—Iwantto know if she tastes as good as I remember. Seeing as though thatdefinitelyisn’t an option for more reasons than I can name, I’ll settle on listening to the radio and picturing my grandmother in a bikini. Anything to stop thinking about Zoe up against the wall in that damnedlaundryroom.

“Well,” she says pleasantly, “I’d rather be in my brand-new office, but you blackmailed me into this trip. Now you have to deal with theconsequences.”

I tug on my earlobe again, something I’ve done since I was kid whenever I’ve felt uncomfortable in a situation. And right now . . . yup, definitely feeling uncomfortable. She’s goading me into doing exactly what she wants. There’s a reason why her clients in Detroit (including myself) called her the “barracuda.” The woman knows what buttons to push andhowto push them, and I’m convinced she wouldn’t get away with nearly half of it if she wasn’tsonice.

And, damn it, she knows how to push my buttons, too, because the next thing I know I’m snapping, “Fuck, allright,Zoe.”

She clears her throat. “Is that a yes totalking?”

“It’s a yes to us getting this over with,” I growl, threading my fingers through my hair before clapping my hand back on the wheel again. “Say what you wanttosay.”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Why is this your lastseason?”

My shoulders flinch. “That’s off-topic.”

With a little snort, she murmurs, “No surprise there—everythingis off-topicwithyou.”

“I like it that way.” I accelerate the car as we leave the highway-in-the-woods for flatter pastures with gray cement, and walls of rocks on either side of the road. Needing to redirect the conversation, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “You have aboyfriend,Zoe?”

Honestly, I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised by the question. She chokes on air, reaching for the water bottle in the console. “I’m notansweringthat.”

Unfamiliar jealousy pools in my stomach. Yeah, not exactly the answer I was hoping for. And, yeah, I know that makes me a hypocrite because it’s not as though I’ve spent the last year living like a monk. Even so, one-night stands aren’t nearly the same thing as relationships. For what it’s worth, the only woman I’ve considered asking out in yearsisZoe.

The need to push for more information grows. “So, I’m assuming you aren’t datinganyone?”

She’s quiet, shifting around again, and the thought hits me that this attraction might be one-sided. Which is good, absolutely—tell me you’re dating someone so I can get over this irrational need to strip you naked and makeyoumine.

“Um, you know, I’mdating. Just not one person.” Her voice emerges as a squeak, and she makes another grab for the waterbottle.

She’slying.

“Yeah?” I lower my voice, dropping it to a husky purr. “How’s that working outforyou?”

“Great!” She sucks down water like she’s been stuck in the Sahara for weeks. “It’s great. I’m really enjoying it, you know, just playing the field orwhatnot.”

This from the girl who used to make me tag along on her dates because she worried that all men were murderers? I shake my head, doing my best not to laugh. “That good, eh? You’re just taking over the Boston dating scene and showing these men what Detroit women aremadeof?”

Something flickers in her expression. “Oh,absolutely. I mean, just the other day I went on a date with this . . . ” Sheswallows. “This—”

“Let me guess,” I say, my mouth finally giving up on the battle and curling up into a grin, “he was adoctor.”

“No.”

“Alawyer?”

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