Page 40 of Sin Bin

By this time last year, I had fallen into a routine: watch the Red Wings play; meet Andre by the locker room, just before he spoke with the media about the game. Following that, we’d head out and grab late night dinner beforeheadinghome.

Or, you know, to our ownhomes.

No kissing, notouching.

Just two buddies hanging out and grabbing a beer. Or, in my case,whitewine.

The memories hurt, and I rub my hand against my chest. Heartburn, maybe. I totally shouldn’t have scarfed down that quesadilla, and I refuse to believe that I might be feeling anything else . . . likeemotions.

I felt more than enough of those last year, and I’m still topped off at my lifetimequota.

“Woo-yee!Bob, tell me you saw that bodycheck!”

Bob, the announcer, howls in delight. “Boy, did I? You think maybe Beaumont is out to playtonight?”

“I just think he might be, Bob, I just think he might be. Let’s watch a replay of that,shallwe?”

I lift my gaze to the Jumbotron, and sure enough, there’s Andre bulldozing a Flyers player into the boards. The Plexiglas shakes from the force of his hit. And, even though I’m watching a playback, my heart catches in my throat at the sight of Andre jabbing an elbow into the other player’s ribs as they fight forthepuck.

Sweat beads down Andre’s face, and his black eyes shine like the devil, narrowed and unholy, as he battles for his life. The Flyers player takes a jab back, striking Andre beneath the chin. I physically wince, as thoughIwere the one to get clocked in the face, but whereas I’d end up on the floor in the fetal position, Andre does what hedoesbest.

He angles his big body in such a way that he hooks the puck with his stick. With a forceful tug, the other player tries to draw Andre back by his jersey. It doesn’t work. In the blink of an eye, Andre escapes the illegalholding.

Just like that, he’s plowing down the ice, light glinting off his navy-blue helmet. With a sharp motion, he draws back and fires the puck toward his teammate. A half-second later, the buzzer sounds and red lights key up in thearena.

One assist down for AndreBeaumont.

If only he played with that much heart off theice,too.

ChapterTwelve

ZOE

Call me crazy,but I have no idea what I’mdoinghere.

And by “here,” I’m talking about the fact that I’m lurking outside of the Blades’ locker room like a total stalker. Thanks to my position with Golden Lights Media, getting past security was abreeze.

I flashed my work I.D., the security guard gave it a once over, and with a low grunt, he gave me access to the narrow hallway that looks like something out of a horrormovie.

Luckyme.

“Follow the hall, hang your first right,” the guardtoldme.

Easy, noproblem.

But now that I’m standingoutsideof the locker room, it’s a bit of a different story. Through the door, I can hear raucous, masculine laughter. The Blades put up a hell of a fight tonight, and it paid off, since they won against the Flyers 3-2. But the laughter and cheering only make me wonder if I’m out of my mind—ofcourse, Andre will go out with his teammates to celebrate. Ofcourse, he’s going to think I’m weird for standing out here, waitingforhim.

My eyes squeeze shut and my back presses against the cool wall. “You’re crazy, Zoe Mackenzie,” I whisper to myself. “Go the hell home before he catches yououthere.”

Great idea. Don’t know why I didn’t think of itsooner.

I twist around and barely make it two steps before I hear a female voice call my name. Looking over my shoulder, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see Gwen’s friend Charlie out here, since she’s a reporterandall.

I fake a smile, hoping it doesn’t look pained. “Hey there!” I flash a little wave, already backing up to prepare for myescape.

Charlie hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “Did you need to see one of the guys?” she asks, her curly blonde hair bouncing as she approaches me. “They’re almost done in there, but someone broke out the vodka, and I can’t guarantee any one of them will remember that they were supposed tomeetyou.”

Drunken hockey players? Yeah, that’s totally my cue to leave. “I thought, maybe, I should link up with one of my clients before heading home, but if they’re partying inthere. . . ”

---