Page 44 of Sin Bin

At the mention of him, I twist around and find him seated with some of his teammates at a table. Poker chips are laid out before them and empty tumblers litter the table. Even though I can’t quite make out his expression, I have the sneaking suspicion that he isn’t focused on the game . . . he’swatchingme.

I sigh. Probably because he feels responsible for mysafety.

On the way over, he said no less than three times not to trust any of his teammates. “They’re all cold motherfuckers, Zoe. Unless you want to wake up tomorrow morning alone and naked, I’d suggestavoidingthem.”

Something tells me that he’s the coldest motherfucker of them all—excuse myFrench.

In my attempt to get a good look at him, my butt inches a little too close to the edge of my barstool. There’s a split-second moment where I’m convinced I’m about to go sailing to the ground. My arms pinwheel, hands searching for purchase. At the very last second, I catch myself on the bar just as I see Andre lurch to his feet, like he’s prepared to come to myrescue.

Howcute.

I offer him a two-finger salute and turn to Charlie. “I have a problem,” Iannounce.

“Do you?” Charlie scoots her butt around on the barstool so she’s facing me. “Tellme.”

“I’mnotsure. . . ”

She pats my hand consolingly. “You’ll feelbetter.”

“Well, it’s just”—my hand gestures in the air frivolously—“how do you teach someone to bemore. . .open?”

“Like, emotionally?” Charlie asks, studying me carefully. “Girl, you’re speaking to the choir. Duke is like a clam.” She darts a glance over her shoulder and then whispers behind one hand, “Don’t tell him I said that. He’s doing much better, and I don’t want to ruin hisprogress.”

That makes me smile. She and Duke are the kind of couple you can’t help but love and hate at the same time. He was quick to purchase her a drink, and just as quick to press a kiss to her forehead and murmur, “Have fun with your friend, sweetheart,” before heading off withtheguys.

Like Isaid,cute.

Andre Beaumont isn’t cut from the samecloth.

Snagging the stem of my wine glass, I swivel around and slouch against the bar. Swirling the wine around, I take a small sip and wait for the man I’m watching tonoticeme.

It doesn’ttakelong.

Andre’s chin jerks up as if sensing my stare. For a moment, it’s like no one else exists in The Box. I sip my wine, and he mimics my move, wrapping a hand around his tumbler and drinking what I know is likely to be a whiskeyandcoke.

I don’t break eye contact as I primly cross one leg over theother.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he says something to the guys at his table and then scrapes hischairback.

Neither of us breaks eye contact as he draws closer, his long-legged gait eating up the distance to my barstool. As he does so, an idea brews in my head. It’s perfect, perfectly ridiculous, and when Andre stops in front of me, I burst, “Where’sMarshallHunt?”

Andre’s brows furrow and an unnamed emotion darkens his gaze. “Excuseme?”

I peer over his shoulder. “Marshall. Ishehere?”

There’s a small pause, and then, “He’s in the back. Ithink.”

Brilliant. “Will you grab himforme?”

“Will I—” Andre cuts off, downing the rest of his cocktail in one smooth move. He plants the glass on the counter by my elbow, and he’s so close that I can smell the sandalwood off his skin. “You know what? Fine, Iwillgogethim. “

I smile brightly at him. “I’ll be herewaiting!”

Though he looks on the verge of strangling me, he gives a curt nod and stalks away. Beside me, Charlie leans so far over, I worry she might topple from herstool.

“You’re baiting the lion,” she whispers in a voice that’s not at all a whisper. “Do you know what you’redoing?”

“Not at all,” I tell hertruthfully.

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