Page 43 of Sin Bin

“Your dad owns a restaurant,” he says, his mouth barely lifting into a smile. His eyes, though, gleam with amusement. “You really going to tell me that he had nothingavailable?”

“Yes,” I lie, shamelessly turning my foot so that he has more access to touch me. If hewants.

Shameless.

I know.It’sbad.

Maybe he catches my not-so-subtle signal because his palm skims my foot and then clasps my ankle. The heat from his hand has my toes flexing, my fingers digging into the floor on either side of my hips. I look up, meet hisgaze,and—

“Yo! Beaumont, my man, are you comingwithus?”

The spell, if there even was one,breaks.

Andre’s hand falls from my foot, and he straightens to his full height. “I planned to head home,” he tells his teammate, a guy I don’t immediately recognize from the roster pages. “Get in an early night before we hit the roadtomorrow.”

Another player comes up beside the first guy, and slings an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t bail on us, Beaumont.” The man’s blue eyes dip to where I’m still sitting on the floor, trying to lace up my heels. “Ah, I see. You have a lady friend for theevening.”

Finally, I manage to hook myself back up. I’m struggling to my feet, clutching the wall, when Andre claps a hand around my elbow and pulls me up. Which doesn’t help my case at all when I say, “I’mnothis ladyfriend.”

Andre’s teammates exchange a look. “Yeah, sure,” the firstonesays.

“She’s my publicist,” Andre says in a hard voice. “That’sit.”

If my heart does a weird little squeeze at his words, I do my best to ignore it. I duck my head. “I should probably be heading out anyway. Andre, I’ll see you onMonday?”

Another voice entersthefray.

“Zoe!” Charlie calls out, bouncing over to me with Duke Harrison trailing behind her. I stare at him, a little stunned. He’s more attractive in person than he even is on TV. Blond hair, blue eyes. A solid build that speaks of hours spent in the gym. No wonder Charlie did him on a rooftop—I wouldhavetoo.

Charlie’s hand waves in front of my face, and heat rises to my cheeks. “Why don’t you come with us?” She snags my hand and gives it a little tug. “We’re hitting up The Box. It’s atradition.”

“Zoe is heading home.” This comes fromAndre.

Something about his remote, icy tone snaps my back straight. “I’d love to join,” I tell Charlie. “Are you guys takingacab?”

Masculine fingers wrap around my wrist. “I thought you were heading home?” Andre’s thumb brushes the center of my palm. “Remember?”

I slip my hand from his grasp. “Sure, I do. But Charlie and I are new friends, and it’d be rude of me to say no.” I lean forward, waiting until he does the same. “Now, aren’t you heading home so you can see one of your women? Don’t let usstopyou.”

“Jesus, Zoe.” He rears back, scrubbing a hand over his hard jawline. Mouth flattening, he growls, “All right. Fine.I’llgo.”

My eyes narrow on him. “That wasn’t aninvitation.”

“It is now,” he tells me stiffly. Before I can even get another word in, he adds, “You’ll ridewithme.”

He doesn’t even give me an opportunity tosayno.

“Another round of wine, please!”Charlie shouts two hours later. She’s seated next to me at The Box, which is a hole in the wall if I’ve ever seen one. Dark walls and dim lighting give off the impression that the bar is smaller than it is. Seated at the end of a long hallway from the main part of the establishment, this area of The Box is apparently exclusive only to the Blades and theirguests.

If we’re being honest, it’s pretty much a quarantined area for hot-as-hell hockey players. They mosey about this way and that, lounging on couches or shooting pool. Some stick around the bar, talking loudly as they argue who had the better stick play for the evening. One guy comes up to me and, without prelude, begins to show me pictures of his babydaughter.

Cute kid, but I still have no idea whoheis.

One other thing is for certain about The Box—the liquor selection is good. Maybetoogood.

I push my empty glass away with a groan. My skin feels sticky, and my throat scratchy from one too many glasses of chardonnay. “I think I’ve had toomuchwine.”

Charlie waves away my worries. “One more,” she sing-songs, before tapping me on the nose with the kind of familiarity that comes from bonding while being tipsy. “Do you really want to go home with Andrerightnow?”

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