Page 46 of Sin Bin

“Because all you want to do is get into her pants?” With a shake of my head, I look over to Hunt. “What doyoudo?”

Marshall Hunt seems only too pleased to offer his take on picking up a girl. “Well, it’s a bit of a science, y’know? First, I try to get her attention, see if she’s even interested. Then, once we’ve been staring at each other forabit—”

“Did you have to choose fucking Romeo for this shit?” someone shouts from the back of the bar. “We’ll be here ’tilmorning!”

“Dude!” Hunt shouts back, pointing his finger at where the voice came from. “She asked. Don’t be jealous that you get laid once a year, McDermott. The only stick of yours getting action lately is sure as hell not the one attached to yourpelvis.”

Everyone laughs, throwing up beers and cocktails in atoast.

“Fuckyou,Hunt!”

“You’re not my type, McDermott!” With that Hunt, turns back around, his handsome face once again a mask of pleasantness. “Anyway, now that we’ve got McDermott’s virgin status out of the way, what I was saying is that I make my move slowly. It’s methodical. I want this woman to know that I’m coming. Let the anticipation build and all that. When I finally approach her, she’s practically begging for me tositdown.”

Huh. Thatdoessound very methodical, which I suppose is the reason it works. Even just sitting here,I’mfeeling a little turned on by Marshall Hunt. It’s his eyes, I think. Now that he’s closer, I can see that they are a pewter gray, slightly mysterious, but open and guileless. Unlike Andre’s black-as-night gaze that hints of unspokensecrets.

I reach out and poke Andre in the side. “What do you saytothat?”

“I think I’m in my own version of hell,” he tells me, lifting his whiskey and coke to his mouth. “You seriously want me to playthisup?”

I meet his gaze. “I want you tobenice.”

His mouth flattens and the emotion in his dark eyes turns unreadable. Have I hurt his feelings? I wouldn’t think it possible, but from the way he stoically sets his tumbler beside me . . . maybe I have. It’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize, to blame the wine, but then his fingers wrap around my bicep as he gently tugs me off the barstool. The chalkboard goes to thebartop.

“Fine.” Releasing me, Andre steps back, already turning toward the door. Over his shoulder, he says, “But you’re my target, Zoe,notHunt.”

My sloshed brain realizes that this is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. “Andre! What do you mean,I’myourtarget?”

“Exactly as I said.” He twists around but doesn’t stop moving. He casually walks backward, as if arrogant enough to believe that nothing will trip him up. “When I come back in here, I’ll be coming straight for you. Beprepared.”

Just like that, he walks out ofTheBox.

I think I may need anotherdrink.

ChapterThirteen

ANDRE

I’m goingto fuckingregretthis.

Zoe Mackenzie has been a thorn in my side for two years. She was a thorn when she was my PR agent back in Detroit; she was a thorn when she wasn’t eveninmy life, and all I had was the memory of her to haunt me every night. And now that she’s back in it? Now that we’ve come full circle, like the last year of radio silence never evenhappened?

She’s driving mecrazy.

Every last rational thought in my brain is telling me to walk out of the bar. To go home and get my ass to bed before I do something I’llregret.

But the irrational part of me, the part of me that doesn’t care about professionalism or emotional boundaries wants to storm back into the bar and prove that Marshall-fucking-Hunt doesn’t have what it takes tosatisfyher.

I do—onlyIdo.

And just like that night a year ago when I kissed her like it was the last thing I’d ever do, I’m tempted to pull a repeat and do it all over again. That night a year ago, it sure felt like my life depended on her kiss,onher.

Andrightnow. . .

I drop my forehead against the door that leads into the exclusive area of The Box, and inhale sharply through my nose. I shove aside the ridiculous slice of disappointment that she doesn’t wantme. She’s smart on that score. Damn smart. Unlike me, the King of Bad Decisions, she’s making a good one by choosing a guy who isn’t running from his own shadow. Zoe will always be better off without me—not that she ever realizedthatfact.

She’s the woman who’ll bring you Advil when you’re hungover. The kind of woman willing to shoot the shit over a game of pool. The kind of woman who’ll make you forget yourownname.

The kind of woman who doesn’t need to be dragged down by excess emotional baggagelikemine.

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