Page 47 of Sin Bin

Curling one hand into a fist, I push away from the door. She wants me to be nice? She wants me to be like Marshall-goddamn-Hunt?

Done.

My fingers grasp the doorknob and yank it open. I force myself to slow my gait as I enter the backroom where my teammates are waiting for me to make a damn fool out of myself. Any other day, and I’d give that to them—but not tonight, not when the woman I’ve been dreaming about for a week straight wants me to besomeoneelse.

“Here he is, ladies and gents,” Jackson, a left wing, hollers from the bar, “KingSinBin!”

The nickname rubs raw. While enforcers in the league are certainly a dying breed, the stigma hasn’t quite faded. Goon. Meathead. Impulsive. Only the impulsive bit rings true for me, and it’s something I’ve worked on over the years.Think before you drop gloves. Think before you smash a guy into the boards.For the most part, I’m leashed tight on the ice, only breaking into a fight when the situation callsforit.

Still doesn’t matter—guys see me coming for them and they immediately turn tail. My reputation for having a quick temper and even quicker fistsprecedesme.

My mouth twists. If they think that I’m terrifying, then they don’tknowshit.

But Zoe isn’t scared of me. Against all odds, the dark-haired, dark-eyed girl from Detroit chooses to push me instead. She never stops; she never quits. It’s what drew me to her before, and it’s sure as hell what attracts me to herstill.

One taste will beenough.

Yeah, right. When it comes to Zoe Mackenzie, I’m running myself in circles trying to keep to the plan, to stay out ofherlane.

I zero-in on her seated at the bar. As usual, she’s decked out in a form-fitting skirt and a top that makes her look like she’s got bigger breasts than she does. Her legs are crossed demurely at theknees.

She looks pristine, despite her tipsiness. Pristine and oh-so-innocent.

The innocence isalie.

She lifts a brow, as though daring me to comeforward.

The lanes blur,becomingone.

Just onetaste.

I school my features, force a casual smile to my face as I sauntertowardher.

“This stool is taken,” she tells me when I step up next to her at the bar. My eyes narrow on her. Doesn’t she realize she’s playing adangerousgame?

My foot hooks the wooden rung, and I tug it away from the bar anyway. “Is that so?” I ask, voice low, only for her. “Girl’snight?”

Her gaze darts to Duke’s girl and then flits back to myface. “Yes.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind if I steal their pretty friend for a few, eh?” Without giving her time to argue, I take a seat. My elbow rests on the bar, my hand hesitating dangerously close to the curve of herbreasts.

She sucks in her bottom lip, and I feel that one breath all the way down tomycock.

“Celebrating anything tonight?” I ask. “A birthday or a promotion?” My thumb brushes the fabric of her shirt. “Maybe an . . .engagement?”

For a second, so brief I can’t be sure it happened, she presses into my touch. She’s definitely wearing a padded bra—not that I give a shit. Back in Detroit, I’d never had the chance to see her fully naked. Not the top half of her, anyway. And since I’ve always been a bit of a breast man . . . it’s my turn to suck in a deepbreath.

What would she do if I leaned in and kissed her? Same as the other day in the elevator, probably—I deserved that rejection, even though I hadn’t meant toinsulther.

But then she arches away, her attention skirting past me to my caveman teammates who arewatchingus.

She leans in, crooking her finger. Her breath is hot on my ear when she hisses, “Don’tdothat.”

“Dowhat?”

“Youknowwhat.”

Do I? Maybe I’m totally reading her wrong. In the elevator, before she jumped away, she’d wanted my touch. I know it. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re in front of the Blades—understandable, as they’re a bunch of assholes and Iamher client. But they’re all two sheets to the wind right now, and I doubt they’ll even remember this littleepisode.

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