Page 49 of Sin Bin

There are puck bunnies galore, all hoping for the chance to slip into the rear and into one ofourbeds.

“Zoe.”

Dark eyes snap in my direction. “What does it look like I’m doing, Mr.Beaumont?”

On any other day, I’m a diehard fan of her sass. Today it worries me. “It looks like you’re drinking to forgetsomething.”

She touches her finger to her nose, as though indicatingyou got it. “You’d be correctonthat.”

I shouldn’t ask. Doesn’t mean I don’t, though. “What are you trying toforget?”

Her gaze leisurely eats me up. She pauses at my mouth, and I’d be lying if I said that one look doesn’t turn me on in five different ways. I can still recall her taste as vividly as though I were kissing her now. And I can sure as hell remember what it felt like with her legs wrapped around my waist and her nails biting intomyback.

I lost myself in her that night. Drowned my emotions and the memories and all of the fear into the feeling of her body movingagainstmine.

Zoe’s gaze leaves me completely. As she plucks her tumbler of vodka off the bar, she murmurs, “You, Andre. I’m trying toforgetyou.”

My stomachlurches.

This woman—she’s the only one who can wreck me. One reason of the many that I’ve stayed away from her for so long. My life in the last year and a half has been nothing but turmoil, and I don’tneedmore.

But neither does she need mydrama.

“Let me take you home, Zo.” I pull the tumbler from her hand, returning it to the bar, far out of her reach. “You’re going to regret drinking so much in themorning.”

Her dark eyes are pure fire when they touch on me. “You don’t have a say on what I do withmylife.”

“Iknow.”

“If I want to do five more shots, I can dothat,too.”

I nod slowly. “Iknow.”

She heaves a sigh. “I don’treallywant to do five more shots,though.”

This time, I stay quiet, giving her time for the anger todissipate.

Our stand-off feels like it lasts minutes, but probably only exists in actual seconds. She rises from the stool, gathering her things, and without a backward glance to see if I’ll follow, stalks out ofthebar.

But I dofollow.

I’m hot on her heels, wishing that I could notice anything besides the tight curve of her backside in her slim skirt. Does she recall the way I removed her skirt a year ago, so slowly that by the time the material hit the floor, she was begging for me totakeher?

Ido.

I remember every last bit of thatnight.

“Where did you park again?” she asks, pausing just outside of The Box’sfrontdoor.

“You don’tremember?”

She bites down on her lower lip in consternation. “I’m drunk,Andre.”

Enoughsaid.

Clasping her elbow, I steer her the opposite way, to where I parked two blocks over. In her defense, she doesn’t wobble on her heels. The street is dark, thanks to a lack of working streetlights, and the farther we walk from The Box, the sounds of life becomemuted,too.

By the time we make it to the car, there’s only the sounds of her heels clipping against the cement and the thundering of my heart in mychest.

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