Page 53 of Sin Bin

God helpusall.

My fingers twitch on the armrest, just as Andre shifts his weight, leaning close to me. His elbow brushes my hand, and Isowish that I didn’t feel that immediate connection throughoutmybody.

“What I think Mr. Collins is trying to say is . . . ” At Walter’s sharp glance, Gwen fallssilent.

Then, he looks at me. Yeah, that warm tingly feeling from when Andre accidentally touched me? Gone. Nonexistent. If anything, I’m feeling a suddenchill.

“Miss Mackenzie,” Mr. Collins murmurs, “when you first began, you assured me that you had everything under control. That fixing up a celebrity’s failing image was something you’ve done on theregular.”

“Yes,” I answer slowly, “I didsaythat.”

As much as I want to defend myself, the situation calls for me to keep quiet and listen. Men like Walter Collins get off on their power trips—there’s no way that saying anything at this point will do me anyfavors.

“If that’s the case, then I would like for you to look at something and let me know why you thought this would be evenreasonablyacceptable for our client.” With a few clicks of the mouse, he pulls up a file. With stiff motions, he flicks the volume up on a miniature stereo, clicks on the mouse another time, and then angles the desktop so that we can very clearly see what’sgoingon.

Music blares from the speakers before the video startstoroll.

There’s no mistaking the upbeat voice of Justin Bieber. Andre’s knee lurches into mine, and at first, I think it might have been an accident, but . . . no. It’s not. I inch my leg away, and he spreads his right leg over, so his right thigh is pressed to my leg. The cat and mouse game ensues, but dies a quick death when the otherwise black screen cuts to itsfirstshot.

Oh.My.God.

“Motherfu—”

With a kick ofmyfoot against his, I quickly shutAndreup.

Gwen giggles hysterically on the opposite end of our lineup, and I don’t even know what to say aside from the fact that Andreseriouslymakes a speedo lookgood.Damn.

The B-roll of Andre standing about in practically his birthday suit pans to an image of him causing hell on the ice. His gloved fists clench the hockey stick, before he drops it to the ice. Then it’s him against his opponent as they grapple for a hold of each other’s jerseys. His helmet goes flying, and a trickle of blood starts at the corner of his mouth. But his eyes . . . his eyes are as black as the nighttime sky as he pummels the other player with hisfists.

“I’ve been playing hockey since I was four,”Andre says in the clip’s voiceover. “Mydad handed me a stick, told me to get into the net. Man, I sucked there. Never found my stride until I was allowed to fly downtherink.”

The camera cuts back to him wearing nothing but the speedo. This time, however, he’s holding a hockey stick behind his head, clamped against the back of his neck. The posture elongates his sturdy torso, ripples his abs, and clenches histhighs.

Histhighs.

I gulp at the massive bulge at theapexof thosethighs.

I need air. Maybe some water. Maybe a new set ofpanties.

Please don’tjudgeme.

The video goes on for at least another minute—more scenes from the ice, more close-ups of Andre wearing next to nothing as he swaggers aroundFame’sstudio. All the while, the magazine’s editor coaxes information outofhim.

“First time I kissed a girl?”He chuckles low, and weird as it is that he’s sitting beside me, I’m rooted to my chair, watching him on the small screen as his lips quirk up into a devilish smile.“Kindergarten. I traded her a packet of Skittles for a kiss. Pretty sure I got the better end of the bargain, but she didn’tcomplain.”

“Crazy thing I wished I’d never done?”His gaze casts down, a big hand coming up to rub his bare chest.“Nipple rings. Had them done when I was reckless and nineteen. I thought they’d be a chick magnet. Unfortunately, I got a bad infection and had to take them out before anyone had the chance toappreciatethem.”

“A time when a woman broke my heart? I . . . ”His Adam’s apple bobs down his thick neck.“That one is too personal. I hope youunderstand.”

The idea of a woman breaking Andre’s heart makesmefeel a little sick. I swallow against the lump in my throat. I guess that I didn’t . . . Well, I guess I didn’t think he’d ever allow a woman close enough to break hisheart.

The video—and Justin Bieber—ends in acutesilence.

I wonder how obvious it would be if I launched myself out the window behind Mr.Collins.

“Did you approve of this video, Miss Mackenzie?” Mr. Collins asks, breaking thequiet.

The window is looking better with every second that passes. “To be fair,” I start awkwardly, “Fame’seditor was adamant that I remain in thewaitingroom.”

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