Page 69 of Sin Bin

I crank open my car door after I pull into a parking spot. From the outside, the restaurant isn’t anything fancy, certainly nothing like Vittoria. But it’s quaint and brightly colored, and I’m not complaining—at a place like this, there’s a smaller chance of running into hockey-crazed fans. More family-friendly and less drunken puckbunnies.

More time for me and Zoe to bealone.

More time for you to open up aboutHannah.

My lungs squeeze. Yeah, not yet. Zoe and me, our relationship needs to be a lot tighter before I talk about my ex,about. . .

“Andre!”

At the sound of Zoe’s voice, I glance up and immediately feel the oxygen leave my body. She’s wearing a trench coat and a pair of fuck-me heels, and sue me, but I’m a guy and my first thought isn’t,she must be cold, but rather,is she wearing anythingunderthat?

Like I said,sueme.

Her stride slows, the insecurity pulling at her features. “It’s, um . . . ” She coughs into one gloved hand. “It’s good toseeyou.”

She’s nervous. I grin. Let the wooing begin. “C’mere,Zo.”

Her dark eyes drop to my open arms. “You just wantahug?”

No. “Sure.”

Tentatively, she slips her hands around my back. I don’t let her move away. Instead, I cup the back of her head, mussing up her hair. “Ilied.”

Her cheeks bloom with color, and I like to think it has less to do with the cold weather and more to do with me. “Yeah?” she whispers, her fingers pressing intomyback.

“Mhmm.” My lips find her forehead. Her skin is smooth, hot. I drop my mouth to her ear, and murmur, “I want tokissyou.”

“Yeah?” This time, she sounds breathless. “I’mdown.”

Her response makes me laugh. Classic Zoe. “That’s good.” I nip at her earlobe, then grin smugly when she leaps in my arms. “You’ve got three seconds to change your mind.Three. . .two—”

She doesn’t give me the chance to finish. Her hands clasp the back of my head, and then she’s dragging my mouth down to hers, nipping at my lower lip, and slipping her tongue into my mouth. Taking control of the kiss. Taking controlofme.

Holy hell,it’shot.

I give in, letting her have her way. Maybe this wooing thing is all about letting the woman take what she wants—and if what Zoe wants isme, then I’m all for giving ittoher.

Our tongues tangle, warring. The kiss isn’t soft and it certainly isn’t romantic, but that’s what this wooing needs to be, and so I slow her down, smoothing my hand over her cheek, cupping her chin. Her arm wraps around my back, unwilling to let me go, and then I’m right back in itagain.

Tasting thewaters.

Drowning.

Willingly choking on seawater—isn’t that what she’d told me that first day at Golden LightsMedia?

It’s only at the sound of ambulance sirens that I pull back. I stare down at her, noting her pouty, red lips and her flushed cheeks. “Damn, honey,” I growl, “I’m not even thinking about tacosanymore.”

She flashes me a pleased smile. “I’ll think about tacos for the both of us, don’tworry.”

Glancing down at the hard-on my jeans are doing nothing to hide, I mutter, “Easy for you to say. You don’t look like you’ve got a hockey stick in yourpants.”

And then, tease that she is, she follows the direction of my gaze and bites down on her lower lip. “Tempting as it is to go straight home with you, Andre, Iwantfood.”

You’re supposed to be wooing her. Stop thinking aboutyourdick.

That’d be easier if I wasn’t seeing different colors in my peripheral thanks to all the blood being south of my hips. I blindly reach out for the door to the restaurant, pulling it open for her like a true gentleman. “Food. Tacos. Don’t mind me while I sit here starving thewholetime.”

With an arched brow, she asks, “You’re not goingtoeat?”

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