Page 81 of Sin Bin

“I was recently told that I’m mean.” He holds up a hand, chuckling to himself. “Not everyone rush to my defense at once now. I get it. I know it’s true. I’ve been a mean, cold-hearted bastard for a long time. I treated women like shit. I treated my teammates not much better. Hell, I’m pretty sure that every single one of you in this room has imagined me dead at some point oranother.”

This time, laughter echoes, and the camera pans to the journalists laughing quietly tothemselves.

“Don’t worry,” Andre continues, “I get it. Thing is, it took a special person to tell this to my face. A special person to force me out of my comfort zone and put on this damn speedo for a magazine interview.” He pauses, his lips curling up in a sexy grin. “Anyone in here see it yet? They’ve got me strutting around to Justin Bieber. Fucking great stuff—also, I apologize for the language. Baby steps, eh?” His audience laughs again, clearly charmed by a man who never plays the charming card. “Anyway, this special someone didn’t let me get away with anything. She called me out on my shit. She forced me to realize that I’ve been miserable for way too long because Ichosetobe.”

Is hereally. . .?

“Let me tell you all something,” Andre says on the TV. “Get out your notepads or your recorders or whatever it is that you stalk me with. Up until a month ago, I planned for this to be my last season. I’ve experienced a lot of heartache in the last few years, for reasons I won’t disclose, and I wanted nothing more than to plant my ass on a beach somewhere and drink myself intooblivion.”

“Are you really retiring?”one voicecallsout.

“What about your contract?”another oneshouts.

Andre waves them all away, his metal nipple piercings twinkling under the florescent lights. “Yeah, that’s not happening any more. Sorry to everyone who thought they were getting rid of me. Because for the first time since I can remember, I’m going to live. Hockey is what I live for, but I live for something—someone—else, too.” His dark eyes focus on the camera, and I swear, I can feel him staring at me as though we’re in thesameroom.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his voice pitched low, “if you’re watching this, and I hope to hell that you couldn’t resist doing so, I’m ready to live for you too. I’m standing here open, fucking vulnerable in nothing but a bathing suit and piercings. I’m yours. Now and forever. The only time I’m landing in the sin bin after this is on the ice—but off of it? Not achance.”

I don’t even realize that I’m crying until Carol is shoving beverage napkins in my hand and telling me to pull myselftogether.

“If you love me at all,” Andre adds, “meet me. I’ll text you where so we don’t haveyou know whostalking us down. I love you, and I fucking hope I’ll see youthere.”

I don’t wait for the clip to end. I run. I run for my phone, which I left in the beveragestation.

He can’t text me fastenough.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

ANDRE

Let me tell you,wearing a speedo in public is embarrassing. Getting my nipples pierced at the butt crack of dawn at a random tattoo shop is also embarrassing. Appearing in front of millions of people like this onnationalTV?

Embarrassing.

What’s not embarrassing is the way my heart threatens to beat out of my chest on my drive home after the game. What’s not embarrassing is the way my hands turn slick with nerves, anticipation,worrythat Zoe won’t be there waiting for me when I arrive. What’s not embarrassing is the way I rehearse my speech so that I can tell her how I feel—if she’s even there. If she even heard meonTV.

All of that emotion proves that I’m living.It’sreal.

She’s waiting for me on my front stoop when I pull up to my house, and, fuck it, I’mnotembarrassed about the not-quite-sob of happiness that clutches mychest.

I throw the car into park and jump out withinseconds.

It’s dark out, but streetlamps provide all the illumination I need to seeherface.

To see that tears have carved their way down hercheeks.

Fuck,fuck,fuck.

“Zo,” I whisper brokenly. “I’m so fucking sorry.” I edge closer, uncertain if she’ll be receptive to a hug. “Pleasedon’tcry.”

At that, she gives me a watery smile. “Where’s your speedo?”sheasks.

I flick the button of my jeans. “Under here. Didn’t want to be arrested for publicindecency.”

Her gaze goes to my chest. “And your nipple rings? Have they turned you into theJokeryet?”

I laugh loudly. “I’ll be honest, my nipples are hurting like a damn bitch right now. But I once heard you mention that they’d look goodonme. . . ”

“So, you went andgotthem?”

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