Page 116 of Blindside Sinner

Right now, I’m watching him get dressed. That is another of my new favorite pastimes. There’s something sexy about watching him tie a tie, something that makes my body purr, makes me want to tear the damned thing off of him and wrap it around my throat so he can toss me around any way he likes.

Keep it in your pants, girl.

“What’s your plan for today?” I’m tucked between his cool sheets watching him like I’m one of those kept women who has nothing to do but shop and relax at expensive spas. And while that is in fact my plan for the day, I built some time into my schedule just so I could watch him get ready for his day of meetings at the arena.

“My plan is go to work, sit in boring meetings with my agent and my agent’s money guy and listen to them sing my praises, then we’ll all spout my stats at the general manager and the ownerand their money guy until we can work out details for a new contract.”

“Should be open-and-shut, right? You’re the heart of this team. I’m sure they’ll just sign whatever paperwork you throw at them.”

I’m no hockey expert, but I’ve spent a fair amount of time around the Wave this season, and it’s a no-brainer that Beck is the heart, soul, and engine of this squad. He logs more ice time and has more points this year than anyone else.

“Contracts only last so long. Mine is coming up for an extension and there’s been interest from other teams.” He shrugs as he holds up two ties—one is maroon with silver angle shapes and one is yellow with brighter yellow swirls.

“Yellow.”

He nods in agreement, tosses the maroon tie onto the bed, and flips the collar of his shirt up. I could watch him all day if I didn’t have plans with Monroe and Cassie. For being such a mountain of a man, he has very graceful hands.

“What are you doing today?”

“Shopping. Turns out art is an expensive hobby.”

He frowns. “I thought I was your hobby.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “No, you’re myjob.” Then I take pity on him and smile. “You just happen to be a job I quite like doing.”

“That’s more like it.” He turns to the mirror to check his handiwork, grimaces, and undoes the knot to try again. “I couldmodel for you, you know. I’ve been told I have very aesthetic lines.”

Little does he know, he already does. Half my doodles are Beck—Beck sleeping, Beck skating, Beck showering. They’re all very sexy and moody.

But then he strikes a pose—some kind of bodybuilder thing with his arms curved in front of him while he half squats like he’s constipated—that quickly transforms to a duck waddle and begins quacking.

I laugh. When he’s not busy being a hockey badass and a behaviorally challenged bad boy, he’s funny. Goofy, silly, funny. I like seeing that side of him.

“I wish I had my phone. What I wouldn’t do for a video of that little performance.”

He comes sauntering over to steal a kiss from my lips and tweak my nipple. “If I hadn’t put this off twice already, I would give you a much better performance to video.” He raises the sheet to take in my naked body and arches an eyebrow. “Although on second thought, maybe I should go for lucky number three…”

“Woah, woah, woah there, stud. You have to go to work.” I pull the sheet back into place over top of me and then smile. “And my friends feel neglected. But… I’ll meet you back here around nine?”

“Five.”

“Seven.”

“Six-thirty.” For being such a bruiser on the ice, there’s something boyish and adorable about this smile. I’m powerless against him.

“Okay,” I say sheepishly. “You win. Six-thirty it is.”

He picks up his jacket, slides his arms in, and smiles. “If you’re late, there will be penalties.”

“Good luck today. Make ‘em put their money where their mouth is.”

“I always do. See you later, darling.” Then he walks out.

As I shower, it occurs to me that things are going well. Maybe too well, but I’m trying to curb my tendency to look for problems where none exist, so I push that thought away.

Instead, I let my mind roll over the positives. I haven’t had any run-ins with Vivian since the unpleasant day in her office, she hasn’t asked for any more meetings, and for the most part, even the stalker mail has stopped, except for one letter that arrived and mentioned the mark on my neck.

I must’ve been on TV at some point during the stretch of away games. I’m usually seated behind the players, so it makes total sense. I should’ve thought of it. Maybe worn a scarf.

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