Page 46 of Blindside Sinner

Sloan is waiting for me in the car, as per usual. Her first week on the job, I let her into the locker room until practice was over. But when I was a dick to her in front of the boys, she came back after hours and filled my locker with beauty supplies. Bath bombs, pink loofahs, herbal conditioners with names like Pink Sunshine, the Split End Fighter, and Shine My Tresses. Mikey Malone—a backup goalie with a shining mane of coal black hair—and Ethan Creager, a forward with the nastiest mullet you’ve ever seen, love my supply of product. But everyone else has been busting my balls about it for weeks on end.

So now, she waits in the car until I’m ready to go.

I slide into the seat and buckle up. “Chop chop,” I say. “Gotta get home and change. We’re going out tonight.”

“We? As in us? You mean you and me? Together?”

“No, I meanI’mgoing out with the boys. But seeing as how you’re my managerially-assigned ball and chain, you’re coming with me. That being said, you’ll stay out of sight and out of mind. Got it?”

She shrugs. “Fine. I’ll invite Monroe and Cassie.”

“Oh, good. The guys love party favors.” It’s a shit thing to say and as soon as it’s out of my mouth, I almost regret it enough to apologize.

If she fires something back, it’d be all fun and games. Just more banter like we always do.

But she’s in a mood today, I guess, because she just nods with tight lips and pulls out of the parking lot without saying a word.

I frown. It’s not as fun when she doesn’t fight back.

The whole ride home is silent. As soon as she pulls the car into the garage and shuts off the engine, I turn to her. “Be ready in an hour. Remember, the rules are still in place.”

She chuckles humorlessly. “I’m not the one who needs reminding.”

I hate how flat her voice is. Where is the woman who’s supposed to be protecting me from myself? The woman who was hired to keep me from melting down in my den of iniquity?

“What crawled up your ass and died?” I ask bluntly.

Her hands tighten on the steering wheel, even though we’re parked. “I’m not in the mood today, Beck.”

“Yeah, no shit. You PMSing?”

She rolls her eyes. “So the only reason someone can be irritated with you is period-related? It can’t just be that—oh, I dunno… that you’re really annoying sometimes?”

I’m weirdly uncomfortable with the tension in her voice and I can’t quite explain why. “Fine. Not PMSing. Just pissed. Copy that.”

Huffing, she opens the door and starts to get out. Before she can, I reach over and snag her wrist.

“Remember the rules tonight,” I say again. “You’re on duty. Not there to get ogled or whatever it is you do on a night out.”

An image flashes through my mind: Sloan at a bar, as hordes of horny dudes press up on her. Pawing at her hips, buying her drink after drink. I picture her laughing at their jokes and touching their chests flirtatiously.

And I getmad.

Back in reality, I shake my head and pull myself out of it.That was weird.

“Yeah,” she snaps, “you said that already.” Then she rips her arm out of my grasp, throws the car keys at my chest, and stomps off into her apartment.

I sit there for a while, brooding. Where did that mental image come from? Why would I give a shit?

I don’t like her. She’s been nothing but a pain in my ass since the first minute. I only agreed to go out tonight because it should have made her hair curl, knowing she couldn’t stop me, that she was going to lose the latest iteration of our tug-of-war.

Instead, at the stroke of eight, she’s ready and waiting by the front door—wearing a hot pink minidress so tight I can count her heartbeats and short enough that I can almost see her fucking religion.

I freeze at the top of the stairs. My dick is outrageously hard the millisecond I lay eyes on her. The Nightclub Sloan I dreamed up in the car an hour ago can’t even hold a candle to the real deal.

She looks incredible, full stop.

She also looks like aproblem.

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