Page 57 of Blindside Sinner

It’s not my most eloquent. But when you’re a sex-deprived single female and a bare-chested man with a jawline like Beckett Daniels curls his fingers into your hip and then lingers all up in your personal bubble while radiating man sweat and pheromones, yelping is about as articulate as it gets.

It isn’t even the touch so much as the rest of it. The linger that goes nicely with his smolder and the swagger in his walk and the suddenly very strokable hair hanging over his forehead.

But the longer I look at him, the closer we get to “fuck around and find out” territory. And I very much donotwant to find out.

So I dredge up my voice and squeak again, “What is it?”

“It’s irrelevant. Need-to-know information, and you do not need to know.” He waits for me to get out of his way, but when I don’t, he sighs. “I’m going to get undressed, Sloan, so get out. Unless you want to help.”

I fidget in place, but I should’ve known he’s better at bluffing in real life than he is at poker. He hooks his thumbs in his shorts and starts to pull them down.

I yelp again and cover my eyes. “You’re a pig, Beck!”

“I did warn you.”

Smirking, he brushes past me into the bedroom. I keep my eyes squeezed shut until I hear the shower kick on. Only then do I venture closer, though I still keep myself out of the line of sight.

“You’re really not gonna tell me?”

“I’m really not gonna tell you.”

“Then maybe I’ll follow you and find out myself. Maybe even leak it to Channel 7 News. Their sports guy hates you. He’ll love catching you doing whatever dumb shit you have planned.”

Of course, the aforementioned dumb shit could cost me my job and Beck knows that as well as he knows that I’m not above a bluff.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

He sighs loudly like the Good Lord himself is testing him. “The private event is community service. I volunteer at the Forest Children’s Center. Coach the rec league.”

“Oh,” I say. “Oh. That’s, uh… very admirable.”

Suddenly, all the wind has gone out of my sails.Coaching the rec league—that’s new info to me. I’m glad he can’t see my face, because it might give something away: my Grinch heart growing just one fraction of a size bigger.

Maybe Beckett Daniels isn’t all bad after all.

“Don’t be an asshole, Sloan.”

“I wasn’t. I was being honest. It’s admirable.”

I wish I could see him. There’s a catch in his voice that mirrors the tightness in my chest. It’s like the air between us is fluttering, both of us malfunctioning just a little bit in our normal routine of snark and snobbery.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” I mumble, cheeks heated. Then I turn and walk away.

While I wait, I pick up his laundry and put it in the bin at the edge of the closet. I pull his blankets straight, fluff his pillows. At some point, the shower cuts off. I hear the car wash-esque sound of him toweling off his hair. The sink flicks on, flicks off. Then the door creaks open and light spills out.

I can sense him standing in the doorway, but I don’t turn around quite yet, because I know that as soon as I do, it’ll be right back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Him trying to kick me to the curb.

Me steadfastly refusing.

But if I’m facing this way, if the air is still hot and trembling, if I close my eyes… there’s a sliver of light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. I want to get to know this part of him because the other parts—aside from his pretty face—I don’t like much. He’s arrogant and smug, such a pain in the ass. I want to find something about him that doesn’t make me want to slash his tires, something that makes my attraction less shallow and lusty.

And this—one tiny, insignificant little morsel—this changes things.

Just a bit. But enough.

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