Page 66 of Blindside Sinner

“No, Beck, Itoleratehow annoying you are. Mostly because I wouldn’t look good in prison orange.”

He laughs and again, I soak up the sound, saving it in my memory bank in case. With Beck, I never know when I’m going to hear the last laugh, when someone will decide my job is over, when I’ll be banished away from him and the team and this shot at a life I never thought I deserved.

That thought is somber and I don’t really care for it, so I push it to the back of my mind and stand. “I’m going to get coffee and croissants. You stay in bed.” Before I leave, another thought occurs to me. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“Why? Are you offering to hold it for me?”

I roll my eyes. “I just don’t want you to fall on your face and open those stitches so I have a mess to clean up when I get back from getting breakfast.”

“Your concern is noted. But I just have a headache. I’m not dizzy.”

“Well, you haven’t stood up yet.”

I start back to the bed, but he holds up his hand. “Not going to for a few minutes, either. I woke up with a beautiful woman lyingbeside me and not only that, but she also just promised to go bring me coffee and croissants. I just want this dream to last a little while longer.”

I roll my eyes again, but I can’t help smiling at the cornball. Beck dressed in a three-piece suit is hot. Beck decked out in hockey gear is hot.

But Beck mussed and fresh from sleep is downright intoxicating and I don’t need to want him more than I already do.

I shove all those thoughts aside as I walk out to the car. But they don’t stay aside for long.

Because something is definitely wrong with me. I’m not a woman whose head gets turned by a pretty face. I like intelligence and wit and the ability to talk about things that matter.

But with Beck, all I can think about is hiseyes. They’re not just blue; they’re faded jeans blue with flecks of a midnight sky. All I can think about are those lips—lush and full, made for kissing. All I can think about is his body—a weapon on the ice, a marble sculpture, a furnace of sweet heat that kept me close the whole night.

The weirdest part of all is that, for the first time since I took this job, I can’t wait to get back to him. This morning was a turning point for us. I can feel it.

From now on, things are going to be different.

But when I come back with breakfast in hand, he’s sitting up in bed with a very familiar, very ugly scowl on his face. “Did your piece of shit car break down so you had to walk to the coffee shop?” His voice has more bite than it ever has before. It’s like a slap in the face.

“Uh, Beck?” I’m standing in the doorway, gawking.

“Did you get coffee or not?”

I was right about one thing: this morning is definitely a turning point.

A U-turn, apparently.

All I can do is stare at him and wonder what the fuck happened in the ten minutes I was gone. “If you’re so useless you didn’t get the coffee, just say that and get the fuck out.”

“I got the coffee.” I hold out the drink tray like I’m his waitress.

“Are you going to bring it over here or am I supposed to get up and get it?”

I cross the room and hand him the coffee, with frightened, confused tears studding the corners of my eyes no matter how hard I try to blink them away. “Here.”

He tears the lid off and takes a quick sip, then frowns. “It’s not hot.” He holds it back out as if he expects me to fix it.

I swallow back the knot in my throat. If he’s going to revert back to the way we once were, fine; I’ll do the same.

No matter how bad it hurts me to do it.

“Sad tale. Don’t care.” I turn and walk out.

A second later, the cup crashes against the wall. It’s a paper cup, so it doesn’t make much noise, but I hear the splatter of liquid. “I’m not cleaning that up!” I call over my shoulder.

Then I jog back to my room. Only once the door is shut do I finally let my tears fall.

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