Page 70 of Blindside Sinner

When I walk into the main house, he’s already up and dressed. His face is blank, expressionless. I try to make mine look the same.

“Ready?” I ask, terrified he’ll ask me why I look so flushed and frantic.

But if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. Or maybe he doesn’t care.

He just nods, and another day in paradise begins.

Viv’s office downtown is in a glistening, glass-walled high rise. As we ride the elevator up, I sneak a glance in the mirrored doors and catch him doing the exact same. For one moment, our eyes meet and it’s like being zapped with electricity.

Then, just as quickly, he breaks away. I stare pointedly down at my shoes. He looks good today. I hate myself for admitting it, but there’s a ping of attraction in my belly.

His suit is fitted, his eyes are dark, and in that charcoal gray suit, his shoulders look broader than ever. I can’t stop noticing that curl of hair hanging over his forehead.

You could say something, you know. Tell him that this silent game is annoying. That you’re both adults and you can be civil. You don’t have to keep playing chicken to see who cracks first.

But I don’t quit.

And neither does he.

The only thing that saves us is the ding signaling our arrival on the floor.

Viv’s office is decked out in cool, white leather. She has a curved sofa and white tufted chairs in front of a marble desk that sits on a white fur carpet over cool gray washed hardwood.

When we arrive, she’s waiting for us behind her desk. She stands and shakes my hand. Beck doesn’t even bother with the formalities. He slumps on the couch, looking bored already. He still hasn’t spoken a word all morning.

“How is everything?” She’s looking at me.

“Fine.”

“Is our star player here making your life miserable?”

It’s weird how she’s talking about him while he’s sitting right there. I feel this strange surge of defensive instinct.Don’t patronize him. He’s a good person.

Then I remember I’m mad at him and I button it up.

“He’s fine. We’re fine. The routine is good. We just needed to get used to each other.” I sneak a glance back to see he’s staring out of the window.

“That’s more than I can say for my experience with Mr. Daniels,” drawls Vivian.

“Really, we’re fine,” I insist. “He’s actually been really… kind.”

“I find that surprising. Beck hasn’t been kind a day in his life. Between the drinking and whoring himself to anything with tits, Beck has shown time and time again that he’s a sheltered, pampered princess who cannot possibly control his urges.”

“Vivian.” I say it quietly but she looks at me in surprise.

“What? Do you have something to say, Sloan?”

“Actually, yes. Beck has been working hard. He’s focused. His scoring numbers and ice time are better this month than anyone else’s in the league since the concussion.”

“Maybe he should get knocked in the head more often then.”

“That’s really not fair.”

He laughs, but the sound is bitter. I can’t believe the way she’s antagonizing him. There isn’t a reason for it, as far as I can tell.

“You’re going to tell me what’s fair?” I have no idea what she means by that, but something about it feels fanged and way too personal.

Again, I feel that surge of instinct to protect Beck. He’s an ass and pompous and he did throw his coffee at me.

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