Page 87 of Blindside Sinner

“Yousleptwith him?!” I can read the disappointment in Monroe’s eyes. “And you didn’t immediately call with deets? It’s like we aren’t even friends, Slo Poke.”

She isn’t pissed off that I slept with the man who has gone out of his way to make my life miserable until recently and has now switched to trying to freak me out with his kindness; she’s pissed off that I didn’t call her as soon as it was over with tape measure figures and a full-blown play by play debrief so she could armchair quarterback our respective performances.

“No. I didn’t sleep with him.” I scowl. “If I did, maybe I could see the gestures as being somewhat normal. But I haven’t slept with him. Haven’t even kissed him.”

She snorts. “Maybe you should. If he’s bringing you coffee now and you haven’t even done the deed, can you imagine the gifts once you do?”

“What if he’s buttering me up to have me fired? I need this job.”

“Yeah. Every boss I’ve ever had has taken me shopping and brought me breakfast in bed right before he’s fired me.” Monroe rolls her eyes.

“Hey, Jack brought you champagne in bed before he fired you.” I leave out the part where he’d fired her when she dumped said champagne over his head. “Beck opened adoorfor me yesterday.” I turn to Cassie. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

She cocks her head and thinks it over. “Yeah. Call in Sherlock Holmes. Something is fishy.” And then, she rolls her eyes. “Maybe he’s just being sweet, though. If some hot guy was bringing me tea and opening doors and sending me on shopping sprees, I wouldn't be sitting here in this crusty-ass diner whining about it—I’d be at home, doing every damned thing he asked. Probably on my knees.”

Monroe laughs. “And on the kitchen counter.”

“On a bearskin rug in front of one of his thirty fireplaces.”

“In his shower.”

“In his car. Or cars, plural.”

“Stop!” I protest as they cackle like a pair of hyenas. “Come on, you guys. This is serious business. How am I supposed to deal with him?”

The worst part is that, what they’re saying, it sounds…nice. I don’t want to get used to all this kindness and giving. I know better than anyone that Beck can switch gears on a dime. I’ll blink my eyes and he’ll be back to the old home. The one who hated the sight of me.

I still want more of the one who made me feel beautiful.

“Maybe you could give this guy the benefit of the doubt that he’s seen all the wonders that you bring to the table.” Cassie lays her hand over mine.

“Or you could wait until he’s in the shower, climb in naked, and show him all the wonders that you bring to a blowjob.”

“Roe. You’re not helping.”

“Look, Sloan, some of this is obvious. You obviously want him. He obviously wants you. So yeah, I’d say this is me being very helpful. And my advice boils down to this: you should do him. Get it out of your system and go back to the way you were when you were normal.” Roe shrugs. Case closed.

“Iamnormal. I’m just…” There isn’t a real word for what I am currently suffering so I pick one that isn’t even close. “Perplexed.”

“So am I.” Monroe leans in again. “I don’t know how you can live there and not be on him like an itch.”

She pulls out her phone and scrolls through some screens, then turns it toward me. It’s a photo of us walking into the gala on TMZ. He’s looking down at me and I’m smiling at him like he hung the moon and stars himself. “He wants in your pants, girl.”

Cassie nods in agreement. “But he’s being romantic about it. These are first world problems, hon.”

I don’t know which I prefer. Sex is hard enough. Romance is… thornier. Messier.

More likely to leave me heartbroken.

“I don’t know what to do,” I groan, pressing my forehead against the vinyl tabletop.

Monroe waves a hand at the waitress and holds up three fingers. “Maybe not, but this isn’t really a problem. I say live it up until it’s finished and then be finished.”

A minute later, three giant slices of mile-high pie arrive. The last thing I want to think about is Beckett Daniels coming after my heart, so I lose myself to a sugar coma. But between every bite of lemon meringue, I keep thinking of Beck.

Beck in the shower.

Beck on the ice.

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