Page 90 of Blindside Sinner

She sounds like Monroe, but without any of the deadpan love undergirding her words. Out of Viv’s mouth, it’s just hateful. Vicious.

I can only shake my head.

Her mouth falls open as she claps her hands together and laughs. “You haven’t managed to sample the goods? Good. I knew I made the right choice hiring you.”

With that, she rises and sashays away.

Bizarre.

The game starts soon after. It’s a back and forth affair for a while before Beck breaks the deadlock with a wicked shot over the goalie’s shoulder. He puts another one away a couple minutes later, then finishes off the hat trick at the start of the second period. As he’s doing a victory lap around the ice, he passes by me, winks, and mouths four unmistakable words.

“You’re mine tonight, Sloan.”

45

BECK

“You want a drink?”

Sloan nods. The air between us is tense, overheated, rippling with something unseen. Just like it has been since she met me in the tunnel after the game ended.

I pour a shot of cold vodka into a glass and hand it to her. She drinks it in one glug and sets the glass back down. It wobbles and nearly tips over before she catches it and smiles weakly.

“Come here.” I crook my finger, but I stay where I am. Not because I want to show her who’s in charge, but because I want her to make the decision on her own.

If she says no, then it’s fine. We walk away. She goes back to the apartment and I’ll go upstairs alone.

But if she says yes…

She looks at me. Her pulse throbs in her throat. Mine does the same.

Then she takes one step forward.

I meet her there. One of my hands comes to rest on her hip as one of hers loops around the back of my neck.

I’ve thought about this more than once—about what her lips would taste like. All the ways I want to touch her. I can feel the heat of her body.

“Are you shaking?”

“No,” she lies.

I gaze down at her. Her lips are pink and full. Eyes liquid. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

I nod slowly. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

In response, she winds her fingers through mine. Her breath is minty and her fingertips tremble as I hold them.

Together, we walk to the base of the stairs and up. I push open the door to my bedroom and hold it open to let her through.

She’s been in here about a thousand times before. To wake me up, to boss me around, to make sure that I’m not hiding some puck bunny in the closet the night before a game.

But this time feels different.

I close the door behind me, then lean against it. Sloan lets go of my hand as she walks to the middle of the room and pauses there. I expect her to turn back around to face me, but she doesn’t. Maybe that would be too much.

Maybe she needs to look at the wall as she steps out of her shoes.

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