Page 11 of Blindside Sinner

But if this car ever could hear, it isn’t doing any more of that without some hearing aids. “Classics are classics for a reason. They’re restored. This is a rust bucket death trap.”

“No,” she snaps, “it isn’t.”

I step closer and literally peel a piece of rust off the car to flick at her. “It is, actually, and there’s no goddamn way I’m riding in it.”

I turn and stomp away. I don’t bother stopping to see if she follows. In fact, I hope she doesn’t.

But like clockwork—very irritating clockwork—her little huff and pitter-pattering footsteps follow me to the garage. “Where are you going?” she calls.

“To get a car that won’t explode on the first pothole.”

She doesn’t answer. Small blessings. My head hurts like a bitch as it is.

Slipping into the garage, I palm a set of keys from the lockbox and toss them her way. “Here. Earn your keep.”

“Which one is it?” she asks, looking at the four cars I’ve got in the garage.

“Why don’t you press the button and find out, Sherlock?”

She rolls her eyes again, which just makes my smirk broaden. As much as I don’t like her, my initial instinct was right: I do enjoy poking at her.

With a frown, Sloan pushes the fob. The lights on my SUV beep. “Escalade it is.” I move toward the backseat, turning when Sloan doesn’t follow. “You coming?”

“This is a hundred-thousand dollar car.”

“And?”

“I’m not driving that thing.” She shivers like the car’s going to bite her.

“Fine by me. It’ll be even easier to get rid of you than I thought.”

Sloan glares at me through the blacked-out windows as I shut the door in her face. I watch her straighten her shoulders like she’s going to war and can’t help but laugh.

She climbs in, mumbling under her breath until the engine turns over. “What happens if I wreck it?”

I shrug. “I’ll buy another one.”

“Just like that?”

Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror. “Baby, I have more money than God. Buying a new car is just a rounding error.”

“Must be nice,” she mumbles, backing out of the garage at a snail’s pace.

“It is. Now, step on it. I don’t want to be around you any longer than I have to.”

6

BECK

The ride to the rink is silent as the grave. Thank fuck for that. I can’t handle another chat with Sloan yet—but I do need to talk to someone.

Unlocking my phone, I open up my group chat with the guys.

BECK:Where you motherfuckers at?

It doesn’t take long for me to get a response.

ADRIAN:Doing an early workout before morning skate.

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