Page 12 of Blindside Sinner

DIXON:Getting another round in with the hottie from last night, Beck?

COLIN:Need a partner, Big B? She looked like she’d be a fun time.

Scowling, I reply,The blonde’s gone. I’ve got a brunette problem now, though. I’ll be there soon to explain. See you bitches at the rink.

DIXON:Your problems are so much more fun than mine :(

I leave the chat as they begin to discuss all my past problems in great detail. The more they rattle off, the more I realize that ol’ Mr. Floyd might actually have some reason to be a little bit pissy about my behavior of late.

I flick through my apps. My email is bursting with a ton of sponsorship offers, only half of which I could even pretend to care about.Delete, delete, delete.I send a few terse responses just to keep the PR team off my back.

Then, bada bing bada boom, by the time we get to the rink, I’ve cleared my email just like I hope to clear up my life.

Starting with the little irritant in the driver’s seat.

I hop out of the car and plant myself in front of Sloan’s door before she can get out. I lean close, letting the faint smell of roses and citrus wash over me. Sloan’s eyes narrow. Her nose flares as I obliterate her personal space. Reaching up, I finger a lock of hair before tugging it just enough to make her lip curl at me.

“Don’t get comfortable.” I tuck the hair behind her ear before I step back and smirk. “I’ll have your pink slip in hand by tonight. No pun intended.”

Then I’m gone before she can follow, disappearing into the bowels of the building that’s become my home away from home.

Normally, just the thought of being close to the ice is enough to calm me down. But not today. The ease of being here is gone and every step seems to amp up my frustration until I’m shoving through Coach Walker’s office door like a fucking Viking marauder.

Coach sits behind his desk, white hair trimmed close to his scalp and the permanent scowl on his face deeper than ever as he pours over paperwork. Though he’s been out of the game for a while, he still has the build for a good defender, plus or minus thirty pounds of post-retirement blubber.

He quirks a bushy eyebrow at me as I stare him down. “Is there a good reason you’re storming in my office like a drama queen, Daniels?”

“You know exactly why. You hired an assistant for me without my consent.”

“I didn’t hire anyone. Hank did.”

“So it’s Hank’s fault that I now have a babysitter?”

“No.” His eyes darken as he points a meaty finger at me. “It’syourfault.”

Fuck. He’s right and I hate it, so I don’t even deign to respond. Dropping into the chair on the other side of his desk, I rub a hand over my eyes. “Tell me you get how fucked up this is, Coach. I woke up to a stranger in my bedroom.”

“What difference does that make? You wake up with a stranger in your bedroom every damned morning.” I start to protest, but he holds up a wrinkled hand to cut me off. “Spare me the bullshit, Beck. We both know you haven’t gone home alone in months, so I’m not inclined to feel real sorry for you. We both know it isn’t Hank’s fault that she’s there. You fucked up. She’s the price.”

My teeth grind and my jaw ticks. For once, I don’t have a ready retort.

Coach Walker sits back, sighing like I’ve exhausted him in the last two minutes alone. Hell, I probably have. “I told you all that shit was going to bite you in the ass one day. You didn’t listen. This is the consequence.”

“Having some uppity brunette up my ass all the time? What am I even supposed to do with her? Braid hair and sing kumbaya?”

“You know, you’re lucky Vivian hates your ass so much or elseshe’dbe the one attached to your hip.”

I shudder. The thought of being in close contact with Viv again makes my skin crawl. That’s one bullet I’d gladly dodge forever.

“Until you can prove yourself to be a responsible fucking adult, Sloan Reeves is the only way you can keep your position on the team.” His voice is firm, like it’s to be the exclamation point to the end of our conversation, but I’m calling bullshit.

Literally calling it, actually. “Bullshit. You can’t be serious.”

Coach doesn’t respond. He just pulls out his desk drawer and throws a packet of papers in front of me. He leans back, arms crossed while I read the page and immediately wish I hadn’t.

CONTRACT TERMINATIONis typed in all-caps red across the top.

“In the event that Beckett Daniels, henceforth known as The Party, is found to be in non-compliance with the terms of the addendum as stated below, he will be held liable and his NHL contract with the Seattle Wave hockey organization, henceforth known as The Franchise, shall be terminated immediately…”

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