Page 16 of Blindside Sinner

She doesn’t laugh with me.

I glance quickly at her and the friendliness in Karla’s gaze is swapped for something else. Protectiveness, if I had to guess. Of a fairly angry and intimidating variety.

“Beck’s history is his own and I won’t be sharing it with anyone,” she says in a low, dangerous voice. “The media gets enough of him from the shenanigans he’s constantly pulling. If that’s whatyou’re here for, some story to sell somewhere, you can take yourself elsewhere.”

The tension is crackling. In a weird way, it’s oddly endearing to know that hockey’s biggest asshole has someone as fierce as Karla in his corner. It makes me wonder what side of him I’m missing.

Probably all of them. The only side of him I’ve seen is the asshole side.

I mean that figuratively, of course. Literally speaking, I’ve seen all his sides, sans clothing, and the image of that chiseled body is stuck in my head like a bad jingle.

I raise my hands. “I’m just here to make sure Beck sticks to the rules so he can keep playing hockey. That’s it.”

She narrows her eyes at me, still a little wary. “Hm.”

I decide to give her a piece of my own history. “My father was a gambler. I spent my whole life trying to keep him from wasting everything we had and in the end, all it got me was his crippling debt packed onto my shoulders. This job is my way out. I’m not going to risk that for a quick buck with the tabloids.”

Finally, she nods. “Good. Despite how he acts most days, Beck’s a good man.”

Then she chatters on about all the things she can make that Beck goes bananas for, as if that snarly Mama Bear act never happened. As she talks, I let out a slow breath, feeling like I just passed some sort of Karla-approval test.

When she leaves to go get grocery supplies for the week, I breathe out a sigh of relief and press my forehead to the cool marble countertop.

It might be a very long season ahead.

9

SLOAN

Stepping into Rusty’s after a week away has me feeling all sorts of nostalgic. I never thought I’d miss the smell of oil from the fryer or the sounds of patrons demanding coffee refills, but I do.

Waving at the line cook, Antonio, behind the bar, I make my way to the corner booth where Cassie and Monroe are already seated.

“Please tell me you have fries on the way,” I beg, flopping down.

Monroe rolls her eyes with a huff. “Two baskets and a burger for each of us. How you eat grease like that and still have flawless skin is beyond me, and honestly, I hate you for it.”

“When it’s all you eat some days, your body sorts its shit out.” I grin when a basket of fries drops in front of me and snatch one. It’s hot enough to burn my fingers, but I don’t even care. “Besides, that’s not going to be an issue anymore.”

“That’s right—you left us for your new swanky job. How’s the high life treating you?” Monroe crosses her arms and leans back. “Go on. Make me jealous.”

“Except for the asshat I’m responsible for herding around town, everything is just dandy. I got a massive budget to redecorate the staff apartment and I’ve got access to Beck’s personal chef.”

Karla even gave me her personal cell with explicit instructions to text her with any random cravings I may have. The woman is a saint.

Cassie smiles, darting in to steal one of my fries. Little thief. “How is Mr. Fine Ass Hockey Player? I’d be all over that man every day of the week.”

I scrunch my nose. “He’s… fine.”

The truth is that Beck’s been weird all week. He hasn’t gotten in my face or snapped at me since the first day in his bedroom. He gets up when I ask and goes to practice with no problems. No talking back, no dirty talk in my ear, no whispered threats. Nothing. He’s even nice when Karla isn’t around. So far, being his babysitter seems like the cushiest job in the world.

It makes me nervous. I learned a long time ago that when something looks too good to be true, it usually is.

“Oh, no. Your boss isn’t actually a raging douchebag. How tragic,” Monroe deadpans.

Cassie smiles at me. “I, for one, am glad that the universe is giving you a break. You’ve had a rough year. You deserve good things happening to you.”

I smile back, shoving the rest of my burger in my mouth. I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but it’s not working.

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