Page 34 of Blindside Sinner

“So you want me to get you this stuff… why?” I finally take a peek and all I can do is blink. This list is nonsensical.

Black, organic ankle socks made from local cotton. No patterns.

100% pure frozen guava juice.

Green apple sour candies withOUT sugar.

Single origin espresso from the Midwest.

On and on it goes as I read all the random items from Beck’s list. Who the fuck needs a Tibetan quartz cluster with precisely thirteen points? Is that even a thing?

Finally, I take the bait. “What is all this?”

“Pre-game rituals. I’ll bomb if I don’t get it,” Beck says with a casual shrug.

“Did you just come up with all this stuff now? I don’t remember seeing you with any…” I check the list. “… handmade Himalayan sound bowls before the last game.”

“Catch up, little bird. You’re falling behind. Away games mean different pregame rituals. Besides, my favorite way to unwind is off-limits now.”

It’s not hard to figure out exactly what he’s referring to. But it’ll take a team of wild horses to get me to say the word “sex” around Beck when we’re in the middle of a self-imposed dry spell.

So, pretending that I don’t know exactly what he’s talking about, I focus on the task at hand. I don’t want to go on a damn scavenger hunt, but we need Beck to help the team win just as much as, if not more than, we need him to be on his best behavior.

Thus, my hands are tied.

“Fine. I’ll get started.”

“Great. I’ll stay in my room until you’re back.” Then he walks out and shuts the door behind him.

Looking back at the list, I sigh. The whole thing is a trap, I know it is, but there’s nothing I can do to avoid it.

I’ve got to run in headfirst and hope I come out unscathed this time.

Nine hours and twice as many bags later, I’ve gotten everything on Beck’s cursed fucking list.

Some things were easy. In, out, done. Others, like the crystal cluster, were impossible to find. I had to get the next best thing instead and pray that he’s not as much of an anal-retentive douche bag as I know he will be.

When it’s all said and done, I breathe a sigh of relief. I did my job today. He meant to make me look stupid, but the joke’s on him.

Well, more likely, we both look like idiots, but I’ll take a stalemate over a loss any day.

The whole ride up in the hotel elevator, all I can think about is getting into clean clothes and snagging a few hours of sleep. By the time the elevator dings for my floor, my body feels like it weighs a ton.

The floor is silent, all the players crashing early before game day. I’m hoping Beck did the same, but I’m prepared for the worst.

I let myself into my room and then crack open the adjoining door. I expect to find Beck awake and ready to gloat about how long his list took me.

Instead, I get an eyeful of bare-chested Beck passed out on his bed.

Even though he’s Satan’s spawn, I’m not immune to the hotness of Beckett Daniels. The man’s not a snack—he’s the whole damn meal.

The faintest hint of dark ink swirls around his body, but I can’t see what any of the tattoos look like in the low light. Probably best, especially when I look at the sheets tangled around his hips just enough that I can’t tell if he’s wearing boxers or briefs or nothing at all. He huffs out a sleepy laugh and turns over, letting the sheet slide down to bare the slightest curve of his toned ass.

Guess that answers that.

My first instinct is to throw cold water on him and wake him up, as payback for the aforementioned nine hours of shopping.

But I can’t. Not only because he’s got a game, but it’s the first time he looks truly peaceful since I’ve met him. The angry lines on his forehead are smoothed out, that permanent scowl dissipated into something almost… angelic.

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