Page 45 of Blindside Sinner

“Off your game, pal,” I jab at him. “Easy money today.”

I line up a puck of my own. Glove side is my sweet spot. I coil up, unwind with all my power, and the puck sails right on target.

“Point—Daniels.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, big guy. You come out of the gate like a stud, but chips down, game on the line, you…” He mimes choking and makes a gagging noise.

Then he skates into place and calls his trick shot, his pride and joy. “Stick side slider.” Coil up, unwind,WHAP.It starts out as if it’s sailing way high, and then like it’s a deflating balloon, falling down, down, down as it crosses the line. Makes goalies go cross-eyed and then teary-eyed, in that order.

“Not bad, Haymaker,” I tell him. “We betting big on this one?”

“Save your money,” he replies. “Something else on the line this time around.”

“Oh?”

“Night out with the boys. You’ve been sitting at home knitting scarves for way too long.” His grin widens as he stares at me. My college coach made the whole team take a knitting class because it improves hand-eye coordination. I didn’t mind that much and I got a sweet scarf out of the whole deal, but I never should’ve told Dix about it.

“Kiss my ass, Dix.”

“I won’t, but someone else ought to. You’re sure as hell not getting anywhere with Sloan, Colin is feasting on your regular hookups, and in the meantime, you’re prowling around acting downright fuckin’ squirrely, like you’ve got one stuck in the chamber.”

I grimace. I hate it, but he’s right. Jerking off only gets a guy so far. I need a proper fuck.

But that’s against the rules. The rulesIput in place with Sloan. The rulesIagreed to, like a moron.

My regret tastes sour as I line up for my version of Dixon’s slider shot. “Fine. Night out with the boys. It’s a bet.”

I cock back to shoot—but at the last second, something flashes through my head.

Sloan.Shimmering eyes. That smell—jasmine, maybe?—that follows her around like her own damn shadow, lingering in rooms long after she’s vacated them. The shock in her voice when I came on the phone, panting right in her ear.

I don’t have to like her to want to fuck her, right? That thought is like a mantra now. It’s the only thing getting me through my nightly jerking off without feeling like the world’s biggest hypocrite.

ZIIING.My shot is a mile off. High and wide, damn near over the glass.

“Goddammit.”

I missed.Bad.

Dix laughs and saucers the final few pucks into the net. Meanwhile, I stare gaping at the one that didn’t go in. If I was the kind of guy who believed in juju or omens or bad luck, I would take it as a sign. A bad sign.

When the ice is cleared and all the pucks are gathered in the net, Dixon comes gliding around to a stop in front of me.

“Game, set, match, bitch,” he says gleefully. “We’re going to The Dragon tonight and you are buying every last round.”

The Dragon is a meat market we rarely go to. It’s dark, crowded, and in the heart of downtown, but it’s always pulsing with the hottest girls in the city.

“Why The Dragon?” I ask.

“Newt’s brother is in a band and they’re playing tonight.” Newton Fisk is a veteran defenseman with a name that sounds like the biggest nerd you’ve ever met. You wouldn’t know it when you see him on the ice, though. He plays old school dirty and his jersey never comes off the ice without at least a few drops of blood.

I stay on Newt’s good side. Helping fill the bar where his brother is playing tonight is a step toward that.

As a bonus, Sloan will absolutely hate it. That always sweetens the deal.

24

BECK

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