Page 50 of Blindside Sinner

Colin comes busting back over with a story from his escapades at the bar and the spotlight of the conversation shifts away from me, for which I’m extremely grateful. I slump back in the seat and try to catch my breath.

Everyone else is chattering happily. Drinks are drank, laughs are laughed, the whole world is having a good time. But I’m burning up with a heat I didn’t ask for. And when Beck tosses a casual arm across the back of the booth, just close enough to graze my bare shoulder, I start shivering with a sudden chill I didn’t ask for.

I hate that.

No—I hate that Idon’thate it.

“Hey, Beck, poker’s at your place this week.” Dix points at Beck and Monroe’s eyes light up.

“Did you say poker?” Monroe loves cards. She put herself through college playing underground Texas Hold ‘Em and taking money from a bunch of guys who underestimated her because she looks like a goth Barbie doll.

“You play?” Dix is squinting at ‘Roe, trying to figure out if she’s a threat or a mark.

True to form, she bats her eyelashes and giggles girlishly in a way she’d never do if she was being serious. “Oh, yeah, we used to play at, like, family vacations and stuff. I’m pretty good!”

Dix falls for it hook, line, and sinker. He smiles like he’s won the lottery. “Oh, sick. Yeah, you should come. All of you should! Some fresh faces would be nice, ‘cause I’m sick of looking at Beck's ugly mug every week.”

I’m sick of it, too,says a voice in my head.

Liar,says another one.

Guess which one is correct?

Monroe flips her hair over her shoulder. “We’ll be there.”

“You’re not coming,” Beck says to me abruptly.

I frown. “I can if I want to. I’ve been invited.”

Dix grins and chimes in. “She sure has, buddy.”

“We don’t allow chicks.”

“We make exceptions all the time. You brought a model—that one who kept calling clubscloversand spadesshovelsand letyou rub her ti—erm, breasts for luck. And you brought that Cowboys cheerleader. Also, the broad with the fake French accent.” He’s ticking each one off on a finger, and I get the feeling he could keep going for a long time if he wanted.

“Sounds like I’m going,” I reiterate. “We all are.”

“That’s right, you big grump.” Cassie beams up at him.

“Fine. But we play for money.” Beck’s pout is growing more sour by the hour.

“Bummer,” I drawl sarcastically. “I was hoping it was strip poker.”

He scoffs under his breath. “You don’t belong there, wiseass. And when you lose the next month’s worth of paychecks, I’m not giving you cash to fuel your Starbucks fix.”

“I don’t drink coffee, asshole.”

He shrugs, totally unfazed. “I couldn’t care less. My point is, you shouldn’t come. Matter of fact, I’ve made up my mind: you’re not coming.”

“Try to stop me.”

His eyes gleam devilishly. “I’ll lock the door.”

“I have a key.”

“I’ll set the alarm.”

“You don’t know how.”

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