Sin Bin (Carolina Comets #4)

Two & a half years ago

“You know, my mama always told me if a man is frowning that deep, it means one of two things: he’s had his heart broken, or his dick don’t work.”

I glance over at the woman sitting next to me, two elbows laid on the bar top. She’s stirring what looks to be a whiskey sour with one hand, and the other is fingering the small hoops lining her ear as if she didn’t just accuse me of not having a working cock.

She’s wearing an olive-green tank top and a pair of jeans that, if she were standing, I’m sure would be molded to her body. There’s a mess of deep red hair pulled into a ponytail that hangs almost midway down her back. It’s the kind of hair that would look damn good wrapped around my fist as I fed her my cock.

I give myself a shake.

I shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about women I don’t know.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just repeating what she said is all.” She lifts a pale, freckled shoulder, swiveling toward me on her stool, her bright green eyes startling me. Her gaze travels down my body, tongue poking out to roll across her bottom lip, liking what she sees. “Though I’m going to guess it’s not the latter.”

There’s no hint of recognition on her face, but there is one thing that’s abundantly clear—she’s on the hunt.

And I just might be willing to get caught.

She’s young, too damn young for me. I likely have at least ten years on her, and I don’t have any business fooling around with someone like her.

But I can’t seem to stop myself, especially not when she’s looking at me like that.

“Smith,” I say after she introduces herself, sliding my palm against hers, rubbing my thumb across the back of her hand. I lean into her, our hands still clasped. She doesn’t back away. Instead, she scoots closer. “And I can assure you, Emilia, that my dick works just fine.”

Her nostrils flare when I say her name. “Good to know.”

“Is it?”

She nods, settling back on her stool. She lifts her drink to her mouth and runs her tongue around her straw, keeping her eyes on me the entire time.

Oh, I was right. She is on the hunt, and she’s marked me as her prey.

That’s fine. I’ll play along.

“So, Emilia, do you come here often?”

“So cheesy.” She shakes her head, finishing off her drink. “And no. This is my first time. I’m new in town—just moved here.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t tell strangers you’re new in town. If I were a lesser man, that would be an invitation.”

“An invitation for what?”

“To do bad things to you.”

She leans into me again. “What if I want you to do bad things to me?”

Now it’s me whose nostrils are flaring, her words going straight to my—working just fine, thank you very much—dick.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Hmmm,” she purrs, rolling her tongue over her lips again, knowing exactly what she’s doing. “Is it dangerous if I want it?”

Rod chooses that exact moment to appear, dropping my Jim and Coke in front of me, breaking our spell.

He looks at Emilia, silently asking if she wants another drink.

“She’ll take another,” I answer for her.

Miller’s beer is going to have to wait because there’s no way I’m walking away from her right now.

A grin pulls at her plump lips, then she turns to Rod. “Whiskey sour, please.”

He nods and turns to make her drink.

“So, new-to-town Emilia, what brings you all the way out here?”

There’s a shift in her demeanor, her shoulders slumping just an inch or so, and the spark that was filling her vibrant green eyes has dulled.

Rod sets a new drink in front of her and disappears. Her fingers immediately find the straw, like she’s searching for something to do with them.

“I…um…I needed a change of scenery.”

“Ah. So you’re just getting out of a bad relationship.”

She laughs, then draws a long pull from her drink. “Is it that obvious?”

I shrug. “I’m just good at reading people.”

It’s a skill acquired from so much time on the ice—another reason the Cup loss sucks so bad. I should have read the other team better than I did, should have seen the play coming, but I didn’t, and we lost because of it.

But I don’t want to dwell on that now, not when I have such a beautiful woman sitting in front of me.

“What happened?” I ask.

She lets out a long, sad sigh. “The usual. Girl loves boy, boy says he loves girl, they move in together. You think things are fine, maybe even heading toward marriage. All the while he starts sleeping with the girl next door, fathers a child with her, and you don’t find out until you find him plowing her on the coffee table.” She snorts. “How they didn’t break that thing is beyond me. That man’s go-to move is the jackhammer—and he’s not good at it.”

“Wait—he had a baby with her?”

“Yep.”

“And continued a relationship with you like it was nothing?”

“Yep. He said it was my fault because I was never home. Said if I had just tried harder in bed, he wouldn’t have stepped out, and I should have been there for him more.”

“And he’s still breathing?”

“Unfortunately.” She winces. “I shouldn’t have said that. That was uncalled for.”

The fact that she can find compassion for him after what he did…it does something funny to me that I can’t quite explain. She’s a good person. Better than me, that’s for sure. I’d have beat his face to a bloody pulp and still not let up.

What kind of sad sack of shit does that? Who the fuck says those things to someone?

The smile that was lighting her face when she was flirting with me is gone, replaced by a frown that could rival mine. I want to see her smile again.

“Is that why you’re here tonight? Trying to get over him?”

She nods, that hair of hers that I’m dying to unbind bouncing with the movement. “I promised my friend I wouldn’t sit on the couch and wallow over The Dick anymore.”

“The Dick?”

“That’s what we’re calling him. Hollis says he doesn’t deserve to be named.”

“Hm. I agree.”

“What are you doing here? You were frowning an awful lot when you sat down.”

“The same thing you are—trying to get over a heartbreak.”

It’s not entirely dishonest. I did get my heart broken. It wasn’t a girl, but another kind of mistress—the game of hockey.

“Well, look at us.” She stirs her drink again, her frown deepening. “Two peas, one pod and all that.”

A silence falls over us, though it’s not an awkward one. It’s more of us both acknowledging what’s happening here, the inevitable ending of tonight.

Right on cue, she turns to me, that grin back in place. “Want to get out of here, Smith?”

So, we do.

I usher her out of the bar, pulling out my phone to grab an Uber. The car arrives quickly, and we climb into the back. With one arm slung across the back seat of the SUV, I slip my phone into my pocket, watching as Emilia taps away at her own screen. Her hair is brushing against my arm, and I’m sure it makes me absolutely deranged to say the slight contact is making my dick throb.

It’s been too long since I’ve taken a woman home, too long since I’ve felt this sense of urgency, too fucking long since I’ve let myself go.

“I can feel you staring at me,” she says quietly.

“Are you telling someone where we’re going?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

She swallows at my words, and I don’t miss the way her thighs clench together.

“But I’m not worried.” She slides her phone into the small crossbody purse she’s carrying. “Not with you.”

Unable to stop myself, I let my fingers tangle in her hair, grabbing a few strands. Her lips part when I give them a gentle tug. I wonder what she’d do if I wrapped them around my fist like I really want to. Would she moan? Would she beg me to stop? To pull harder?

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“Because something tells me I don’t need to worry with you.”

I want to scold her for putting her trust in a stranger so blindly. I should tell the driver to turn around so I can take her back to the bar where she’s safe. I should do a lot of things, but what I definitely shouldn’t do is yank her close to me and cover her mouth with mine.

I do it anyway…and she lets me.

I have a feeling what we’re about to do is going to ruin me.