Sin Bin (Carolina Comets #4)

It would be an absolute lie if I said I didn’t come into work yesterday morning with every intention of telling Tori there was no way I would be able to do the piece on Smith.

But I knew if I did, I would have to explain to her why I couldn’t do the piece…and that’s not a conversation I’m ready to have.

Besides, letting him win and get the better of me? Well, that’s just not the type of person I am.

Just sex? Just sex my ass.

He knows as well as I do that those two nights we spent together meant a whole lot more. If they didn’t, we wouldn’t have spent the last two-plus years doing everything in our power to avoid one another.

Maybe it’s all in my head though. Maybe it was just sex. Perhaps my fascination with him is because he’s off-limits. Maybe I’m the one who needs to move on.

I need to forget about what happened, forget about him in any capacity other than hockey. I have a job to do, and that’s what I need to be focusing on.

“Hey, how’s everything going with Smith?”

I sigh as Blake rests his ass on my desk, the same spot he always sits in.

“Uh-oh. That bad?”

“Let’s just say it was a grumpy day for him.”

“Isn’t it always a grumpy day for him?”

“True, but when we met for coffee, he was extra grumpy.”

Blake obviously doesn’t know the details of my past with Smith. Nobody knows them, not even Hollis. She knows I met someone when I first moved here, but that’s it. She doesn’t know who it was because I didn’t even know who he was then.

When we discovered he played for the Comets and I’d just accepted a job with them, we cut off all contact and have existed in this weird plane of avoiding one another ever since. Now though, we can’t, and I’m beginning to realize it’s going to be a lot harder to collaborate with him than I anticipated.

Blake frowns. “Well, at least he said yes. I mean, that’s the first big hurdle, you know? And if he gets too out of line, you can just tell your uncle and he can whip him into shape.”

I laugh. “Right. Tori already hates me for nepotism. The last thing I need to do is sic my uncle on an unruly player. I can take care of it. I’m not scared of Smith.”

Though this would probably be a lot easier if I were…

“If you need help, just let me know. I’ve been working on my dad voice, but Nate says I could use more practice on it, so if I need to bust it out on some hockey players, I’ll do it.”

I laugh again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good, good. But also, while I’m here…”

I groan because nothing good ever comes after he says that. “Oh god.”

“It’s nothing awful. We’re just down a photographer since it’s so close to the holiday…” He pauses when I glare at him because I know where this is going. “Everyone else is wrapped up in their own projects, so we don’t have anyone to photograph the arrivals. I’d do it, but Tori has me working on something else and she’s already mad at me for dipping out early yesterday, so…”

He grins broadly, and I want so badly to say no, but I know I can’t.

I sigh. “Fine, I’ll do it—but I’m not going to be happy about it.”

“I really didn’t think you would be, but it’s been noted.” He pretends to scribble a note onto his hand, then hops off my desk. “I’m off to get these graphics made before puck drop.”

“She has you on graphic duty? But that’s…”

“Totally not my job? I know, but I think she knows I hate it, so here I am.” He rolls his eyes. “Thanks for helping out. I’ll let Dom know you’re on your way down.”

I hit save on the project I’ve been working on, then rise from my desk and head for the equipment room. I grab a camera and make my way down to the garage.

It’s still sunny out, so I decide to take some pics of the guys coming in from the lot.

The minute I step outside, I regret it. It’s windy as hell, and it sends a shiver through me. I should have known better. December around here can be unpredictable, freezing cold one day, warm and sunny the next. It’s definitely sunny, but that wind chill is killer.

Nevertheless, I have a job to do, and the team is starting to arrive. I lift the camera just in time to see Miller and Rhodes making their way into the building.

Miller blows the camera a kiss.

Rhodes—who is scowling per usual—smacks him in the back of the head.

I laugh as I take the shot because the moment is just too good to pass up.

A few more guys arrive, including the goalie, Greer, who has been making a splash on our social media lately. Everyone in the comments has been going nuts over him and his skills. I’m eager to see how well he does in this last stretch of the season.

I lift the camera to my eye to adjust a few things, then spot Smith pulling in at the other end of the lot. He backs into a spot, then shuts off his shiny black truck and hops out with a coffee cup in hand. I don’t know if that’s a requirement before the game, but it seems like it since all the guys carry one in.

His dark hair is pushed back off his head in a haphazard way, and his face is covered with at least two days’ worth of stubble. He’s wearing a navy suit with a simple white dress shirt underneath. His tie is dark red, and even though it’s not the most noteworthy ensemble, he sure wears it like it is. The outfit looks every bit like it was tailored to fit him, and I don’t mind it at all.

He looks good. Too good.

Like a-tightness-pulling-low-in-my-belly kind of good.

Someone clearing their throat draws my attention, and I nearly jump when I see Lowell through the lens, standing just a few feet away. He looks behind him at Smith—who is making his way through the lot—then back at me, and his lips pull up into a knowing smirk.

I hate it and want to hide.

My cheeks warm ten degrees. “Evening, Lowell.”

“Emilia. Lovely view out tonight, yeah?”

I let out a low squeak at being caught and called out, and Lowell laughs, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry…your secret is safe with me.”

“What secret?”

He just shakes his head again, smirk still in place as he disappears into the building. Panic sets in the moment he’s out of sight.

Did Smith tell him what happened between us? Did Lowell guess himself? If so, does it mean it’s obvious to everyone else? Does Tori know? Is this some kind of test?

No. There’s no way. Smith and I have barely been in the same room since I started with the team. It’s just not possible for her to know anything.

I shake the worry off and turn my attention back to my job. Wright jogs over toward Smith, and the two bump fists as they head for the building together. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but whatever Wright says has Smith’s lips tipping up into a smile. He doesn’t do it often enough, and it’s a shame because he’s even more handsome when it happens.

The wind whips up again, and I shiver from the onslaught.

“Here you go, Miss Anderson,” says Dom, one of our security guards, as he slips his jacket over my shoulders. I relish the warmth, tugging the material around me together.

I shoot him a wink. “You’re my hero, Dom.”

His cheeks pinken and he returns to his post.

I lift my camera and grab a few shots of Wright and Smith walking in but stop short when I realize Smith’s eyes have shot my way. His brows are drawn tightly together as he glowers at me with a hateful stare. He’s looking at the jacket draped over my shoulders like it’s the most offensive thing he’s ever seen.

His eyes flick to Dom, then back to the jacket, then to me.

It’s almost like…

Holy shit. He’s jealous.

A warm tingle hits my lower belly when I meet his tawny eyes, which are dark and stormy. I want to walk over and smooth the crease between his brows…but I also want to make it deepen.

How messed up does it make me that I like seeing him jealous?

Beside him, Wright is carrying on a full-blown one-sided conversation, missing the whole thing completely.

I don’t. I press the button and capture the shot as he stares at me, the intensity never waning.

When I drop the camera, Smith’s attention is back on Wright, and it’s like it never even happened. It’s such a sudden change that even I question if it was real.

But then Wright notices me and grins, Smith scowls his way too, and I know it was real.

“Hey, Emilia. You’re still coming for Christmas dinner, right? Harper’s been freaking out about the menu and worrying if she bought enough food.”

“I’ll be there after I stop by my uncle’s,” I promise.

Since moving out here, I’ve taken to having Christmas brunch with my uncle. He’s all alone since my aunt died six years ago, so I like to spend the holidays with him.

“Christmas dinner?” Smith asks the defenseman.

“Yeah. Do you want in? The more the merrier. Just figured your grumpy ass wouldn’t want to hang out with us.”

“I’m in,” Smith answers quickly.

Wright’s brows shoot up along with mine.

He’s going to be there? How is it I’ve avoided him so much for the last couple of years and now suddenly I have to spend all my free time with him? And why don’t I hate the idea of it?

“You are?” Wright asks him with a grin.

Smith lifts his shoulders. “Sure. Why not? Not like I have anything else to do.”

“All right. I’ll tell Harper. Bring booze.”

Smith grunts out a reply, and I snap another picture as they pass, not missing Smith’s eyes sliding my way as he disappears into the building.

I stand outside for another half hour as the rest of the team filters in, then I head upstairs to get the photos loaded into the shared folder so the graphics gurus—tonight that’s Blake—can get them edited and ready for posting before puck drop.

I click through the images, checking to make sure everything came out okay, and I pause when I get to the ones of Smith.

God, the look he’s giving the camera…I should be embarrassed that it has my thighs clenching together, but I’m just not.

Even though I shouldn’t, I love seeing him so riled up over me. It reminds me of the nights we spent together, the intensity, the possessiveness. I’ve never felt so important to someone before, and though it was short-lived, I want to feel that again.

I click away before I get caught daydreaming, then save the photos to the folder and get started on wrapping up everything else I need to do before the game. When I’m satisfied that it’s all complete, I head down the hall and pop my head into Blake’s office.

“Hey, I’m going down to the game,” I say. “You coming?”

He’s fully engrossed in whatever is on his phone, but after a few seconds, he pops his head up, eyes wide. It’s alarming.

“Everything okay?” I ask hesitantly, hoping it’s not a fire I need to put out. All I want is to go watch the game and relax tonight.

“Have you seen the comments on these?”

“On what?”

“The arrival photos. Look.”

I slink into his office and stand behind his desk as he pulls up the team’s Instagram on his computer. He expands the comments, and my mouth slackens at what I see on the screen. There are hundreds of them, way more than we typically get, and they all say a variation of the same thing.

HoneyBree19: Granny Smith Apple? More like DADDY Smith Apple.

Bardown1991: THAT LOOK! *fans self*

HckyisLife: Dude, Smith looks READY to go!

KeepingUpWithKeeley: I don’t even watch hockey and here I am in the comments.

AmberWavesofFAME: I wish my husband looked at me the way he is looking at whoever is behind that camera. He’s giving MAJOR BDE. *eggplant emoji*

CldBURStckHndlr: WOW. I’m pretty sure if he looked at me like that, there’s no way I’d be wearing panties for long.

“They all need a large glass of water because they are thirsty. I mean, not that I blame them, because that photo is wow.”

“What picture did you post?” My heart is pounding so hard I pray he can’t hear it or the waver of my voice.

He clicks through the carousel of photos, but he doesn’t have to tell me which one it is. I already know.

It’s the same photo I was clenching my thighs to just a little bit ago.

The fans aren’t wrong—the look he’s giving the camera is panty-melting. Thank gosh none of them know it was me behind the lens.

“What did you do to him? Did you say something? Because he’s looking at you like he wants to rip your clothes off.”

Probably because he does want to rip my clothes off, Dom’s jacket in particular.

But I don’t tell Blake any of that.

Instead, I shrug. “I don’t know. He was just grumpy. You know how Smith is.”

Blake’s brows rise. “Honey, that look he’s giving you…that isn’t just him being grumpy. There is some serious sexual tension hiding underneath it.”

His words spark a panic in me, and I look around the office to make sure nobody was walking by when he said that. The last thing I need is a bunch of rumors being spread.

“Shh!”

“What? I’m teasing! Unless…”

My blood is pumping so hard I can hardly hear the lie tumbling from my lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. He has no interest in me. He was just annoyed with something Wright was talking his ear off about.”

It’s easily the biggest lie I’ve ever told Blake, and I immediately feel bad about it. But right now, this lie is what’s saving my career. I just hope Tori doesn’t see these photos, scrutinize them too closely, and start putting two and two together.

Blake’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I’m terrified he’s going to press me and all the sordid details are going to come tumbling out because I am dying to tell someone.

By some miracle, he lets me off the hook. “All right. But I’m just saying…Stick Handler here is right. If Nate looked at me like that, I would not be wearing pants for long.”

He laughs, and I force myself to do the same.

“Okay, come on,” he says, clicking out of the account, then rising from his chair. “Let’s go watch the game and hope the boys win, because I do not feel like staying up all night and monitoring our social media for the crazies.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as I follow him out. At least for now, my secret is still safe.