The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

a line change, it happened. Seb flew toward the bench so his replacement could take his place. He curled the fingers of his bulky gloves around the edge of the low wall in order to propel his body over it, and his piercing blue gaze landed directly on me. It was as if Seb somehow knew I was there. Was drawn to me. He couldn’t have known, obviously, and the way his eyes widened with surprise, he didn’t expect to see me.

Mid-leap, Seb tripped and almost fell flat on his face, or he would have if his teammate hadn't been there to break his fall. Seb landed on top of the guy. His forward momentum sent them both crashing to the ground in a jumbled heap of equipment and skates.

After untangling their limbs and sticks, Seb took a seat on the bench, but he never stopped staring at me. Not once. I watched as his face quickly went through a dozen different emotions. They changed so fast it made it difficult to pick them out. The ones I did recognize? Confusion, anger, and astonishingly, a deep sense of sadness. The first two were for obvious reasons. I didn’t know what to make of the third. I knew Sebastien didn't want me to leave the other night. In fact, he protested vehemently. I figured his objection was due to interest in having another round of sex. But maybe I was wrong.

Had Seb been serious about trying to get to know me, or was he faking interest because I was an easy lay? I assumed it was the latter. Could I have been wrong?

The bright lights of the arena stung my eyes and I everything blurred as a sudden and intense surge of doubt made my head hurt. I clutched the armrest until the pain passed.

“Are you okay?” Nat asked as she stuck her face in front of me until her nose almost touched mine. Worry creased her brow.

Only then did I realize I was rubbing my head. I dropped my hand. “He saw me, Nat. You didn’t see the look on his face… It was… I-I don’t know what to think… I thought he didn’t…” I stumbled as I tried to explain Seb’s distraught expression only to discover I couldn’t. Nothing I said would accurately capture the complex workings of Seb’s mind or what he may or may not feel.

While I worried my lip, Nat contemplated what I said, or tried to say, anyway. Being a woman of action, when she reached a conclusion, she stood and tugged on my hand. “Come on. Let's go.”

Thank god. Now that he'd spotted me, there was no way Seb would let me leave without attempting to reach out and arrange a meet up. Either so he could wheedle an explanation out of me for taking off or, at the very least, to talk. Both would result in a sweaty usher bringing his request to my seat or, god forbid, Seb leaping over the boards and stomping into the stands in full hockey gear to deliver the message himself.

I shuddered in horror. Seb might very well be frustrated enough to do just that.

Maybe sneaking out was cowardly, but then, I never claimed to be brave. If I had to look into Seb’s devastated eyes, I would crumple like a used napkin and give him whatever he wanted and then some. I’d give him everything. I’d give him me.

Unfamiliar with Atlanta and its weird one-way streets, Nat used the map on her phone to get us home safely. She correctly surmised I was too distracted to be behind the wheel.

Neither of us said a word. Not in the car. Not in the elevator. Not as we walked down the hall to the door. Inside, I didn’t bother to take off my coat and shoes. Instead, I went for the sofa and dropped like a stone.

Nat took her time, hanging her coat and putting her shoes by the door. She passed my pathetic self and headed to the kitchen. Dishes clanged and the fridge opened and closed several times. When Nat finally joined me, she had a bowl of chips and a container of salsa in her hands, and two cans of soda tucked under one arm. She put everything on the coffee table and immediately dug in. I ignored the food. The brick of guilt I swallowed still occupied most of the room in my stomach. Nat had no such issues and demolished more than half the bowl in mere minutes.

“So,” Nat said as she used her jeans to brush the salt off her hands. “Are you thinking this guy might have genuine feelings for you after all?”

Straight to the point. How very Nat. With my gray matter flapping in the wind and complex thinking impossible at the moment, I appreciated the direct approach.

I stared at my hands, finding my fingernails fascinating all of a sudden. “I don't know. Maybe?” Frustrated and twitchy, I pushed the hat off my head and ran my hands through my hair. When that did nothing to lessen the anxiety, I heaved my feet up onto the couch and sprawled out on my back. “From what I know about Seb, it's not really his style. He’s like, the perpetual party boy bachelor. Never one to settle down or form attachments.”

“Everyone grows up eventually, Kylie.”

What? I sat back up and goggled, unable to believe those words came out of the mouth of Natasha Westwood, a woman who warned me time and again that I needed to be cautious around men. A woman who went off on long rants about men and their inability to commit at least once every four to six months since the day we met.

And she had the gall to sit there and look offended by my reaction. “What? It's true,” she said.

“I know. You’re right, it is true.” I nodded in agreement. “Just… coming from, you know… you.” I gestured toward her.

The hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of Nat’s mouth and, oh my god, she started to blush! I didn’t know my unflappable, hard as nails friend could blush. I always figured the embarrassment gene passed her by.

“Yeah, I know. Totally out of character. And I still think men are immature, emotionally stunted toddlers,” she added. I rolled my eyes at that. “But, I don’t want to stop you from going after something you want. Something that, despite my personal beliefs, could end up being real.”

The finality with which Nat spoke caused my stomach to detach, heavy weight still tucked inside, and sent the whole thing into a free fall.

“I… we… I can’t be with him, Nat. You know this.”

She got up and sat next to me on the sofa, close enough our shoulders brushed. Her expression was as serious as I’d ever seen it. Nat looked me in the eye and said, “You can.”

I snorted. “Yeah, if I want to risk death by Rocco.”

Nat took my hands in hers. The grounding touch soothed the bouncy nerves that pinged around my stomach—which currently lay splattered at my feet—and a warm, calming sensation spread through my body.

“Don’t be silly. Rocco would never kill you. He’d just kill Seb.” She said it with a straight face, but couldn’t keep the mischief out of her eyes.

We both burst out laughing.