Sin Bin (D.C. Stars, #5)

by Chelsea Curto

I take another sip of my beer to stop myself from doing something stupid like going up to her and asking her name. As if I don’t already know it.

Fucking you against a wall would be a great way to start another year.

She turns and saunters for the door, not bothering to check if I’m following. I shuffle behind her, aware I might be making the biggest mistake of my life.

I’ve always been drawn to people who would burn the world down for me if given the chance, and I have a feeling Brody fits that characteristic to a tee.

“You asked me what I do for fun, Hannah, and tonight it was thinking about all the ways I’d fuck you if I had the chance.”

“Fuck it,” he says, losing the war with himself. A battle I’m glad to win. “I don’t give a shit anymore,” he adds, and his lips crash against mine.

“I’ll make it so good for you. Let me get you out of my fucking head. I want—I need to make you come.”

Her brother, Jamal, is an NBA player who was traded to the DC Bullets two seasons ago.

new series?

I’ve eased up on shutting them down so quickly when they ask me to hang out away from practice and games because they’re my family. And family is really fucking important, especially after going through a tragedy that nearly ripped us apart.

I’m not sure I’ve been right in the head since I left her apartment. Who could be after being in the presence of someone who is so perfect, it makes you feel so goddamn unworthy?

Whatever higher power I’ve been bartering with to make sure I’m not still attracted to her really said fuck you, because even with the snort she lets out, she’s absolutely fucking beautiful.

Hers is big and bold, full of life from someone who hasn’t been burned by the world yet while his is more subdued, like you’re lucky to catch a glimpse of it.

I hear the whisper of off-limits in each syllable, but it’s followed up with the touch of smoke. The hint of I don’t give a fuck.

My palms are sweaty. It feels like my first day existing on this fucking planet, like the sight of her is a punch to my gut, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

I guess when someone’s the center of your universe, everyone else ceases to exist.

It’s like he’s sneaking the tiniest taste, stealing the smallest sip of something he shouldn’t have.

Liam narrows his eyes in Maverick’s direction. “I’m here in the middle of the night. I’m not leaving until I see that baby,” he says. “And Emmy. I like her more than I like you.”

god im so down bad for liam

The champagne is flowing. A string quartet starts up a holiday tune, and I’m fighting for my fucking life.

I move even closer, until the tips of my shoes touch hers. Until I can smell the wine she was just sipping on her breath. Until I can see the collection of freckles on her right shoulder.

How long have I felt like I’ve been searching for the sun, only for it to be right in front of me the whole time?

“What else do you want, baby? The moon? I’ll bring it out of the fucking sky for you.”

“What if I like to be in control too?” She looks down at me, eyes heavy-lidded. “Who’s going to win?” You, I think pathetically. Because I’m a helpless fucking wreck.

“Hannah.” A plea. A prayer. Exquisite music to my ears.

“You smile plenty around me.” Because you make me happy. Because no one else has ever made me feel this way. Because I miss you when you’re not around.

What else do you want, Hannah? The stars? The fucking sun? Give me a list, and I’ll give you everything you ask for.

As if what we did wasn’t enough. As if she hasn’t splintered me into a million fucking pieces and ripped my heart out of my chest in the process.

Later, after the pandemonium dies down and the Stars win by two, I pull my phone out of my purse. I zoom in on the picture I took of Brody’s whiteboard, discovering the secret only for me. Mine.

Every time he smiles, and it feels like I’m seeing the sun for the first time in days.

How do you describe the person you look for in every room? How do you describe the person who is the best part of your day? How do you describe the rush of adrenaline you get when she touches your hand? How do you describe the peace you feel when she’s in your arms?

“I’ll know it when I feel it,” I whisper back. His mouth parts. He dips his chin, kissing my knee, my calf. My tongue runs over my shin. “And I think you’ll feel it too.” “Yeah,” he croaks. “I already do.”

You could never touch the ice again and I’d still think you were the most magnetic, magnificent thing in this universe.”

“You don’t think you’re enough for me, Hannah? Baby, you’re fucking everything to me. I don’t want anything if you’re not there. That’s it.”