Page 81 of Sin Bin
I’ve never claimed to be the smartest guy in the room, but something is wrong. I can feel it. If I’m being honest, I felt it earlier today when she canceled our lunch plans. And last night, when she stayed home instead of coming to open practice with the rest of the girlfriends. She’s the W in Wives and Girlfriends, and she was a no-show. It didn’t bug me at the time because Fallon’s her own woman with her own life. She has more to do in a day than just following me around.
But she’s avoiding me, and that doesn’t add up.
I need advice. I need someone to listen to who can give me guidance. I need someone who knows people and relationships and can give it to me straight.
I need me.
But I’m not objective enough, so when half of my housemates pile into the kitchen and start raiding my grocery bags, I decide one of them will have to do.
Jenksy’s out first, because he’s a dick. Plain and simple.
Deano’s out next because he challenges Jenksy to a lightning round of Warrior’s Quest, so they head into the living room to play.
Baby Santos…that’s a tough one. He’s a sensitive soul, and a solid teammate, but he’s so damn young it’s even in his name. He’s out.
That leaves me with Blue or Wagner. Ouch. I’m not liking my choices. But then Blue makes my decision for me when he reaches into one of my reusable bags, grabs the chips and the jar of salsa, and heads up to his room. He stole my snacks. Automatic out.
So, I’m stuck with Dutton Wagner.
He’s putting the ground beef in the fridge, and I appreciate that. I’m just not sure it qualifies him for the job he’s about to do.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asks, frowning. At least I think he’s frown. The guy’s a surly fucker, so his mouth is always kinda turned down.
“I need guidance,” I answer plainly.
Wagner stands perfectly still, then turns his head to either side. “From me?” he asks.
“Seems so,” I say with resignation.
“Just fucking do it,” he says, tossing the avocados into the fruit bowl next to the bananas.
“Just fucking do what?” I ask, because that’s the problem. I’m not sure what to do. And I haven’t given him a single detail, so how the hell is he already giving me advice.
“Trust your gut,” he answers plainly. “Move Baby Santos up to my line and send Jenksy back down with Hainesy and Alessio. It’s the right move and you know it.”
Leaning back against the counter, I grab a granola bar from the pack I just bought, open the wrapper, and take a bite. “I’m not talking about hockey,” I tell him.
Dutton pauses, then shrugs. “My advice is the same.Trust your gut.” After that pronouncement, he opens the fridge door, takes out the tub of queso I was going to use for tonight's dinner, and heads for the stairs.
I’m not even mad, because he’s right. I do need to trust my gut. I just don’t have any clue where to start.
As I finish putting away the groceries—why does no one ever finish this job—I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and I hope to hell it’s Fallon. I’m about ready to walk to the library to ask her what’s going on, but I have a strong suspicion she’s not actually there. When I check the screen, I see that the message isn’t from Fallon Zabek. It’s from her brother, Booker. We left on decent terms but haven’t talked much since I married his sister in Vegas.
Booker: I hear you’re taking Fallon to Paris for your honeymoon?
Ollie: Uh…no. Where’d you hear that?
It suddenly occurs to me that maybe that’s the problem? Maybe Fallon’s upset we haven’t planned a honeymoon? I’ve thought about it. I’ve even told her we should backpack through Europe this summer, but I never made any real plans. I never called it a honeymoon. That’s on me.
But if Fallon wants to honeymoon in Paris—or anywhere, really—I think she’d just tell me. We’re good at communicating. Well, we were until a few days ago. But still. She felt safe enough to tell me she wanted to have sex while Aven watched. I doubt she’d be shy about telling me where she wanted to go on vacation.
My phone pings again with a text from Booker.
Booker: So, the two of you are not celebrating New Year’s Eve in the City of Love?
I’m tempted to tell him that my bedroom is the City of Love but now is probably not the time for that joke.
Ollie: Nope. Honestly, it’s a little too predictable. Plus, Fallon’s never said anything about Paris specifically. She’s an adventurer, so I’d pick a place off the beaten path. There’s this fishing village in Croatia that sounds cool as hell. And there are blue caves where you can snorkel or just chill. That’s more her speed.
