Page 9 of Sin Bin Daddies
Bile rises in my throat.
I lock my phone instantly, pushing it face-down across the table like it personally attacked me.
Fuck him. Fuck all of it.
I grab my spoon, stirring aggressively, then take a breath. I need a distraction.
I open Google, fingers flying.
“What to do in Miami at night?”
A list pops up. Beach bars, clubs, rooftop lounges.
Nope. No. Definitely not.
Then, halfway down the page?—
“Retro Theater Marathon: Cult Horror Classics and Slasher Films All Night!”
My lips curve.
Now, that’s a distraction.
CHAPTER TWO
Leo
The world disappearsthe second I put my headphones on.
It’s been a long fucking week—practices, game strategies, endless meetings with Ace about next season—but this? This is how I unwind.
A long walk, a good playlist, and a trip to the retro theater for an all-night horror marathon.
I’m crossing the street, head low, already thinking about which movie will start first, when a blur of blonde steps right in front of a speeding car.
Instinct kicks in before thought. I lunge, grabbing her waist, yanking her backward just as the car honks, tires screeching.
She collides into my chest, breath hitching, hands gripping my arms like she’s bracing for impact.
I hold her tight, my pulse spiking, and fuck—she’s soft.
Blonde. Blue-eyed. A little pale, like she’s had a shit day. Her plump lips look bitten, like she’s been chewing on them for hours.
“Shit,” I breathe. “You okay?”
She blinks up at me, still a little stunned.
Then she glances at the ground. “Fuck.”
“What?”
She gestures to the sidewalk, eyes wide with genuine distress. “I dropped Sunny’s leftovers.”
I glance down. A takeout container has exploded all over the pavement, broth pooling near the curb.
“Right,” I say, loosening my hold. “Who’s Sunny?”
“My dog—well, not my dog. My brother’s husband’s dog. But he’s basically mine for now. Temporary custody.”
