Page 23 of Sweet Redemption

Fuck you, Hendrix Sinclair, for ruining men for me.

“Do you really not remember?” he asks, reaching for a shirt on the floor and sniffing it before throwing it back on.

Eww. Men are gross.

I think . . . hard. And I’m a little ashamed to admit thinking hurts.

“I remember blackjack.” I crawl across the mattress, a little too aware that I’m in a slinky, skintight black dress with no bra and a tiny little thong.

There’s no way I didn’t just flash this man an ass cheek.

I make the mistake of glancing in the mirror as I grab a sweater to throw on. My hair that looked soft and wavy last night is a long, knotted mess of stringy curls this morning. But hey, at least I don’t have raccoon eyes. My bags are even worse now, but they’re not smeared black, so I guess that’s a win. Yay for good mascara.

“You don’t need to put on clothes for me, little Kingston.”

Gorgeous and cocky.

Wow, do I have a type.

“Yes, I do.” I debate brushing my hair but settle for a messy bun instead because I might actually be scared of how much a brush would hurt at the moment. I need a shower and shampoo and enough conditioner to detangle a bear. “And stop calling me little Kingston.”

“Well, at least you remember meeting me.” He grins.

“I also remember telling you I wasn’t interested.” It would have been so much easier if I was. As pieces of the night begin to fit into place, I picture his smile and remember liking it and him as we talked. He felt safe. Just not in a sexy way at all . . . Because apparently, I am well and truly broken. Not that Rafe didn’t try. He flirted like a champ at the blackjack table while⁠—

“Holy shit. Did Logan bet Olivia that she’d marry him or is my memory just fucked enough to make me think that happened?”

This time, Rafe’s smile is slow and a little devious. Unfortunately, it still doesn’t do anything for me. “Not exactly.”

Okay . . . maybe my memory is playing tricks on me.

“So they didn’t get married by Elvis last night?” Guess I can chalk that up to a drunken Vegas hallucination. No more champagne for me for a while.

“Oh no,” Rafe laughs. “They totally got married. You walked her down the aisle and gave her away. Logan didn’t bet that she’d marry him. He bet he’d beat her at blackjack, and them getting married was what he won.”

Umm . . . I guess I’m not the only one going back to a big fat mess at home.

HENDRIX

If you’re the best on the team, no one is challenging you to be better.

Find a better team.

—Declan Sinclair’s advice to his sons

“What are you guys doing now?” Leo asks as he throws on his shorts in front of his locker, hair still dripping from his shower.

“Not hanging with you idiots.” Ares shrugs on his shirt, grinning with the kind of enthusiasm that tells me no way in hell do I want to know what other plans he has for my sister. “I’m going home. The kids won’t be back from school for another two hours, which means,”—his grin grows, and Nix and I gag—“I get Grace to myself.”

“Fuck. Stop,” Leo whines like a bitch.

“Dude. No,” Nix shakes his head as he bends down and ties his shoelaces. We’re barely a week into preseason practices, but we’ve already fallen into a manageable routine. “Nobody wants to hear about you banging our sister.”

Yeah . . . definitely didn’t need to know that. But they’re happy, so good for them.

“I mean,”—I can’t stop laughing—“they do have five kids, guys.”

We knew twins ran in the family. After all, Gracie and Everly are identical twins. And while they may not have married twins, they did marry brothers. We also have two sets of twin cousins, and Dad’s younger brother and sister are twins.