Sin by Violetta Rand

meat patties on the grill—laughing every time she covers her face or makes a smart-ass comment.
    “I can’t believe you just did that!” she yells at the flat screen. “My God, half the positions you guys get into should be banned—it’s vulgar.”
    I have a perfect view of her and the TV from outside. “Medium?”
    “Yes,” she answers. “No!” She looks my way. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were into dudes.”
    I grin; on the screen, my head is trapped between my opponent’s knees and I’m struggling to break free. “Can’t win them all.” The burgers are done and I head inside. “Ready to eat?”
    She doesn’t look up. “Hold on—this is the best round.”
    My stomach growls and I slink to the coffee table, grabbing the remote. I press pause. “Eat now, watch wrestling later.”
    She lets out a heavy sigh, then scrambles off the couch. The dining room table is set, complete with lit tapered candles in expensive crystal holders my mom gave me when I bought the place. I pull out her chair.
    “Thank you,” she says. “Tomatoes, pickles, romaine, jalapeños, olives, sweet relish, mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup, and pineapple slices?” Her eyebrows jump in surprise. “Impressive, Martha Stewart.”
    “Hey,” I play along. “I’m a serious burger connoisseur. Wasn’t sure what you’d like.”
    She reaches for the lettuce and tomatoes. “Try asking next time.”
    “Didn’t want to disturb my newest wrestling fan.”
    “Well.” She smooths a stray curl. “I admit there’s something titillating about seeing you in that black mini, the way it hugs your ass.” She takes a generous bite of her burger. “Oh. My. God.”
    “What?”
    “This is
sooo
good.”
    She’s adorable when she’s happy. “By the way, wrestlers don’t wear minis.”
    “No?” She tries to sound innocent.
    “It’s called a singlet.”
    “Have one lying around anywhere?”
    I nearly spit out my food. “Why?”
    “We can play fashion show after dinner.”
    I take another bite; it’s safer to keep my mouth shut at this point.
    She finishes her food, then heads to the fridge for another beer. “Want one?”
    “Sure.”
    When she offers it, my fingers skim over the top of her hand. She freezes, her gaze locked on mine. “Did you feel that?” she asks, her demeanor instantly changing.
    If she’s talking about the electrical discharge between us whenever we touch—
fuck yeah
, that’s the problem. She looks so broken up about it, I give her a sympathetic look and pull out the chair closest to me. She sits.
    “Can you believe he showed up at the club?” She rests her elbows on the table, her cheek pressed against her palm. “And I’m supposed to just forget about everything and open up my arms and legs and welcome him home.”
    “You lived together?”
    “No.” She shakes her head. “But we spent a lot of time together.”
    “You’re not alone, darlin’,” I confess, hoping she’ll sense how sympathetic I am. “My ex-fiancée decided to have an affair a couple months ago. It didn’t end well between us.”
    After what feels like an eternity of silence, she speaks up. “What happened?”
    “We lived together in upstate New York while I completed my grad degree. She knew from the beginning I intended to come home after I graduated. But when she found out I accepted the job at the Den, she freaked. End of story.”
    “Where is she now?”
    “At the moment…” I look at my watch. “Less than a mile away.”
    “What?”
    “She called a few nights ago and told me she’s in town. Asked if we could start over.” I laugh bitterly. “Seems like we’re both stuck between the same rock and hard place.”
    Her eyes soften. “Screw them.”
    “She wants to be ‘friends,’ ” I add for effect.
    She clicks her tongue, then moves into a more comfortable position, stretching her perfect legs out. “And here
we
are.” She flicks me a cryptic look.
    I flex my hand behind my back.