Page 32 of The Sin Bin

"Barb!"

"What? Even if you’re not sure about The Mountain, you might as well look devastating."

Lauren fingered the silk of the emerald dress, the cool fabric sliding between her fingers as she considered it. She'd worn it once before, to a colleague's wedding, and remembered how it had made her feel—confident, beautiful, seen.

"What am I getting myself into?"

"Something worth taking a risk for," Barb replied simply. "And if I'm wrong, you can fire me as your best friend."

THE CHARITY CASINOnight was being held at the Grand Harbor Hotel, New Haven's most elegant venue overlooking the waterfront. Lauren handed her car keys to the valet, the metal cold in her palm before the attendant took them. She smoothed her emerald dress nervously as she approached the entrance, the silk whispering against her skin with each movement. The event was larger than she'd expected, with local media stationed outside capturing the arrivals of players and notable guests.

She hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. What if she made a fool out of herself? The sounds of laughter and conversation drifted from inside, mingling with the sharp March wind off the harbor.

Before she could spiral further, her phone buzzed with a text.Are you here yet? I'm by the entrance inside, away from the cameras.

The simple message steadied her.Just arrived. Coming in now.

The hotel lobby was transformed with tasteful hockey-themed decorations—nothing garish, just subtle touches of the Chill's blue and white colors accenting the elegant space. The scent of fresh flowers mixed with expensive cologne and perfume as Lauren made her way past photographers and guests in cocktail attire, searching for Jax's unmistakable figure.

She spotted him before he saw her—standing slightly apart from the crowd, his imposing height making him easy to find despite his attempt to blend in. He wore a black suit that must have been custom-made to fit his athletic frame, the crisp white shirt offering a striking contrast to the dark fabric. The scar above his left eyebrow—usually hidden by his helmet during games—stood out in the hotel's bright lighting, a small reminder of the physical toll his career demanded.

As if sensing her gaze, he looked up, their eyes meeting across the space. The admiration in them as they traveled from her face down the length of her dress and back up made her breath catch. He cut through the crowd like a shark through water, seemingly unaware of the people who instinctively stepped aside to let him pass.

"You look amazing." Jax paused, his eyes taking her in with an appreciation that sent heat blooming across her skin. "Beautiful doesn't seem adequate."

Lauren felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Up close, she noticed details about him she'd missed from a distance—the fresh cut along his jawline from a high stick in yesterday's game, the hint of cologne that smelled of cedar and something darker, the way his jacket strained slightly across his shoulders.

"You clean up pretty well yourself," she said, gesturing to his suit. "I'm guessing they don't make these off the rack for men your size."

"Benefits of a professional athlete's salary. Custom everything." His voice had a rougher edge than usual, as if her appearance had affected him more than he wanted to show.

The moment stretched between them, charged with unspoken possibilities, until someone called Jax's name from across the lobby. He grimaced slightly.

"Media obligations," he explained apologetically. "I have to make an appearance at the red carpet with the team. Would you mind waiting here? It shouldn't take long."

"Of course," Lauren assured him. "Go do your job. I'll be fine."

He hesitated, then unexpectedly took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "I'll find you," he promised, then made his way toward where the team was gathering.

Lauren watched as the Chill players lined up for photos, the contrast between their on-ice personas and current formal attire striking. Kane was charming the reporters, Dmitri was hamming it up for the cameras, and Oliver looked considerably better than he had the night of his anxiety attack, smiling shyly at the attention.

And then there was Jax—stoic and reserved compared to his teammates, answering questions with brief responses, his discomfort with the spotlight evident even from a distance. Yet he handled it with the same quiet dignity she'd come to associate with him, neither rude nor overly indulgent.

"You must be Dr. Mackenzie."

Lauren turned to find an elegant woman in her late forties observing her with keen hazel eyes. It took her a moment to recognize Coach Victoria Kovalchuk in a short, black dress instead of her usual tracksuit or blazer.

"Yes," Lauren confirmed, extending her hand. "Coach Kovalchuk, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Vicky, please," the coach said, her handshake firm. "I've been curious about the veterinarian who's had such an interesting effect on my defenseman."

Lauren fought to maintain her composure. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Three weeks ago, Jax was at a crossroads in his career—struggling to evolve beyond the enforcer role, resistant to change despite knowing it was necessary. Now he's embracing a new playing style, logging more minutes, and showing leadership I always knew was there but rarely saw."

"That has nothing to do with me," Lauren protested.

"Doesn't it?" Vicky countered, her gaze assessing but not unkind. "I've coached Jax for a long time. I know when something—or someone—is serving as a catalyst."

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