Page 33 of The Sin Bin

Before Lauren could formulate a response, Vicky continued, "I'm not here to interrogate you. Just to satisfy my curiosity about the woman who's somehow inspired one of my most stubborn players to reconsider his approach to the game."

"I think you're giving me too much credit," Lauren said carefully. "Jax is making his own choices."

"True," Vicky acknowledged. "But sometimes we all need someone who sees us as more than our most obvious attributes." She glanced toward the media scrum where Jax was still answering questions, his expression stoic. "Most people see the enforcer. What do you see?"

The question felt like a test, though Lauren couldn't determine the correct answer. She opted for honesty. "I see someone who protects what's vulnerable. Who's gentler than his size suggests. Who values control above impulse."

A shadow passed across Vicky's face. "Control is important to him. Maybe too important sometimes. The pressure he puts on himself..." She trailed off, then refocused. "The playoffs are coming. Sixteen games in less than a month if we go the distance. It's when everything intensifies—the hits, the media scrutiny, the stakes. Players show their true selves when that pressure builds."

The warning was subtle but unmistakable. Lauren felt a chill despite the warmth of the room.

"I understand," she said quietly.

"Good answer," Vicky said, nodding with approval. "And for what it's worth, he speaks very highly of you too."

Before Lauren could ask what exactly Jax had said, Vicky was called away by a team executive, leaving Lauren with a reassuring pat on the arm and the lingering impression that she'd passed some unspoken evaluation.

The main ballroom was transformed into an elegant casino, with tables for blackjack, poker, and roulette scattered throughout. Guests used donated funds to purchase chips, with proceeds benefiting the team's youth hockey foundation. A bar lined one wall, while a small stage at the far end featured a jazz quartet playing subdued music. The air was thick with perfume, aftershave, and the champagne being passed on silver trays by circulating servers.

Lauren was admiring the ice sculpture centerpiece—a remarkable replica of the Chill's logo—when a familiar voice spoke behind her.

"Sorry about that," Jax said. "Media obligations always take longer than they promise."

She turned to find him holding two glasses of champagne, offering one to her with a slightly apologetic smile. The bubbles tickled her nose as she accepted the drink, the crystal glass cool against her fingers.

"No apology necessary," she assured him, accepting the drink. "I had an interesting conversation with your coach."

Jax's eyebrows rose. "Vicky found you? I should have warned you. She can be a little intense."

"So I gathered," Lauren said, unable to suppress a smile at his concerned expression. "Don't worry, I think I passed whatever test she was administering."

Relief flickered across his features. "Good. She's protective of the team."

"As she should be," Lauren acknowledged. "You're in the middle of a playoff push with your starting goaltender injured. The last thing you need is distractions."

Something shifted in Jax's expression, his dark eyes holding hers with unexpected intensity. "Is that what you think you are? A distraction?"

The directness of the question caught her off guard. "I don't know what I am," she admitted, the honesty easier in the dim light of the ballroom. "This wasn't exactly in my plans."

"Mine either," he confessed. "But I'm glad it happened anyway."

The simple statement hung between them, an acknowledgment of whatever this was developing into. Before Lauren could respond, they were interrupted by Dmitri's exuberant arrival, the Russian's cologne announcing his presence before he spoke.

"Jax! You bring the beautiful doctor!" the Russian exclaimed, his accent thicker than usual, suggesting he'd already visited the bar several times. His bow tie was slightly askew, his smile wide and genuine as he took Lauren's free hand and kissed it with theatrical flourish. "You remember me, yes?”

"Of course, Dmitri," Lauren replied, returning his smile. "You’re hard to forget."

"Come, you must meet everyone properly," he insisted, gently tugging her toward a cluster of players.

Before either could protest, Dmitri led them toward a group gathered near a blackjack table. Lauren's senses were overwhelmed by the sudden immersion into the team's inner circle—the mingling scents of various colognes, the rumble of deep voices punctuated by laughter, the light reflecting off diamonds and watches.

She was introduced to the team in rapid succession—Kane and his wife Allison (whose assessing gaze made Lauren suspect she'd been a topic of discussion), Marcus with his analytical eyes that seemed to catalog every detail, Ethan with his boyish enthusiasm, and a blur of other players whose names and faces began to blend together.

"Don't worry," Jax murmured close to her ear as Dmitri launched into an animated story about a road trip misadventure, his breath warm against her skin. "There won't be a quiz later."

The warmth of his breath against her skin sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. "Good, because I'm terrible with names," she whispered back.

Their closeness didn't go unnoticed. Lauren caught knowing glances between teammates, whispered comments behind hands, assessing looks from partners. It should have made her uncomfortable, being the subject of such obvious speculation, but with Jax's solid presence beside her, it felt oddly right.

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