Page 34 of The Sin Bin

Oliver approached, looking significantly better than the last time she'd seen him. "Dr. Mackenzie," he greeted her with a warm smile. "Nice to see you again under better circumstances."

"Please, call me Lauren," she insisted. "And yes, this is definitely an improvement over our last meeting."

"Jax hasn't stopped talking about you," Oliver said, his eyes dancing with mischief as Jax shifted uncomfortably beside her. "It's been driving the guys crazy. 'Lauren said this about Penalty, Lauren noticed that about my playing style.'" His impression of Jax's deeper voice was comically bad.

"If you value your ice time, Chenny, you'll stop right there," Jax warned, though there was no real heat in his voice.

Lauren bit back a smile. "And how are you doing, Oliver? Feeling better?"

His expression sobered slightly. "Much better, thanks. And thank you again for... you know." He glanced at Jax briefly. "For helping that night."

Before she could respond, a striking woman in a fitted silver dress appeared at Oliver's side. Lauren recognized Stephanie Ellis, the team's PR director, who immediately sized up the situation with shrewd eyes.

"Dr. Mackenzie, I presume," she said, extending a hand. "Stephanie Ellis, PR for the Chill. So nice to finally put a face to the name. I've heard quite a bit about you."

"All good things, I hope," Lauren replied, wondering just how much chatter there had been about her.

"Oh, absolutely," Stephanie assured her with a professional smile that revealed nothing. "Thompson's been quite the topic lately—his evolving playing style, his community outreach. The league office is very pleased with the direction he's taking."

There was something calculating in her gaze that made Lauren uneasy. Jax tensed beside her.

"Steph," he said, his voice carrying a warning note, "we're off the clock tonight."

"We're never off the clock during a playoff push, Thompson," Stephanie replied smoothly, though her expression softened slightly. "But point taken. Enjoy your evening." She turned to Oliver. "Chenofski, I need you for the Gazette interview in five."

As they departed, Lauren noticed the lingering glance Stephanie threw over her shoulder—not at Jax, but at Oliver, whose hand had briefly touched the PR director's elbow as they walked away.

"She seems driven," Lauren observed.

"You have no idea," Jax replied with a grimace. "She's been managing my 'image rehabilitation' since the Wilson fight. Every interview, every public appearance, everything gets filtered through her approval first."

"That sounds exhausting."

"It's part of the job," he said with a shrug that didn't quite hide his frustration. "The modern NHL cares about optics as much as performance."

"And where do I fit into those optics?" Lauren asked, the question slipping out before she could reconsider it. "Am I part of your image rehabilitation too?"

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Jax's expression closed off, hurt flickering briefly in his eyes before he masked it.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "That was unfair."

"It was a fair question," he countered, his voice low and controlled. "There's a lot about my life that's performative. But this—" he gestured between them, "—isn't part of that. You're the one part of my life that has nothing to do with hockey or PR or any of it."

The simple honesty in his words eased the knot of tension in her chest. "I'm sorry I asked."

"Don't be," he said, his expression softening. "I'd wonder the same thing in your position."

As the evening progressed, Lauren found herself enjoying the event far more than she'd anticipated. They moved through the casino games together, Jax patiently explaining the rules of craps while she taught him the optimal strategy for blackjack. The constant brush of his arm against hers as they leaned over the table, the warmth of his hand at the small of her back as he guided her through the crowd—each point of contact left her skin tingling, hyperaware of his proximity.

They both proved terrible at roulette, losing their chips in record time and laughing more freely than Lauren could remember doing in years. The champagne hummed pleasantly in her veins, not enough to impair but just enough to soften the edges of her usual reserve.

"I'm hopeless at this," she admitted after another losing spin. "My father would be appalled. He fancied himself quite the poker player."

"Was he good?" Jax asked, guiding her toward the less crowded bar area.

Lauren's smile turned wry. "Good enough to lose our rent money more than once," she said, the admission slipping out before she could censor it.

Jax's expression shifted, something like understanding dawning in his eyes. "Ah," he said simply. "That explains a few things."

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