Page 35 of The Sin Bin

"Does it?" Lauren asked, suddenly wary.

Jax studied her for a moment, then nodded slightly. "Your wariness about men who can't control themselves. It's not just about physical aggression, is it? It's about impulse control in general."

The insight was so accurate it momentarily stole her breath. "That's... perceptive."

"I recognize the signs," he said quietly. "My father was similar. Different vice, same impact."

The simple solidarity in those words—the understanding without pity, the recognition without judgment—loosened something in Lauren's chest that had been tight for as long as she could remember.

"How did you end up different?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Jax was silent for a moment, his gaze distant. "I saw what lack of control did to him. To us. I promised myself I'd never be that man, even if I sometimes had to play one on the ice."

"The enforcer with boundaries," Lauren mused.

"Exactly." His eyes found hers again, warm with something that made her pulse quicken. "What about you? How did the daughter of a gambling addict become a veterinarian?"

"Animals were safe," she answered honestly. "Predictable in ways people weren't. If a dog growls, you know exactly where you stand. No hidden agendas, no broken promises."

"Just honest reactions to how they're treated," Jax nodded, understanding immediately.

"Yes." Lauren found herself studying his face, the strong jaw and thoughtful eyes that had become increasingly familiar. "Is that why you volunteer at the shelter? Because animals are honest?"

"Partly," he acknowledged. "And partly because I know what it's like to be judged by your appearance. To be feared before you've given anyone a reason."

The admission felt like a gift, a piece of himself offered without expectation. Lauren found herself wanting to reciprocate, to bridge the remaining distance between them.

"Dance with me?" she suggested, nodding toward the small area near the jazz quartet where a few couples were swaying to a slow number.

Surprise flickered across Jax's face, followed by something that looked almost like nervousness. "I should warn you," he said with a self-deprecating smile, "I'm much more coordinated on skates than in dance shoes."

"I'll risk it," Lauren replied, offering her hand.

After a heartbeat's hesitation, he took it, his large palm engulfing hers with unexpected gentleness. As he led her to the dance floor, Lauren was acutely aware of the eyes following them, the whispers that trailed in their wake.

"Everyone's watching," she murmured as Jax's hand settled at her waist, the heat of his palm burning through the thin fabric of her dress.

"Let them," he replied simply, his eyes never leaving hers as they began to move to the music.

Despite his warning, Jax proved to be a competent dancer, his movements lacking polish but making up for it with natural rhythm. The initial awkwardness of their height difference—her 5'8" to his 6'4"—faded as they found their sync, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, his at the small of her back. She could feel the solid muscle beneath his suit jacket, the strength carefully restrained as he guided her through the simple steps.

Lauren became aware of a group of women standing near the bar, their eyes fixed on Jax with varying degrees of speculation and envy. One leaned close to another, whispering something that made them both look at Lauren with undisguised assessment.

"Your fan club doesn't seem thrilled with me," she observed quietly.

Jax's eyes flicked briefly toward the women, then back to her. "They're not my fan club. Just people who like the idea of dating a hockey player without understanding what that actually means."

"And what does it actually mean?" Lauren asked, genuinely curious.

A shadow crossed his face. "Road trips. Media scrutiny. Mood swings after losses. Physical therapy appointments. Injuries that never quite heal right. A career that could end with one bad hit." His hand tightened fractionally at her waist. "It's not the glamorous life they think it is."

The stark honesty in his assessment surprised her. "You make it sound pretty bleak."

"Not bleak," he corrected. "Just complicated. And not for everyone."

The unspoken question hung between them:Is it for you?

"So," Jax said after a moment, his voice pitched low for her ears alone. "Not a disaster yet?"

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