Page 39 of The Sin Bin

"Can I help with anything?" he offered, moving to the kitchen where Lauren was already gathering ingredients from the refrigerator.

"You can chop these," she suggested, setting bell peppers, mushrooms, and green onions on a cutting board. "If you trust those hands to handle a knife rather than a hockey stick."

The teasing note in her voice made him smile. "I'll have you know I'm quite skilled with kitchen implements. I make a decent stir-fry."

Lauren raised an eyebrow, handing him a knife. "A man of hidden talents."

"A few," he agreed, their fingers brushing during the exchange, the brief contact sending a pleasant warmth through him.

They worked together for a few minutes, the domestic scene striking Jax with its unexpected rightness. How long had it been since he'd done something this normal, this intimate, with a woman? His dating life since joining the Chill had been a series of brief, often superficial connections—women attracted to his status as a professional athlete rather than interested in the man behind the enforcer persona.

"You're staring," Lauren observed without looking up from the eggs she was whisking.

"Sorry," Jax said, a rare flush creeping up his neck. "Just appreciating the view."

Now she did look up, her green eyes meeting his with a directness that stole his breath. "The omelets or the chef?"

"Both," he admitted honestly. "But mostly the chef."

A smile curved her lips and he was riveted. He wanted their first kiss. Their first everything.

"You're not so bad yourself," she replied, her gaze sweeping over him in a way that made his pulse quicken. "Especially in formal wear. Though I have to admit, the hockey uniform has grown on me."

"Has it?" Jax asked, genuinely curious about her evolution from someone who'd recoiled at the violence of his sport to someone who now attended games regularly.

Lauren considered her answer as she poured the eggs into a waiting pan. "I've come to appreciate the strategy, the skill involved. It's more than I initially gave it credit for."

"And the fighting?" he prompted, wanting to hear her honest assessment.

She was quiet for a moment, focusing on the cooking eggs. "I understand it better," she finally said. "The context, the purpose. I still don't enjoy watching it, but I see that it's more complex than I initially thought."

It was a measured response, thoughtful rather than reflexively judgmental, and Jax appreciated her honesty. "That's fair," he acknowledged. "It's a complicated part of the game. One that's changing."

"Like your role," Lauren observed, glancing at him. "Coach Vicky mentioned you're taking on more defensive responsibilities."

Jax nodded, sliding the chopped vegetables her way. "The game's evolving. I either evolve with it or get left behind."

Lauren added the vegetables to the eggs, her movements efficient and practiced. "Is that difficult? Changing a role you've played for so long?"

The question struck at something fundamental, something Jax had been grappling with throughout the season. "Yes," he admitted. "It's... disorienting. The enforcer role has clear boundaries, clear expectations. This new approach is less defined."

"But potentially more lasting," Lauren suggested. "From what little I understand about hockey, a pure enforcer has a limited shelf life."

"Very true," Jax acknowledged with a rueful smile. "The body can only take so many punches." He rubbed absently at his knuckles, where a hairline fracture from last season still ached when the weather turned cold. "My agent's been warning me that the league is cracking down harder on fighting. The new commissioner wants to clean up the game's image."

Lauren glanced at his hands. "And how do you feel about that?"

"Conflicted," he admitted. "Part of me knows it's the right direction. The other part wonders what happens to players like me when that part of the game disappears entirely."

Her eyes held his for a long moment. "You're more than just your fists, Jax."

The simple statement, delivered with such conviction, left him momentarily speechless.

Lauren divided the omelet onto two plates, adding toast and sliced fruit before carrying them to the small dining table by the windows. As they settled across from each other, the intimate setting—soft lighting, city views, the late hour—made Jax's heart beat faster.

"This looks amazing," he said, genuinely impressed by the simple but perfect meal.

"I'm a decent cook when I have time," Lauren replied, pouring two glasses of orange juice. "Between emergency calls and shelter volunteer hours, that's not as often as I'd like."

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