Page 64 of The Sin Bin

"You two looked cozy," Barb observed, sliding a beer toward her. "That little cheek kiss was definitely caught on camera, by the way. It's already on Twitter."

Lauren pulled out her phone to find Barb was right—someone had posted a clip of the moment Jax had leaned down to kiss her cheek, captioned with:Thompson's got something to play for beyond playoffs tonight #ChillCoup

The post already had thousands of retweets.

"Congratulations," Barb whispered, nudging her ribs. "You're officially hockey WAG material now."

"What's that?"

"Wives and girlfriends."

"I'm not a WAG," Lauren hissed back, though the denial felt hollow even to her own ears. The joint interview had made something previously private unmistakably public.

A man three rows back was staring at her phone screen, his brow furrowed in recognition. "Hey, you're the dog lady from the intermission. With Thompson."

Several heads turned. A woman whispered something to her companion, both glancing between Lauren and the ice where players were beginning to emerge for the third period.

"Quick, check Twitter," Barb said, looking at her own phone with widening eyes. "The hashtag #ThompsonsTamer is trending."

"What?" Lauren snatched Barb's phone, scrolling through a feed of comments and memes already forming around her brief TV appearance.

Who had "hockey's scariest enforcer dates animal doctor" on their 2023 bingo card? #ThompsonsTamer

That look he gave her tho. Big man's WHIPPED. #ThompsonsTamer

Anyone else notice how he hasn't fought since dating her? Lady's got him on a leash! #ThompsonsTamer

Lauren's stomach twisted uncomfortably. This wasn't just friendly interest—there was judgment embedded in the commentary, assumptions about their relationship, about Jax's performance, about her influence.

"Ignore it," Barb advised, taking her phone back. "Social media is a cesspool. Focus on what's real."

What was real was the game unfolding before them, the players battling for playoff position with increasing intensity. The teams lined up for the face-off, the scoreboard's 1-1 glowing accusingly above. Each check finished harder than the last as minutes ticked away, players battling along the boards with escalating desperation. Lauren flinched as bodies collided, the sounds of impact carrying even to the stands.

"Come on, Thompson!" shouted a red-faced man clutching a beer. "Wilson's been asking for it all night!"

"Yeah, drop the gloves already!" another fan joined in. "Show some balls!"

Lauren's stomach twisted. These people wanted blood—Jax's or Wilson's, it didn't seem to matter.

The breaking point came with four minutes left on the clock. Wilson charged across the ice, targeting Kane with a shoulder that sent the captain crashing into the partition between benches. His helmet bounced against the glass, the sound making Lauren flinch.

The crowd surged to its feet, beer sloshing and curses flying. Lauren rose with them, heart hammering against her ribs as Jax glided toward the scene. His shoulders were set in that way she'd come to recognize—tense, controlled power, like a predator stalking prey.

"Kill him, Thompson!" screamed the man behind her, so close she could smell the beer on his breath.

But Jax didn't engage Wilson. Instead, he crouched beside Kane, helping him to his feet with a steadying hand. They had a brief conversation on the ice before Kane shook Jax off.

Boos cascaded down from the upper sections.

"What the fuck are you doing?" the red-faced fan bellowed. "That's your captain he just demolished!"

"Thompson's gone soft!" someone else shouted.

"Fucking PR bullshit!"

Lauren's fingers curled into fists. These people didn't know Jax—didn't understand what it cost him to skate away. Her throat tightened with an emotion she couldn't quite name.

"Now they have a power play," she said, the words escaping before she could stop them. Wilson was out for the remaining minutes of the game.

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