Page 7 of The Sin Bin

"No way," Barb breathed, clearly enthralled. "So he has a soft spot for animals? That's like catnip for you."

"It is not," Lauren protested, though the flush spreading across her cheeks betrayed her. "Besides, you know my policy on men who solve problems with their fists."

Barb's expression softened. "Not every guy with a temper is like Rick. Or your dad."

Lauren stiffened. Her ex-boyfriend's name still had the power to make her muscles tense, a Pavlovian response she'd been working for years to overcome. "It doesn't matter. I'm not interested. I'm just treating his kitten."

"His kitten?"

"It's a stray that he found," Lauren corrected, taking another bite of donut to avoid further discussion. "He's severely dehydrated with a leg fracture. I need to monitor him for at least a few days."

"And does 'The Mountain' going to adopt the kitten?"

As if on cue, Lauren's phone buzzed with a text from her receptionist:Jackson Thompson here about the gray kitten. Says you're expecting him?

She hadn't actually expected him to show up in person. A phone call, maybe, but not an actual visit.

"He's at the clinic," Lauren said, rising from her chair and gathering her things with sudden urgency. "Now."

Barb's eyes widened in delight. "Oh, this I have to see."

"Behave," Lauren said, though she knew it was pointless. Barb was already slinging her purse over her shoulder, abandoning the remains of her breakfast.

"Try and stop me," she said.

"You're the worst," Lauren muttered, but she smiled as they headed toward the door. No matter how unwelcome the complication, having Barb by her side made everything more manageable. Even unexpected visits from confusingly gentle tough guys.

JAX

Jax had managed a few hours of fitful sleep after the game, his dreams haunted by the tiny gray kitten and the challenge in Dr. Mackenzie's eyes. When he finally gave up on sleep around nine, he'd sent a text to Coach Vicky saying he'd be late for the optional morning skate.

Her reply had been typical Vicky:Your ribs need the rest anyway. Be at team lunch at 1. PR wants to see you.

Great. More community service ideas to "soften his image." As if hockey fans actually wanted their enforcers soft.

"Mr. Thompson?" The receptionist—Kim, according to her name tag—looked up at him with a smile. "Dr. Mackenzie will be with you shortly. She just stepped out for coffee but is on her way back."

"Thanks," he said, lowering himself carefully into one of the chairs designed for someone at least six inches shorter than him. His ribs protested. Dr. Mackenzie had been right—he was definitely favoring his left side.

His phone buzzed with a text from Dmitri:Coach say you skip morning skate. You okay? Need Russian pain remedy?

Jax smiled. Dmitri's "Russian pain remedy" was just vodka with more vodka.I'm good. Checking on the kitten.

Three dots appeared immediately, followed by a string of heart-eyed emojis and:Tell doctor lady I say hello. She likes you, I can tell.

Jax didn't bother replying. The last thing he needed was Dmitri's romantic scheming. The Russian fancied himself a matchmaker, claiming it was "in his blood," though his track record was questionable at best. If he was lucky, Dmitri wouldn't do an interpretive ballet dance or some other stupid shit in the locker room about this. But he wasn't holding his breath.

A small child and her mother entered the clinic, the little girl clutching a hamster cage. She froze when she saw Jax, her eyes widening to comic proportions.

"You're the scary hockey man," she announced with the brutal honesty only children possess. "My daddy says you have anger issues."

Jax opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to that assessment from a six-year-old.

The mother looked mortified. "Lily! That's not polite."

"It's okay," Jax said, offering a small smile to the child. "Your dad's not wrong."

The girl studied him skeptically, then held up her hamster cage. "Mr. Whiskers has a tummy ache. Why are you here? Do you have a pet?"

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