Page 6 of The Sin Bin

The observation slipped out before she could stop it—her medical training overriding her resolution to keep this interaction strictly professional. She immediately regretted it when she saw the flash of surprise in his eyes.

"Hazard of the profession," he repeated softly, the words hanging between them with a weight that felt personal in a way she wasn't comfortable with.

She busied herself with the medical chart, deliberately not watching as Dmitri ushered his teammate toward the door. But she couldn't block out the Russian's excited chatter.

"Wait until I tell Kane. He find lost kitten, she find lost Jax. Is like movie, yes? The hockey player and the animal doctor. Very romantic."

Lauren winced.

As they reached the door, Jax turned back, catching her watching him. Their eyes locked again across the room, the distance doing nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze. For one breathless moment, neither looked away. Then Jax nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of... something. And then he was gone.

The door closed behind them, leaving Lauren alone with the kitten and the unsettling feeling that Jackson Thompson wasn't what she'd expected. The adrenaline of the emergency was fading, leaving her with the uncomfortable awareness that she'd been quick to judge a man she didn't know based on thirty seconds of television footage and social media hot takes.

It had been easier to file him neatly away with her collection of men to avoid—the ones who solved problems with fists, who expressed themselves through violence. Men like her ex. Men like her father.

But the gentle way Thompson had cradled that kitten, the genuine concern in his eyes, the careful way he'd moved his large frame in her small exam room—none of it fit the box she wanted to put him in. And that was a complication she definitely didn't need.

She absently rubbed her wrist where his fingers had been, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin.

"Just you and me now, little one," she murmured to the kitten, checking the IV line. "Let's get you better so you can go home with someone nice and normal. Someone uncomplicated."

Not a man whose hands looked like they could crush watermelons but cradled a kitten like it was made of glass. Not someone who made her question judgments she'd spent years cementing into place. Not someone whose touch still burned on her skin even minutes after he'd gone.

The kitten's tiny paw stretched out, briefly touching her hand. And despite herself, Lauren wondered if Jax Thompson would really call tomorrow. And worse—she wondered if she wanted him to.

Chapter Three

Lauren

Lauren eyed the array of donuts in the glass case, debating between the classic glazed and a maple bacon that was practically calling her name. After the night she'd had, she deserved both.

"The maple bacon is life-changing," said a cheerful voice beside her. "I'd get two if I were you."

Lauren turned to find Barb, her best friend and coworker, grinning at her. With her bright pink hair and sleeve of tattoos, Barb looked more like she belonged in a rock band than in a veterinary clinic, but she was one of the most talented surgeons Lauren had ever worked with.

"I was up until four with an emergency case," Lauren said, pointing to the maple bacon. "Make it two, please," she told the barista.

"Ooh, sounds interesting." Barb said as they moved to the coffee counter. "What else happened? You have that look."

"What look?" Lauren asked, though she knew exactly what Barb meant. Her friend had an uncanny ability to read her moods.

"The 'I'm brooding with my deep thoughts' look." Barb accepted her latte with an appreciative inhale of the steam. "Spill it."

Lauren sighed as they settled into a corner table at Beans & Brews, their favorite coffee shop just two blocks from the clinic. "It wasn't interesting. It was complicated." She took a bite of donut, closing her eyes briefly at the perfect combination of sweet maple and salty bacon. "The big goon from the local hockey team brought in an injured kitten at one in the morning."

Barb nearly choked on her coffee. "Wait, you mean Jackson Thompson? The Mountain? The Sin Bin Specialist? That guy?"

Lauren rolled her eyes at the nicknames. "Yes, that guy."

"The one who practically decapitated that Phantoms player last night? The fight they showed on every sports channel? That guy brought you a kitten?" Barb's voice had risen to a pitch that turned heads at nearby tables.

"Could you be any louder? I don't think they heard you in Hartford," Lauren hissed, though a small smile tugged at her lips. It did sound absurd when put that way.

"Sorry, but holy crap, Lauren. That's like finding out Godzilla rescues puppies in his spare time." Barb leaned forward, abandoning her pastry entirely. "What was he like? Was he all growly and intimidating? Did he have blood on him? Details!"

Lauren thought back to the towering figure in her exam room, the careful way he'd cradled that tiny kitten, the unexpected gentleness in those battered hands. But there had been other details she hadn't allowed herself to fully acknowledge in the moment—the remarkable contrast between his dark eyes and thick lashes, the strong line of his jaw shadowed with stubble, the way his game-day suit stretched across shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of his entire team.

"He had blood on his knuckles," she admitted. "But he was gentle with the kitten. Almost tender." The memory still unsettled her, like puzzle pieces that refused to fit together. "And apparently he volunteers at an animal shelter, so Godzilla does rescue puppies."

---