Sin Bin (Denver Rebels Book 3)

by Maureen Smith

“Yes,” she blurted without thinking.

  “You do?” Logan looked surprised.

  That rankled. “What, I can’t have a boyfriend?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why’d you look so surprised?” she demanded accusingly.

  He frowned. “I don’t know. I mean, we’ve been together for hours and you never mentioned anything about a boyfriend.”

  “It didn’t come up. Anyway, we’ve been dating since college,” she embellished.

  Logan nodded slowly as they climbed onto the porch. “What does he think of you interviewing for a job in Denver?”

  “I mean, obviously, he’s not thrilled about it. But he understands.”

  “Yeah? So he’s willing to do the long-distance thing?”

  She nodded and ducked her head, rummaging through her handbag for her house key. She already regretted her impulsive lie, but it was too late to take it back.

  “What’s his name?”

  Her head snapped up. “What?”

  “Your boyfriend.” Logan stared down at her, his dark eyes sinking deep into hers. “Does he have a name?”

  She wracked her brain and blurted out the first name that came to mind: “Benjamin.”

  “Benjamin?” Logan repeated.

  She nodded quickly, resisting the urge to bite her lip out of nervousness. When she was a child, her parents had taught her about the famous black astronomer Benjamin Banneker. Benjamin was a common enough name, so there was no reason for Logan to think she was lying.

  She watched his eyes slowly trace her features before he murmured, “He’s a very lucky man.”

  Before she could respond, the front door swung open. Her aunt stood in the doorway wearing a pink bathrobe and a satin bonnet on her head.

  “There you are! I was starting to get wor—” She broke off, staring up at Logan in wide-eyed shock. “I know who you are. You’re Logan Brassard.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled and stuck out his hand. “I’ve seen you on TV. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “The pleasure’s mine,” Rosalie purred, shaking his hand. “Goodness, aren’t you a tall drink of water?”

  Meadow inwardly groaned. Logan just grinned, amused by her aunt’s flirtatiousness.

  “I should have known it was a handsome devil keeping my niece out so late,” Rosalie teasingly chided.

  “My apologies.” Logan smiled down at Meadow. “I couldn’t get enough of her company.”

  Fighting a rush of pleasure, Meadow pushed her glasses up her nose. “Sorry I didn’t call after the meet-and-greet,” she said to her aunt. “I ran into Logan and we went out for drinks. I kinda lost track of time.”

  “Well, no wonder.” Rosalie gave Logan a thorough once-over, all but purring her appreciation.

  Meadow felt her face redden with mortification.

  Logan bumped her playfully with his shoulder. “Tell Benji I’m sorry for monopolizing your evening.”

  Meadow cringed as her aunt gave her a puzzled look and asked, “Who’s Benji?”

  Busted, Meadow thought, praying for the ground to open up and swallow her into a gaping crater.

  “My bad,” Logan said to her. “Your boyfriend goes by Benjamin, right?”

  “Boyfriend?” Rosalie looked confused. “Meadow doesn’t have a—”

  “Thanks for walking me to the door,” Meadow blurted out, stepping into the house so abruptly that her aunt stumbled backward. She turned to face Logan, blocking the doorway as best she could. “It’s late and I know you have to get up early for practice, so I won’t keep you.”

  A slow, knowing grin curved his mouth. He must think she was a complete loser for making up an imaginary boyfriend. She fully expected him to make some smartass remark, ratcheting up her embarrassment another level.

  But all he said was, “You’re right. I’ve got an early morning.” Dark eyes twinkling with laughter, he looked over her head at her aunt. “It was good meeting you, Ms. Ryan.”

  “You too, Logan,” she cooed. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  “Just try to get rid of me.” The words were directed at Meadow. So was the devilish grin that followed. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Um, sure. Goodnight.” Meadow closed the door and locked it behind him, then dropped her forehead against the warm wood and let out a muffled groan.

  Her aunt laughed. “Why did you tell him you have a boyfriend?”

  Meadow groaned some more. “Couldn’t you just play along?”

  “I’m sorry, baby. He caught me off guard. And I couldn’t fathom why you would tell such a gorgeous man that you’re already taken. I mean, did you see him? Do you need a new prescription for your glasses?”

  “My prescription’s fine,” Meadow muttered, turning from the door to meet her aunt’s twinkling gaze. “You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

  “I wanted to hear about your job interview. How’d it go?”

  “It went well.” She smiled. “Really well.”

  “Wonderful. I’m dying to hear all about it. But first answer my question. Why did you tell Logan you have a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know.” Meadow sighed, pushing off the door to remove her jacket. “I guess I didn’t want him getting any ideas about us. Not that he was or anything. I mean, he can have any woman he wants, and I’m obviously not his type—”

  “Obviously?” Her aunt raised a dubious eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. He looked pretty relieved when he found out that Benjamin wasn’t real.”

  “He wasn’t relieved. He was amused.” Meadow grimaced. “He probably thinks I’m a pathetic dork who has to fabricate boyfriends to make myself seem less of a loser.”

  “When have you ever been a loser?” her aunt said indignantly. “Any man would be lucky to have you, including Logan.”

  “I don’t want him to have me,” Meadow insisted. “That’s why I told him I have a boyfriend. I don’t want him to think I’m available, just in case he’s looking to put another notch on his bedpost. I’m not interested.”

  Even as the words left her mouth, she was already reliving the embrace she and Logan had shared that evening. She remembered the way her body had responded, heat licking under her skin like living flames. She’d nearly combusted from a simple hug.

  She might not want a relationship with Logan Brassard, but her hormones clearly had other ideas.

  Chapter Six

  LOGAN

  He woke up thinking about her.

  He still couldn’t believe she was back in his life. It didn’t seem real. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’d taken one too many shots to the head during last night’s game, causing him to conjure up the whole scenario with Jupiter.

  He could almost accept this possibility...except the details were too vivid to be a product of his imagination.

  As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, images of her rolled through his mind. Skin the color of dark cinnamon. Huge amber eyes he could drown in. A cute nose that turned up slightly at the end. A lush, pouty mouth that would give the most unforgettable blowjob.

  Fuck.

  He felt dirty thinking about Jupiter that way. But it wasn’t his fault she’d blossomed into a gorgeous woman with more curves than a Grand Prix racetrack. Her sexy librarian glasses only added to her appeal. Every time she’d peered at him over the black rims, he’d pictured her tying him up and spanking him with a book. Just the thought of it got him hard.

  But it wasn’t just her angelic beauty and sexy little body that turned him on. Her intelligence was a serious aphrodisiac. It was also refreshing as hell. The women he hooked up with weren’t exactly brain surgeons. They were puck bunnies and party girls—beautiful, shallow types who were only interested in sleeping with hockey players so they could brag on social media and potentially snag a rich husband.

  Jupiter was nothing like that. She had depth and substance. She challenged him and made him think. She seemed to get him in a way no one else did. And then there was the whole tactile superpowe
r she possessed. Years of physical abuse had left him with a serious aversion to being touched. But when Jupiter hugged him…God, he didn’t want to let go.

  Just like that day fifteen years ago.

  The bittersweet memory brought a smile to his lips. He remembered Jupiter in her frilly pink dress, waving to him from the backseat of her adoptive parents’ car. He remembered feeling sad as he’d watched the car drive out of sight, taking her away. He remembered trudging slowly inside the house and going to the room he’d shared with three other boys. He remembered the shock he’d felt when he found the clay pendant on his pillow. The shock was followed by an intense feeling of joy that had stayed with him for the rest of the day.

  His reverie was interrupted by the sound of bachata music blaring from his phone. He’d chosen the song for his alarm because he preferred waking up to music over annoying beeps or weird nature sounds.

  He let the catchy song play for a few seconds before he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and turned off the alarm.

  Unable to help himself, he pulled up the picture he’d taken of Jupiter. She’d been in the middle of talking, so her lips were parted. He wondered if they were as soft as they looked. He bet they were. Soft. Sweet. Juicy as a ripe peach.

  He wanted to trace his thumb over them, feel her warm breath escape against his skin. He wanted to kiss her. Taste her. And he didn’t want to stop there.

  He stared at the phone screen, his finger hovering over the call button. He was jonesing for the sound of her voice. The scratchy rasp he remembered was now a husky purr, the perfect voice for phone sex.

  He wanted to hear it again, but calling her might make him seem too eager. Hell, just getting her number had been like pulling teeth, and then she’d outright lied about having a boyfriend. Clearly he made her skittish. The last thing he wanted was to scare her off. He also didn’t want to give her the impression that he was looking for a relationship. Because he wasn’t. He needed a relationship like he needed a bullet between the eyes.

  Grimacing, he put his phone back on the nightstand, then threw the covers off and hit the bathroom to take a shower. He had practice at ten thirty and he couldn’t afford to be late. Coach Bohler had already reamed his ass for nearly missing morning skate yesterday. After he got ejected from the game last night, Hunter had pulled him aside and ripped him a new one. Dude could be a scary motherfucker when he wanted to be. It was best to stay on his good side.

  Logan finished showering and dressed in black sweats and Timbs. Then he grabbed his phone and headed to the kitchen to rustle up some breakfast before practice.

  Golden Colorado sunlight poured through the tall windows of his penthouse. He loved living downtown. He had one of the best views in the city, and he was surrounded by bars and breweries and the hottest nightclubs. He loved the hustle and bustle of downtown, the constant noise and energy. It made him feel less alone in the world.

  Since he lived just a few blocks from Viggo, they usually rode to practice together. Or at least they used to before Viggo started dating Scarlett. Nowadays he preferred to drive his own car to practice so he could rush home afterward to be with Scarlett. Poor bastard was totally pussy-whipped.

  The thought made Logan grin as he entered the kitchen. He decided to call Viggo on the off chance that he might want to carpool that morning.

  The Swede answered on the fourth ring sounding out of breath. “Hey, bro, you okay? You’re not lying in a ditch somewhere, are you?”

  “Ha ha, very funny,” Logan retorted with a smirk. “For your information, I got home earlier than usual last night.”

  “Yeah? What happened with—” Viggo broke off with a sort of choked groan.

  “Hold up.” Logan narrowed his eyes. “Are you and Scarlett—”

  A woman’s low moan sounded in the background, confirming his suspicion.

  “Holy shit.” He grinned. “Do you two ever come up for air?”

  “Not if we can help it,” Viggo panted wickedly.

  “Hang up the phone, baby,” Scarlett’s breathless command could be heard in the background.

  “Gotta go, man. See you at practice.” The line went dead.

  Chuckling, Logan tossed his phone on the granite counter, grabbed the remote and turned on the mounted flatscreen TV.

  His penthouse had a TV in every room, and one was always on. Even if he wasn’t watching it, the background noise helped drown out the voices in his head.

  Dark, destructive voices that grew louder this time of year.

  The television was tuned to the NHL Network. Unfortunately, the anchors were discussing his team’s loss to Boston. His gut clenched when the camera cut to a clip of him yelling at the referee.

  “And what was up with Logan Brassard last night?” Talking Head Number One was saying.

  The others laughed.

  “Why are you surprised that the boy from Sin City can’t keep himself out of the sin bin?” quipped Talking Head Number Two.

  “He didn’t even make it to the sin bin. He had a total meltdown and got himself booted out of the game, which proved costly for his team.”

  “Very costly,” Number Three agreed. “The Rebels need all their big guns firing right now, so Brassard’s absence really hurt them last night. I’m still not even sure why he was so riled up. The ref clearly made the right call. It’s not even up for debate.”

  “Someone better tell that to Brassard. He’s a superstar in this league. He plays with a lot of intensity and emotion. But that doesn’t give him a pass for making boneheaded—”

  Logan punched the button on the remote, switching the channel to CNN. He wasn’t in the mood to be raked over the fucking coals. He’d gotten enough of that last night.

  Scowling, he began yanking ingredients out of the fridge and slamming them on the counter. Truthfully, he was madder at himself than anyone else because he knew he’d fucked up. He’d lost his temper and let his team down, and there was no excuse for that. He knew how high the stakes were. With the Predators breathing down their necks, every game counted. Now wasn’t the time to lose focus.

  Now wasn’t the time to give in to old demons.

  While the CNN anchor droned on in the background, he whipped up some breakfast. When the food was ready, he sat on a stool at the center island and ate while aimlessly scrolling through his Twitter feed.

  His thoughts kept straying back to Jupiter. He wondered if she was awake. He wondered if she’d thought about him as much as he’d been thinking about her. He wondered—

  Ah, fuck it.

  Before he could stop himself, he pulled up her number and hit the call button.

  Chapter Seven

  MEADOW

  She was in the shower when her phone rang on the bathroom counter.

  Thinking it might be Gamenetic, she scrambled out of the glass stall, her wet feet slipping on the tiles as she rushed to snatch up the phone. One look at the display screen dashed her hope—and quadrupled her heart rate.

  Logan was calling.

  Not Gamenetic.

  Logan.

  Taking a deep breath to calm her fluttering pulse, she pressed the answer button. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” That smoky dark voice rumbled in her ear, making her shiver. “Hope I didn’t wake you?”

  “No, I’m up. Just got out of the shower.”

  Silence echoed on the other end.

  Her eyes narrowed. Was he picturing her naked?

  Wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear, she grabbed a fluffy yellow towel and wrapped it around her dripping body.

  “Hello?” she prompted when Logan still hadn’t spoken.

  “I’m here.” He cleared his throat. “So, uh, are you going somewhere?”

  “My aunt’s taking me sightseeing.”

  “Yeah? That should be fun. Denver’s a really cool place.”

  Meadow smiled. “I like what I’ve seen so far.”

  “That’s good since you’ll be moving here soon.”

  “
You don’t know that,” she laughed, plucking off her shower cap. “Anyway, what’re you doing calling me? Shouldn’t you be on your way to practice or something?”

  “Not for another half hour.” There was a lazy smile in his voice. “You still in the bathroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it hot and steamy?”

  She bit her lip, her body tingling at his words. “It’s steamy enough.”

  “Hmm.” His voice held a note of wicked mischief.

  Standing in front of the foggy mirror, Meadow leaned forward and wiped away some of the condensation. She wasn’t wearing her glasses so her reflection was a little blurry. But her flushed cheeks stood out very clearly. Logan—not the steam—had her all hot and bothered.

  “So…” She cast about for a safe subject. “Do you follow a strict meal plan during the season?”

  He let out a low chuckle. “That was random.”

  She grinned. “I’m like that sometimes.”

  “Good to know.” She could hear his smile over the phone. “To answer your question, yes, I do follow a meal plan. Gotta stay in top shape to compete at this level.”

  She remembered the feel of rock-hard muscles flexing beneath his designer suit. What had her aunt called him? Grade A prime beefcake.

  Grinning at the thought, she sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub. “So what’d you eat for breakfast?”

  Logan chuckled at the question. “I had an omelet, wheat toast and a bowl of oatmeal with raisins and nuts. What about you?”

  “I haven’t eaten yet. Aunt Rosalie’s making breakfast.”

  “Is she a good cook?”

  “Um...let’s just say she hasn’t poisoned anyone yet.”

  Logan burst out laughing. The deep, rumbling sound made her nipples tingle and sent heat blooming through her pelvis.

  “Damn,” he teased. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement.”

  “That’s okay,” Meadow said with a grin. “She might not be the Barefoot Contessa, but she’s amazing in every other way.”

  “Aww. That’s sweet.”

  “And totally true.” Meadow smiled, staring down at the bath toys scattered at the bottom of the tub. “So what’re you doing after practice?”