Sin Bin

by Maureen Smith

  Her aunt’s voice broke into her grim thoughts. “So who are you interviewing with?”

  “Dirk Lange, the Chief People Officer.”

  “That’s an actual title?”

  Meadow nodded. “If I get the job, he’ll be my boss.”

  As they neared Denver, traffic slowed to a crawl. A humongous billboard loomed up ahead on the side of the highway. As they got closer, Meadow looked out her window and froze.

  The billboard was a tribute to the Denver Rebels: The Road To The Cup Ends Here. This Is Our Year!

  Below those words was a larger-than-life image of the team’s star players. Big and badass in black-and-gold uniforms, the six hockey gods stood shoulder to shoulder staring down at motorists with panty-exploding grins.

  “Wow,” Meadow couldn’t help whispering.

  “I know.” Rosalie leered out the window. “We have the hottest hockey team in the NHL—and not just on the ice. Those boys are fine as hell.”

  “Seriously.” As Meadow’s awestruck gaze focused on Logan Brassard, she felt a funny little catch in her throat.

  There was no trace of the boy she once knew. He was all man now, massive and smoldering with sexy dark stubble on his jaw. The unruly mop of black hair she remembered had been shaved into a tight buzz cut that accentuated the hard planes of his face. His head was tilted back at a cocky angle and there was something downright wicked about his grin. Something so wicked and dirty Meadow felt corrupted just looking at him.

  “He’s all grown up now, isn’t he?” her aunt purred lecherously. “Your old friend is one hundred percent Grade A prime beefcake.”

  Meadow jerked her gaze away from the billboard—no easy feat—and cleared her throat. “He wasn’t my friend.”

  “That’s not what I’ve always heard,” Rosalie said with a laugh. “I wasn’t there the day you were adopted, but I’ve heard the story many times. When Harris and Lacey went to the group home to pick you up, you wouldn’t leave until you gave Logan the world’s biggest hug. Lacey told me it was the most touching thing she and Harris had ever seen.”

  The memory brought a warm flush to Meadow’s cheeks. “I was nine years old,” she mumbled. “Who knows what was going through my mind that day?”

  Rosalie just chuckled.

  Meadow was relieved when traffic started moving and her aunt drove past the billboard.

  She hadn’t seen Logan Brassard in fifteen years. He probably didn’t even remember her. And why would he? They’d spent five months at the same group home, but they weren’t exactly BFFs. She remembered him as a surly hellraiser who was always getting into fights, earning him the nickname “Bruiser.” His volatile temper had both repelled and intrigued her. She never knew whether to fear him or befriend him.

  She was absolutely devastated when he broke her telescope during one of his brawls. It was the last gift she’d received from her parents before they died. She’d cherished it like nothing else, clung to it like a security blanket. When Logan destroyed it, she thought she would hate him for all eternity.

  But then he would do something unexpectedly nice. Like defend her against a bully, or compliment her school drawings, or save her the last slice of pizza on family dinner night. His random acts of kindness had thrown her off kilter. She never knew what to make of him, so her feelings toward him were always conflicted.

  But that was all ancient history now. Logan was a big hockey star, a multimillionaire and a notorious manwhore, if gossip blogs were to be believed.

  Not that it mattered one iota to her. He was part of her past—a troubled past she’d worked very hard to put behind her. She had no interest in reuniting with him. Fortunately there were over 700,000 people living in Denver—she’d checked—so the odds of running into him were pretty slim.

  Assuming she got the job.

  As her aunt pulled onto I-25, Meadow’s phone rang. She dug it out of her handbag and looked at the screen. When she saw Gamenetic’s number, her heart gave an excited little jump. “It’s them.”

  “Who?”

  “Gamenetic.” Meadow anxiously chewed her bottom lip. “Why do you think they’re calling?”

  “Only one way to find out.” Rosalie looked pointedly at the buzzing phone. “Don’t just stare at it—answer it!”

  Meadow pressed the talk button and tried to sound as calm as possible. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Meadow. This is Phoebe, the receptionist at Gamenetic.”

  “Um, hi.”

  “Dirk told me to call you,” Phoebe explained. “Something came up and your interview has to be pushed up to today.”

  “Today?” Meadow croaked. “But I just got in.”

  “That’s okay. It wouldn’t be until tonight. The management team has a suite at the Pepsi Center, and Dirk would like you to join them at the Denver Rebels game.”

  Meadow was stunned. “Really?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Phoebe paused. “He says you aren’t leaving town until Sunday. Is that correct?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Meadow confirmed. “I’m spending the weekend with my aunt.”

  “Awesome. So are you free tonight?”

  Meadow’s mind was racing, her thoughts tumbling like clothes in a dryer. Attending the game meant she would see Logan. Not up close, obviously. But close enough.

  The thought set off a wild flurry of butterflies in her stomach.

  “Meadow?” the receptionist prompted.

  “Uh, y-yes,” she stammered. “I’m free tonight.”

  “Perfect! The game starts at six. A car will pick you up at five and take you to the arena, then drop you off afterward. Where does your aunt live?”

  Meadow supplied the address, thanked Phoebe and ended the call.

  “Well?” Her aunt stared expectantly at her. “What did they say?”

  Meadow shook her head slowly. “They invited me to a hockey game.”

  “They did? That’s great, Meadow!”

  She swallowed. “Something came up and my interview had to be rescheduled for tonight.”

  “Is that what they told you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rosalie was grinning. “I bet that was the plan all along.”

  “To interview me at a hockey game?”

  “Yup. I think you’re their top candidate and they want to hire you, but first they want to see how comfortable you are in social settings. Which makes perfect sense. Gamenetic is a small company where everyone works closely together. They probably want to see how well they can get along with you outside of the office.” Rosalie grinned. “It’s like they’re taking you out on a date before popping the question.”

  Meadow grimaced at the analogy. She was shy and awkward on first dates. And she would be out of her element at a hockey game, a sport she knew virtually nothing about.

  “I don’t know what to wear,” she fretted. “I’ll be sitting with management in the company’s suite. Should I go for business professional or business casual? I don’t think I packed enough clothes—”

  “Relax. I’ll help you pick the right outfit. If need be, you can borrow something of mine.”

  “How? We’re not the same size. You’re six inches taller and model-thin. I can’t—”

  “Stop stressing. We’ll find something.” Rosalie gave her a sly smile and an elbow nudge. “Looks like you’ll be seeing your old friend sooner than you thought.”

  The butterflies in Meadow’s stomach kicked up again. Why couldn’t Dirk Lange have chosen a different location for tonight’s interview? Somewhere like a planetarium? She loved hanging out at planetariums. And Logan wouldn’t be there.

  Rosalie was still smiling at her instead of watching the road.

  “What?” Meadow mumbled self-consciously.

  “Your horoscope predicted that an exciting change was on the horizon.” Rosalie’s eyes held a twinkle. “What could be more exciting than reuniting with a gorgeous stud of a man like Logan Brassard?”

  Chapter Two

  LOGAN

 
* * *

  “Happy birthday to you. happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, sweet Logan. Happy Birthday to you…”

  Logan beamed as his mother sang to him while holding out a cupcake on a plate. It was topped with thick chocolate frosting and five flickering candles.

  “Now make a wish and blow out your candles!”

  Logan screwed his eyes shut and made his wish, then blew out the candles on the cupcake.

  “Yay!” his mom cheered. “That’s my big boy!”

  Grinning, Logan opened his eyes and looked at her. Long black hair framed her face, and her dark eyes were wet and shiny.

  Logan frowned, studying her. “Why do you look sad, Mommy?”

  “I’m not sad,” she said brightly. “How could I be sad on your birthday? It’s the best day of the year!” She plucked the candles out of the cupcake, peeled off the paper wrapper and handed him the chocolate treat.

  He took two big bites, making his mom laugh as she wiped frosting off his nose.

  “Chocolate has always been your favorite,” she teased.

  He grinned and stuffed the rest of the cupcake into his mouth.

  His mom pushed his hair back and stroked his cheek, her eyes moving over his face as if she were trying to memorize what he looked like.

  When he stared back at her, she cleared her throat and turned away to pick up his Star Wars backpack from the floor. It wasn’t a school day, but she’d packed some things for him while he was getting dressed.

  “Let’s go, baby,” she said. “I’m taking you someplace special.”

  “Where?” he asked curiously.

  “It’s a surprise.” She took a quick swipe at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Logan frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, baby. Stop worrying.” She stood and grabbed his hand. “C’mon. We have to go.”

  “Where, Mommy? Where are you taking—”

  * * *

  A loud blast of classical music shrieked through Logan’s brain, jolting him awake.

  Head pounding, heart pumping from the dream, he rolled over in bed and made a grab for the blaring phone, knocking it off the nightstand.

  Cursing a blue streak, he reached down, half falling out of the bed as he fumbled the phone off the floor and slapped it against his ear. “What?”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  Logan frowned, recognizing the deadly calm voice of his team captain and best friend. “What time is it?”

  “After ten o’clock,” Hunter answered. “Did you forget we have morning skate?”

  “Shit.” Logan closed his eyes and fell back against his pillow. “I overslept.”

  “That’s the second time this month.”

  “I know. I—”

  “We’re not doing this again, bro. Not this damn close to the playoffs.”

  Logan felt a razor slash of guilt. It made him grouchy. “Don’t get your silk boxers in a twist—”

  “Fuck you,” Hunter snarled menacingly. “Get your ass over here or you’ll be riding the bench tonight.”

  Logan winced, rubbing his temple. “I’m on my way.”

  “Don’t make me come looking for you.” Click.

  Grimacing, Logan sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His gut was churning and his head was pounding from a monster hangover.

  Looking around the unfamiliar room, he tried to sort through his hazy memories of last night. He’d drank way too much and hooked up with a bunny whose name he could barely recall. Amber? Tiffany? Heather?

  It was all a fucking blur.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the empty spot on the bed. The sheets were rumpled and there was an indent in the pillow. The chick—whatever her name was—had already gotten up. He listened but couldn’t hear any sounds coming from the rest of the house.

  It was a weekday, so maybe she’d left for work. He hoped that was the case so he wouldn’t have to deal with the awkward morning-after shit.

  When he stood up, his head pounded harder from the sudden rush of blood. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he found his clothes and boots strewn across the floor. He pulled on his boxer briefs and jeans, but his shirt was nowhere to be found.

  Frowning, he headed to the adjoining bathroom to take a piss and splash cold water on his face. The countertop was littered with makeup, crumpled tissues, brushes and a bunch of other feminine products. The chick was kind of a slob. Not that he had room to talk. Having a maid was the only thing that kept his place from being a pigsty.

  His mouth tasted like shit, so he helped himself to the chick’s mouthwash while glaring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked haggard and beaten. His face was covered in thick stubble and there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.

  He really needed to lay off the booze. With playoffs right around the corner, he couldn’t afford to let his personal life spiral out of control. His teammates would never forgive him if he ruined their shot at winning the Cup.

  Hell, he’d never forgive himself.

  Frowning at the thought, he left the bathroom, walked over to the bed and sat down to tug on his heavy black boots.

  “Darn. You’re up.”

  Logan looked across the room to see a leggy brunette lounging in the doorway. She was wearing his shirt and nothing else. The long sleeves covered most of her hands, but he could see her phone peeking out from her right palm. He wondered how many selfies she’d taken with him while he was sleeping. And how many of them had already been posted to social media?

  “Good morning, handsome,” she cooed.

  “Hey…” He was still drawing a blank on her name.

  “I was hoping you were still asleep,” she purred, sashaying toward him. “I wanted to wake you up with a hot blowjob.”

  “Uh…thanks. But I gotta run. I’m late for morning skate.”

  “Really? I was gonna make breakfast, but I don’t have any groceries. So I thought we could go somewhere to eat.” She winked. “Your treat.”

  Logan stood up. “I’ll have to take a rain check.” That was a lie. He never did rain checks with one-night stands. That’s why they were one-night stands.

  “Last night was amazing, wasn’t it?” The brunette reached out to touch his bare chest, but he sidestepped her and rounded the bed to grab his phone and wallet from the nightstand.

  She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “I wish you didn’t have to go so soon.”

  “Sorry. Duty calls.” Logan turned and motioned to the shirt she was wearing. “Can I have that back?”

  “What? Your shirt?” She lay back on the bed with a naughty smile. “You want it? Come get it.”

  Fuck. He didn’t have time for this. “I gotta go. You can keep the shirt.”

  As he headed out of the room, she got up and hurried after him, her bare feet slapping against the wood floor. “You can’t go outside without a shirt! It’s thirty degrees out there!”

  “My jacket’s in the truck.” At least he thought it was.

  “When can I see you again?” she simpered.

  Logan strode down the hallway without answering, his head pounding with every step.

  The one-story house was small, so it didn’t take long to reach the living room. As he neared the front door, the brunette hurried around him and flattened herself against the door to keep him from leaving.

  He bit back an impatient sigh. “I gotta go—”

  “I know, but you didn’t answer my question.” Coyly twirling a strand of hair around her finger, she stared up at him with heavily mascaraed blue eyes. She must have put on a fresh coat of makeup as soon as she got up. She’d definitely been taking selfies.

  “I really want to see you again, Logan. Maybe we can hang out tonight after the game?”

  Her hopeful tone made him feel like a dick for what he was about to say. “Look, I had a good time last night, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

  Her face fell.

  Had she really expec
ted more from him? Didn’t she know who he was? Didn’t his reputation precede him?

  Of course it did. But he still felt guilty.

  “It’s nothing personal,” he told her. “We’re heading into the playoffs and I really need to stay focused. People are counting on me. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” She still looked unhappy. And she still hadn’t budged from the door.

  “I really need to go,” Logan said pointedly.

  She regarded him another moment, then heaved a sigh and reluctantly moved aside so he could unlock the door.

  Before he could step outside, she reached out and touched his bicep, drawing his gaze back to her.

  She gave him a seductive smile. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  Logan winked at her, then opened the door and walked out. He barely flinched as a blast of cold air hit his bare chest. He’d been homeless at various intervals of his childhood. So he knew what it was like to sleep on the streets on chilly winter nights, though, admittedly, Vegas rarely ever got this cold.

  He strode to his black truck in the driveway, hopped up into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. The windshield and windows were frosted over, and the leather seat felt like ice against his back.

  He fired up the engine and let it roar while the windows defrosted and heat poured from the vents, warming his skin.

  The dream lingered in his mind, the details haunting him. He’d been having it more frequently as his birthday approached. He turned twenty-five on April eighth—a day to be dreaded, not celebrated. Every birthday was a painful reminder of the last one he’d spent with his mother. The last day he ever saw her.

  An all-too-familiar ache started in his gut, twisting into a hard knot.

  Frowning, he reached into the backseat and grabbed his battered leather jacket. As he shrugged into it, his gaze caught on a silver chain draped around the rearview mirror. Dangling from the chain was a small clay pendant representing the planet Jupiter. It was slightly misshapen and painted in varying shades of pink and gray.