Sin Bin

by Maureen Smith

  “Haven’t you ever heard of contact lenses?”

  Meadow frowned. “I wear them sometimes.”

  “Not often enough.” Wendi tsk-tsked her. “Just because you have a high IQ doesn’t mean you have to look the part. You need to start playing up your assets, young lady. Let your hair down more often, experiment with makeup and start wearing contacts regularly. Just by making those small changes, you’d be amazed how many heads you’ll start turning.”

  “I think she turns heads now,” Trish interjected, winking at Meadow. “Guys love the naughty-librarian look. It turns them on. And Meadow is one of those rare women who can pull off sexy without really trying.”

  This was news to Meadow. “I am?”

  Trish laughed. “See, that’s what I mean. Your innocence is alluring, Meadow. I bet you already have some poor guy eating out of the palm of your hand and don’t even know it.” She smiled, tucking a wisp of Meadow’s hair behind her ear as she added in a stage whisper, “Wendi means well, but she doesn’t know everything.”

  Wendi pursed her lips in annoyance.

  Ignoring her, Trish playfully nudged Meadow’s arm. “By the way, I heard Denver has one of the hottest hockey teams in the world. They’re so hot that some fans started a petition to get the star players cast in a third Magic Mike movie, and almost a million women signed it.” She waggled her eyebrows at Meadow. “If you happen to run into any of those yummy Rebels, feel free to pass along my number.”

  Wendi laughed, shaking her head at Trish. “You are such a cougar. And just where exactly do you expect Meadow to meet any of those boys? She’s not a hockey fan or a groupie. She has a better chance of meeting the Dalai Lama than a professional hockey player.”

  Meadow just smiled and quietly finished her wine.

  Before Wendi could say more, Trish pointed across the yard. “Isn’t that your client who’s in the market for a new home?”

  “Oh, yes! I almost forgot he was here. And his divorce was just finalized, too.” Wendi grinned and grabbed Trish’s wrist. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  As they started from the deck, Trish winked at Meadow behind Wendi’s back.

  I owe you one, Meadow mouthed gratefully.

  Trish grinned and gave her another conspiratorial wink.

  Seizing the opportunity to make her escape, Meadow ducked inside the house and beelined for the family room, where she grabbed the remote and turned on the huge flatscreen television. After promising to watch Logan’s game, she felt guilty for missing most of it.

  The Rebels were up by two at the start of the third period. She pressed the button on the remote to pull up the game stats. When the players’ names appeared on the right side of the screen, she was thrilled to see that Logan had scored a goal.

  Before she could celebrate, a fight broke out on the ice. It was between Logan and a New York defenseman.

  She bit her lip anxiously, her heart beating too fast as she watched the two players go at each other. It amazed her how these guys could fight while balancing on razor-thin blades. Logan made it look way too easy as he swung his fists like a trained boxer, pounding his opponent’s face with a series of savage blows. The other guy never really stood a chance.

  Just when Meadow feared the poor defenseman would be knocked out cold, the referees finally separated the two brawlers. The New York player had a bloody nose and a busted lip. Logan barely had a scratch.

  Raging like a bull, he hurled more insults at his opponent before skating off to the penalty box and slamming the door behind him.

  Meadow found herself pacing back and forth while muttering agitatedly to the television.

  “Since when do you watch hockey?”

  Startled, Meadow whirled around to see her father standing in the doorway with an amused expression.

  “Uh…hey, Dad.”

  His hazel eyes twinkled. “Hey, yourself.”

  She gestured awkwardly toward the television. “I was just, uh…well, I was—”

  “I can see what you were doing.” Harris grinned as he wandered into the room, watching her with a knowing look. “Your sudden interest in hockey wouldn’t have anything to do with Logan Brassard, would it?”

  Her mouth fell open.

  Her father laughed. “I just got off the phone with your aunt. She told me everything.”

  “Of course. I should have known.” Meadow flopped back down on the couch and cupped her hand to her flushed cheek.

  Chuckling, her father sat beside her and draped his arm over the back of the couch. “What’s the score?”

  “Four to two. Rebels are up.”

  Her dad scanned the ice. “Where’s Logan?”

  “Penalty box.” She made a sour face. “He was fighting.”

  Harris chuckled warmly. “Long live Bruiser.”

  Meadow sighed, snuggling under her father’s arm with her head tucked beneath his chin as they watched the game.

  During a break in play, the camera showed a close-up of Logan cooling his heels in the sin bin. He was aggressively chewing his mouthguard, black brows slashing low over his eyes as he watched the game proceed without him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you ran into him while you were in Denver?”

  Meadow went still for a long moment. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you?”

  She bit her lip, then sighed. “I guess I didn’t want you to make a big deal over it.”

  “You don’t think it’s a big deal?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Her father chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “You don’t start your new job until April eleventh, yet you’re going back to Denver ten whole days before you have to. I knew there had to be a reason.”

  Meadow said nothing, watching as Logan burst out of the penalty box like a bull released from its pen. His raw physicality was something to behold. He was so intense, so ruthlessly competitive. It excited her and made her nervous at the same time.

  Her father waited for the next commercial break to speak again. “You may not remember this, but the day you were adopted, your caseworker was supposed to bring you to us. We weren’t supposed to pick you up at the group home. It was against protocol, as you know from your days at DFS. But we persuaded your caseworker to make an exception for us, to bend the rules just once.”

  Meadow drew back to stare at her father. “Why?”

  “We wanted to see where you had been living, where you’d spent the past five months of your young life. We wanted to see your living conditions to help us better understand how it had affected you, shaped you.” His eyes softened on her face. “I’m glad we were there that day. If we hadn’t been, we wouldn’t have been able to observe you with Logan. We wouldn’t have seen how much he obviously meant to you.”

  Meadow’s heart was pounding in her ears, and her throat felt so tight she could barely swallow.

  “I don’t think he meant as much to me as you and Mom thought. I mean, he was just a boy…” She trailed off, the words tasting dishonest on her tongue.

  “Just a boy, huh?” Her father’s eyes gleamed with the preternatural wisdom of a soothsayer. “I guess time will tell.”

  His words echoed around the room and reverberated through her heart.

  Without responding, she resettled her head on his shoulder. He gently kissed the crown of her hair and hugged her close.

  In the last two minutes of the game, Logan scored another goal. Meadow and her father cheered boisterously as the home crowd erupted in celebration while Logan dropped to one knee and pumped his fist.

  When the final horn sounded, the Rebels had won 5-2.

  Meadow’s euphoric bubble burst as Wendi walked into the room with a peevish expression. She was followed by Trish.

  “So this is where the two of you snuck off to,” Wendi scolded.

  Meadow and her father exchanged guilty grins.

  “People have been looking for you, Meadow. It was rude of you to disappear in the middle of your party.�
��

  “Aw, leave her alone,” her father growled. “She already had her going-away party with the people who matter to her. Those are your guests out there, not hers.”

  Wendi’s face tightened at the rebuke. She petulantly folded her arms under her breasts and sat next to Trish on the loveseat.

  An awkward tension settled over the room.

  No one spoke until Trish purred wickedly, “Speaking of those yummy Denver Rebels, I offer up Exhibit A.”

  Everyone followed her leering gaze to the television, where Logan was being interviewed outside the locker room.

  Meadow’s mouth watered at how freaking hot he looked. His black hair was damp and his skin glistened with sweat. She wanted to lick the beads of perspiration dripping off his scruffy jaw. Even his sweaty neck looked suckable.

  In the middle of answering questions, he pulled his jersey up and over his head in one fluid movement that would melt panties everywhere.

  Across the room, Trish sighed and crossed her legs, raising Harris’s eyebrow.

  When Logan finished the interview, he slung his jersey over his padded shoulder and winked into the camera. “Wassup, Meadow.”

  She sucked in a breath as her heart rate skyrocketed.

  Her father laughed.

  Wendi and Trish exchanged shocked looks, then turned those same expressions on Meadow.

  “Did Logan Brassard just give you a shout-out?” Trish asked incredulously.

  “He couldn’t have,” Wendi rationalized. “He must have been talking to another Meadow.”

  “But Meadow’s not a very common name,” Trish argued.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “He was talking to our Meadow,” her father confirmed, putting an end to the debate. “They know each other.”

  Wendi’s jaw dropped to the floor.

  “How do they know each other?” Trish asked.

  “They met in foster care.”

  “Really?” Trish looked delighted and intrigued.

  Wendi was suddenly staring at Meadow with newfound respect. “Well, well, well. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

  Meadow and her father merely looked at each other and smiled.

  Chapter Twelve

  LOGAN

  * * *

  Rebels captain hunter duchene was into Eastern philosophy and religion. As a Tai Chi practitioner, he believed in the power of meditation to train the mind and body. For years he’d been encouraging Logan to go see some Zen master of his. He claimed the guy would help tame the voices in his head and teach him to “access his inner power.”

  It sounded like a bunch of bullshit to Logan. He knew he was damaged goods, fucked up beyond repair. There was nothing anyone could do to fix him—especially not some crackpot spiritual guru.

  The next day after morning skate, he and Hunter went to get their hair cut. Most of the team patronized Ollie’s. The shop owner was the best barber in town. There was always a line out the door on Saturdays. But on a Thursday morning, the place was usually nearly empty.

  When they arrived, Hunter sat in the barber’s chair while Logan waited his turn in one of the leather visitor chairs along the wall. Hunter and Ollie immediately started discussing the latest dick move by the current occupant of the White House.

  Logan was seriously jaded about politics. He thought the two-party system was a cruel farce, and he viewed most presidents as morally bankrupt puppets beholden to corporations. Given his beliefs, he could only take so much political talk before his head exploded with rage. So after a while he tuned out the conversation between Hunter and Ollie and started scrolling through Instagram to pass the time.

  He had a bunch of new messages from bunnies he’d either flirted with or banged. He was always amazed at the soft-porn pictures that women sent him. His inbox was overflowing with more tits and asses than he knew what to do with. His last one-night stand was still milking her fifteen minutes courtesy of the picture she’d taken of herself cuddled up beside him as he slept. The photo had racked up a ton of likes and lurid comments. Shit was crazy.

  He was deleting some rather explicit DMs when he came across a three-day-old message from Inez Gutierrez. It took him a moment to remember that she was Ana’s sister.

  Her message read: Hey sexy. I’m in night school so I miss most of your games. But I’m your biggest fan and would love to hang out. Maybe this week?

  Logan grimaced at the phone screen. He knew he had no interest in meeting her or getting to know her, so he definitely didn’t want to lead her on. It was best to be up front with her so she could move on with her life.

  His thumbs flew over the keypad as he wrote back: I think you’re beautiful but I’m not looking for a relationship. Nothing personal. Good luck in school.

  He sent the message and then hopped over to Twitter. His postgame shout-out to Jupiter had set off a whirlwind of speculation. He saw a number of tweets from women trying to solve the mystery of Jupiter’s identity, peevishly wondering who she could be and what she could mean to Logan. He supposed their curiosity was understandable. He’d never publicly acknowledged any woman before. If he’d known what a commotion it would cause, he probably would have kept his mouth shut.

  One particular thread had hundreds of comments. He skimmed through them, shaking his head as he read all sorts of different theories about Jupiter. He hadn’t meant to throw a big spotlight on her. He knew she would hate knowing that complete strangers were discussing her. Thankfully she wasn’t on social media, so there was a good chance she would never learn about her unwanted fame.

  Comforted by the thought, Logan tucked his phone away and leaned back in the chair, his gaze wandering toward the large front window overlooking the parking lot.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Jupiter and the kiss they’d shared on Friday night. Holy shit, that kiss. He’d never been so hot for a woman, so outrageously turned on. Not an hour went by when he didn’t remember the taste of her, the sweetness and softness of her mouth, the breathy little moans she’d made, the feel of her curves pressed against him. She’d driven him absolutely wild. Just the memory sent a rush of blood to his groin and tightened his balls.

  But what he’d felt that night went beyond attraction and lust. He’d kissed her and felt a connection so powerful that his body felt as if it were being absorbed into hers. It was hard to describe. Hard to explain. So was the fact that he felt slightly panicky inside whenever he thought of her being miles away. He couldn’t shake a niggling worry that she would change her mind about moving to Denver.

  He knew his fears were completely irrational. She’d just gotten a new job. She was a responsible person—sane and reliable. She wasn’t going to flake out on people who were counting on her. Plus she needed the money.

  He knew all these things. Yet the thought of her not coming back was twisting his gut into hard little knots. It was crazy. Crazy to be so fearful of losing someone who didn’t belong to him. Maybe he should go see Hunter’s Zen guy after all. He clearly needed some help dealing with his abandonment issues.

  “…Thanks, Ollie.”

  The sound of Hunter’s voice pulled Logan back to the present. He stretched and yawned, watching as his best friend rose from the barber’s chair and looked in the long mirror that ran the length of the wall. After inspecting his meticulously trimmed hair and beard, Hunter gave an approving nod.

  “Impressive work as always, Ollie.”

  Ollie beamed like he’d just won the lottery. A compliment from Hunter Duchene tended to have that effect on people.

  After paying and generously tipping the barber, Hunter took the seat Logan had just vacated and pulled out some notes for a speech he was giving that afternoon at some graduate seminar. He was earning an online master’s degree in international relations and often had to attend functions required for class. He was impeccably dressed in a custom broadcloth shirt with French cuffs and dark suit pants. The jacket was in his car, carefully draped over the back of the driver’s se
at so it wouldn’t get wrinkled.

  As Logan dropped into the padded barber’s chair, Ollie tied a shiny apron around his neck and grinned at his head. “Man, your hair grows like weeds,” he joked. “You need to be in here every day if you wanna maintain your buzz cut.”

  Logan chuckled. “I know.”

  Ollie gestured to the purplish bruise on his cheek. “Nice shiner.”

  “You should see the other guy,” Hunter drawled humorously.

  “I did.” Ollie laughed. “That was one helluva fight, Brassard. Though it wasn’t really much of a fight, was it?” He cackled and shook his head. “If this hockey thing doesn’t work out for you, you’d make a killing as a heavyweight boxer.”

  “Don’t give him any ideas,” Hunter warned. “He gets approached by enough boxing promoters as it is.”

  Ollie laughed.

  Logan wasn’t listening. He was staring at his reflection in the mirror as Meadow’s voice echoed through his mind. I always remembered you with a wild mop of thick black hair. It was beautiful. Why’d you cut it off?

  “The usual?” Ollie asked, picking up his clippers.

  Logan slowly ran a hand over his growing buzz cut, pondering his reflection.

  “The usual?” Ollie repeated.

  Logan hesitated another moment. “Yeah. The usual.”

  Ollie nodded and turned on the clippers.

  “On second thought,” Logan blurted.

  Ollie paused, eyeing him expectantly in the mirror.

  Logan tried to sound casual. “I think I’m gonna let it grow out.”

  The barber’s eyebrows rose.

  Hunter lifted his head from the notes he’d been reviewing to stare at Logan. “You wanna grow out your hair?”

  “Sure.” Logan shrugged a shoulder. “We got bounced out of the Final last year and I didn’t play my best. I figured I’d switch things up a little. See if it can bring some good luck.”

  The explanation sounded perfectly reasonable. Hockey players were notoriously superstitious, after all. But as he said the words, Hunter smiled as if he wasn’t buying it.

  “Should I just clean up your beard, then?” Ollie asked.