Page 15 of Sin Bin

After some heated back and forth, the ref decided he’d heard enough and ejected Logan from the game.

Boos erupted from the crowd.

Enraged, Logan cursed at the ref before skating off the ice and stomping down the tunnel to the locker room. The sight of his retreating back touched something deep inside Meadow. It made her want to go to him and hug him. Which was ridiculous.

All around her, people were venting their frustration and displeasure.

“The kid’s mad talented, but he’s a hothead,” someone grumbled.

“He’d better not cost us the Cup this year,” another voice piped up.

Meadow was struck by a fierce urge to defend Logan. So strong was the urge that she almost turned around and snarled at the complainers, “Cut him some slack, will you? If you had the crappy childhood he had, you’d be pissed off, too!”

She figured it wouldn’t be the best way to ingratiate herself with her potential new colleagues. So she kept her mouth shut.

After Logan’s unceremonious exit, the Rebels rallied to regain their rhythm and focus. With less than two minutes left on the clock, the score was tied at 3-3. The game appeared to be headed into overtime when suddenly the Bruins scored on a breakaway to take the lead. The Rebels never recovered.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd groaned their disappointment.

As Dirk commiserated with the others, Meadow put on her jacket and picked up her handbag, preparing to leave. She was seriously bummed about the loss, but she felt much worse for Logan than the fans. Because somehow she knew he would blame himself, and that bothered her more than it should have.

Dirk turned to her. “If you’re free after this, Cabe Landrieu—the team owner—is having a meet-and-greet for VIP ticket holders in the executive lounge upstairs. It’s a great opportunity for us to interact with the players and show our support.”

Meadow’s throat went dry. “A meet-and-greet? With the players?”

“Yeah.” Dirk smiled ruefully. “Tonight’s loss might put a damper on the festivities, but it’d be great if you could join us, anyway.”

She smiled weakly. “I’d love to.”

So much for staying away from Logan.

He was a no-show.

Or at least it was looking that way.

For the past hour, Meadow had been circulating around the posh lounge, smiling and making small talk with all the people Dirk introduced her to. She knew this was part of the interview. If she passed the test and got the job, she’d be working with some of these same local business leaders to develop community partnerships. So it was important for her to make a good impression.

But she was distracted by thoughts of Logan. She’d been covertly watching the door, wondering if or when he would show up. She’d watched the team owner arrive, trailed by an entourage of executives and perfectly coiffed wives. She’d watched several players arrive and get mobbed by excited autograph seekers.

Still no sign of Logan.

A burst of laughter drew her attention back to the group she was standing with. Everyone was laughing at a joke Dirk had made.

Meadow smiled and took a sip of her martini. She wasn’t much of a drinker. Not because she was a Goody Two Shoes, but because she couldn’t hold her liquor. One glass was her limit. Plus she didn’t want to risk making a fool of herself while auditioning for a job.

She finished her martini and put the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Then she excused herself to go to the restroom.

As she threaded her way through the crowd, she saw that Hunter Duchene, Reid Holden, Viggo Sandström and Dmitri Fedorov were still signing autographs and taking pictures with gushing fans. Dirk had promised to introduce her to the star players when the crowds thinned. She didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

She went out the door and was halfway down the corridor when her phone rang. Looking down, she rummaged through her handbag—and walked right into a wall of rock-hard muscle.

She bounced back on impact and probably would have fallen if a pair of huge hands hadn’t caught her arms, keeping her upright.

“Whoa. Easy there.” The voice that rumbled out of that massive chest was deliciously deep and smoky.

“Sorry,” she apologized as her eyes shot up to the man’s face. “I wasn’t watching—” The rest of the words stuck in her throat.

Because the wall of muscle she’d crashed into belonged to none other than Logan “Bruiser” Brassard.

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