Page 164 of Sin Bin

“Vicious? Psychotic? Desperate? Take your pick.”

Logan sat down with a grim chuckle and leaned back in his chair.

Meadow looked at him, jealousy gnawing at her insides. “Have you slept with any of them?”

His eyes flicked to her and then away. “Let’s not talk about that.”

Her stomach knotted. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He didn’t respond.

Gripping her clutch in her lap, she looked toward the dance floor. She felt a pang of envy when she saw their friends slow dancing to Sinatra’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”

She glanced at Logan. “Would you like to dance?”

“Not right now.” He gave her an apologetic look to soften his words. “Maybe later.”

“Sure. Whenever you’re ready.”

He smiled weakly and slipped his hand over hers.

When she crossed her legs, the long slit in her dress revealed a good portion of her thigh. The flash of skin drew Logan’s gaze like a magnet. He bit his bottom lip, staring at the curve of her thigh. He looked conflicted, like he didn’t know whether to run his hand up her leg or cover her up with his jacket.

Before he could decide, they were interrupted by a group of his teammates. Most were really young, judging by their whiskered baby faces. They were laughing and joking around, drinks in hand. When Logan caught them smiling at Meadow and leering at her legs, he gave them a death glare that sent them scattering.

He scowled after them, then put his hand on Meadow’s thigh in an unmistakably possessive gesture.

She slanted him a knowing smile.

His answering smile was faint.

As they sat talking and watching the swaying couples on the dance floor, it became increasingly obvious that he wasn’t in a partying mood. His smiles were growing hollower as the night wore on, and there was an infinite sadness behind his eyes that couldn’t be celebrated away. He was the life of the party three hundred and sixty-four days of the year. But not on this day. Not on April eighth.

When “The Way You Look Tonight” began playing, he grabbed Meadow’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “C’mon. Let’s dance.”

She looked at him. “Are you sure?”

He was already leading her toward the dance floor. When they were nearly there, he stopped so suddenly that she almost ran into his back. She looked up at him questioningly, but he wasn’t paying attention to her.

His face had gone sheet white as he stared across the ballroom.

Concerned, Meadow touched his arm. “Logan?”

He released her hand and shouldered his way through the crowd, drawing curious stares.

Frowning in confusion, Meadow watched as he walked up behind a woman with a curtain of black hair hanging smooth down her back. When he put his hand on her shoulder, the woman turned around. Her surprise turned to pleasure when she saw Logan. She smiled seductively and batted her eyelashes, sliding her body against his.

Logan backed away from her and mumbled an apology, then pivoted on his heel and made his way back toward Meadow. He looked even paler, as if he’d just seen a ghost.

She stared at him in concern. “Are you okay?”

He met her gaze but seemed to look right through her, his eyes distant and haunted.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and drained it in one swallow. He seemed dazed and shaken to the core.

Meadow draped her hand over his forearm, feeling the flex of hard muscle. When his dark eyes met hers, she reached up and gently cupped his cheek. “I can tell you don’t want to be here.”

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