Page 72 of Sin Bin

“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.

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