Page 70 of The Sin Bin

The observation carried weight beyond its simplicity—acknowledgment that they had each changed through knowing the other, perspectives shifting, judgments reconsidered.

"I should get going," Jax said reluctantly after they'd sat in peaceful quiet. "Early recovery session tomorrow, and Coach'll have my ass if I'm dragging. Playoff prep starts immediately."

Lauren turned to face him, a sudden intensity in her eyes that made his pulse quicken. "Stay," she said simply, one hand sliding up his chest. "We're supposed to be celebrating."

She kissed him then, her mouth tasting of champagne and possibility. There was nothing tentative about it—her lips moved against his with confident familiarity, her body pressing closer with deliberate intent. Jax responded immediately, one hand tangling in her hair while the other pulled her more firmly against him.

Their previous times together had been learning experiences. The first time had been hesitant and careful, the second urgent and emotional. This was different. It was a blending of tenderness and heat, of affection and desire, that spoke to their deepening connection.

Then his phone played the first few bars of Ride of the Valkyrie, Coach Vicky's specialized text alert.

Lauren felt his hesitation and pulled back slightly, question in her eyes.

"Coach," he explained reluctantly, showing her the screen.

Mandatory 6 AM recovery session for anyone who'd taken significant contact. Which definitely included him. With playoffs looming, there would be no exceptions.

Understanding replaced the desire in her expression. "And you took plenty."

Jax nodded, frustration warring with responsibility. "I should—"

"Go," she finished for him, though her hands lingered on his chest. "I get it. The playoffs come first right now."

The understanding in her voice only made him want to stay more. Jax pressed his forehead to hers. "Rain check on our celebration?"

Lauren smiled, brushing her lips against his once more. "Tomorrow at three," she reminded him. "Don't be late. Tripod has waited long enough for her forever home."

"Yes, Dr. Mackenzie," Jax replied with mock solemnity, even as his body rebelled against the idea of leaving. Lauren gave him a playful swat to his arm, but her eyes conveyed something deeper.

"Next time," she said softly, "when you don't have a six a.m. playoff recovery session."

The implication hung between them, electric and full of promise. Jax nodded, stealing one last kiss before forcing himself to step back.

As he drove home through New Haven's quiet streets, Jax replayed the evening—the block that clinched their playoff spot, the interview that put them in the public eye, the team celebration, the quiet intimacy afterward. For a man who had spent most of his adult life defining himself through the game and his role as an enforcer, the emergence of someone who saw beyond those labels—who wanted the man beneath the jersey, even as he headed into playoff intensity—felt revolutionary.

Even more surprising was how easily she'd fit with his teammates, how naturally the team had welcomed her as an extension of him. Kane's words echoed in his mind: "Anyone important to Jax is important to us." It was the unspoken code of their hockey family, and without fanfare or ceremony, Lauren had been accepted into it.

Penalty greeted him at the door, meowing imperiously at his late return, the formerly injured leg now bearing weight perfectly as he wound between Jax's feet in demanding circles.

"Big day tomorrow, buddy," Jax told the kitten as he scooped him up, feeling the vibration of purrs against his palm. "You're getting a sister. A special one."

Penalty blinked at him with inscrutable feline wisdom before leaping down to trot toward the bedroom, tail held high.

Chapter Fifteen

Lauren

"She's perfect," Jax said, his large hands impossibly gentle as he cradled the three-legged tortoiseshell cat against his chest. The feline looked comically small against his broad frame, her vibrant green-gold eyes surveying her new human with cautious interest.

Lauren was no longer surprised by the gentleness that belied his imposing size, but watching him with shelter animals never failed to move her. A wave of emotion washed over her—she was falling hard for him, and the realization both thrilled and terrified her.

"I think Tripod approves," Peg observed, her weathered face creased in a knowing smile. "She's never taken to anyone so quickly. Usually hides when new people come around."

"She knows quality when she sees it," Lauren replied, reaching to scratch behind the cat's ears. "Animals have excellent judgment."

"Better than humans sometimes," Peg agreed with a significant glance between Lauren and Jax that made Lauren's cheeks warm. The shelter manager had been unsubtly delighted by their developing relationship.

Penalty's carrier sat on the examination table, the now fully-healed kitten watching the proceedings with evident curiosity. His leg had mended beautifully after weeks of careful rehabilitation.

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