Logan (Carolina Reapers 4)

Those dark eyes shuttered, and he covered my hand with his own, pressing my palm into his face like he never wanted me to let him go.

I scrunched my nose, desperate to break the well of emotion I felt burrowing inside me. “You’re not as hot as you think you are anyway,” I said, biting back my smile.

Logan chuckled, releasing me only to stand up and tug me to him. He snaked his arms around my back, holding me to him, tucking his chin over my shoulder and inhaling deeply.

I trembled within his embrace, unable to not feel all the blissfully hard edges of his body against the softer parts of mine. Remembering myself, I slid my arms around his neck, hugging him back, holding him.

And in that moment, I wanted so much more.

I wanted all of him.

Wanted to mend the wounds that had yet to heal.

Wanted to erase whatever darkness he had that mirrored my own.

Wanted to—

Logan slowly, almost reluctantly released me. “Thank you,” he said, the words so low I almost didn’t catch them.

And as I stared up at him, as I saw the gratitude in his eyes, my heart fractured for him. Because it was clear that he wasn’t used to people seeing beneath his polished exterior and liking him for him. Liking him for his passion for food, his love for his family, his incredible sense of humor, or his ability to be in the same room as someone without trying to control the conversation and simply listen.

I smiled up at him, beaming for him and him alone.

He held my gaze and returned my grin.

“Should we make brownies for dessert?” he asked. I laughed and shook my head. “What?” he asked, laughing too.

“If only you were hot,” I teased, walking around him to the pantry. “Then you might be the perfect man.”

7

Logan

Black combat boots filled my line of sight.

“Did you tell her yet?” Cannon asked as I tied my shoes.

I sighed as I sat up.

“I’m going to take that as a no.”

I stood and grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I turned back to Cannon. “I’m going to take that as you still don’t approve.”

His eyes narrowed, and he shifted his grip on his bag. “It’s not up to me to approve or not. I’m not some judgmental asswipe who thinks you give two fucks about what I think. I’m just trying to keep up.”

I nodded, and we both headed for the door. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell her. I know she’s not the kind of woman who’s going to do what...others have.”

“But you’re too deep in the lie to get out clean,” he guessed as we stepped into the hallway.

“Something like—”

“Ward!” Coach called out from behind us.

Cannon and I both turned and watched Coach come forward, waving a white paper. “New stats are out after our home series this week.”

I took the offered paper and immediately saw the highlighted name.

“Damn. Are you serious?” A smile spread across my face as I looked to Coach for assurance. “This isn’t one of Connell’s jokes?”

Coach chuckled and shook his head. “Nope. You, Logan Ward, are the leading defenseman for the entire league in game points. At least so far this year.”

“Thank you,” I said softly and moved to hand it back to him.

“That’s your copy. Congrats, Ward. You deserve it.” He gave me a proud smile and left us. “But don’t let it go to your head,” he called back. “That list changes every week.”

I snorted, then folded the paper into quarters and slid it into the back pocket of my jeans. “Go figure, I have something great and now have to fight my ass off to keep it.”

“You honestly think you’d lose Delaney if you told her the truth?” he asked as we continued our trek toward the parking lot.

“I think she really fucking hates athletes and celebrities, so when compounded with my lack of honesty, the odds are favoring her walking away. And even though we’re not together, I still can’t stand the thought of losing her friendship.” I left out the part where she’d declared that we were only friends, and I’d gone along with it after that hotter-than-hell kiss.

Late February didn’t have the same bite to it here in South Carolina that we did back home in Chicago, or even in Denver. It had to be in the mid-sixties. The sun was racing toward setting status as we crossed the blacktop to our cars.

“Not together?” He looked at me with a face that cried bullshit.

“Nope.”

“You spend a fuckload of time together for not being together.”

I popped my trunk and tossed my bag into every available inch of it. “We’re not around each other that much.”

My phone buzzed, and I thumbed open the text alert.

Delaney: Any chance you’re free?

Logan: Maybe.