He stops again, every muscle tight as if the words cost too much to let loose.
The air between us goes molten. Heat floods my skin again as he watches me—unblinking, unrelenting, daring me to call him on what he almost said.
After a beat, he jerks his chin toward the door. “Lock up, Lu.”
My throat works around a knot, the keys trembling in my hand. “Good night, Logan.”
He doesn’t answer, just waits, still as stone at the bottom of the porch, until I get through the door and the lock turns beneath my fingers.
Only then do I look through my peephole and see him move, retreating across the street with Dusty trotting at his side.
I press my forehead to the door, breath caught between a laugh and a gasp, my heart rioting against my ribs.
Because it’s not my botched date who’s making it race tonight.
It’s Logan.
And it’s him I can’t seem to stop wanting.
Chapter six
Thought this was a dive bar, not a daycare
Logan
The Rink Rat smells like spilled beer, old fryer grease, and the Marlboros that Gary, the grumpy old owner, pretends aren’t lit even though he’s exhaling right in front of the “No Smoking” sign.
The jukebox wheezes out Nickelback again, because that’s one of the only three albums it’ll play. The boys argued about it once and naturally lost. Now it’s a running gag, especially since Chase sings the chorus loud enough to get us side-eyed by the old regulars who have no idea who he is.
That’s one of the reasons we love this place. The noise is easy, and the light is low. Nobody in here wants a selfie; they want spicy wings and to argue about who’s buying the next round.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Gary says, flipping a bar towel over his shoulder as he spots me walking in. “And by cat, I mean more of the Colorado Storm payroll.”
“Evening,” I say, nodding at him.
His eyes cut to Reid. “Brought your emotional support rookie tonight, Brick Wall?”
“Not a rookie. Third year,” I mutter, heading straight for the pool table where I can see our usual group. Eli, Ryan, Jake, Chase and Reid.
Doesn’t matter. I’ve shaken off that title, but once the nickname sticks, it sticks. And the guys know it gets under my skin.
Reid lines up the break. “He still needs supervision.”
Chase whistles at me from the bar-leaner. “Pookie! You racking or preening?”
“Keep talking and I’ll use your face for chalk,” I say, taking a cue and swinging it like a bat when Chase charges around to throw fake punches at me, descending into a full-blown playfight.
Gary leans over the bar with a frown and bangs his fist. “Christ, you’re all toddlers. Thought this was a dive bar, not daycare.”
“Pretty sure daycare serves better food,” I shoot back.
He smirks, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. “Keep yappin’, rook, see if I don’t water down your beer.”
That earns a snort from Jake. “Don’t need to. It already tastes like swamp.”
Ryan shakes his head, tapping the edge of the pool table. “Focus. Doubles. Me and Hutchy against you four.”
“Four?” Chase perks up. “That’s not even—”
