I can’t tell if he’s talking about hockey anymore.
I grab my towel like it’s a shield and stand abruptly. “I’m hitting the showers.”
Logan leans back on the bench, eyes flicking over me in a way that makes my skin prickle. His grin is slow, wicked.
“Don’t scrub too hard,” he says, voice low. “You might wash all that intensity right off.”
I freeze for a beat, heat crawling up my neck, then scowl and turn toward the showers without replying.
Behind me, his chuckle follows me down the hall, smug and lazy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
The shower room is quiet except for the drip of the showers and the hum of the overhead lights. I pick the farthest one, crank the water to cold, and step under the spray like it can wash Logan out of my head.
It doesn’t.
I scrub at my hair, letting the freezing water run down my neck and shoulders, and all I can think about is the way he stretched out on the ice earlier—hips rolling, shoulders loose—like his whole body is a weapon he knows exactly how to use. Like he knows I’m watching, even when I try not to.
God, I hate him.
Or—I don’t hate him. I hate what he does to me. The way he slips under my skin and stirs up every thought I’ve spent the last three years shoving into a locked box.
I brace one hand on the slick tile and close my eyes, letting the water hammer my face. It’s not enough. My pulse is still racing, my chest tight with the kind of restless energy I usually burn off on the ice.
It slowly warms up as I stand there unmoving. I let the hot water pound my shoulders. My heartbeat’s finally starting to settle from extra drills and the hundred stupid thoughts Logan's planted in my head today.
Footsteps echo on the tile.
“Slide over, Captain. Gotta make room for your new partner.”
My spine goes rigid like he might actually try to get under the same spray. I glance over just in time to catch him tossing his towel on the hook, moving like he owns the place.
“Shower room’s big enough,” I mutter, turning back to the spray. “Don’t need to be glued to my side.”
Logan chuckles, low and lazy. “Nah, but it’s more fun this way. Team building and all that.”
He steps into the shower next to mine, and suddenly every sound is amplified—the hiss of water hitting his skin, the soft scrape of soap over muscle. I’m not looking. Not really. Except my peripheral vision is traitorous, tracking the way his shoulders flex, the way water slides down his chest, the way I imagine his hips move when he shifts his stance.
God, he moves like he’s grinding against the ice—slow, deliberate, in control.
“Long day?” His voice is casual, like this isn’t the most dangerous place I’ve ever stood. Naked in a shower a few feet from a guy that’s been the leading man in a few of my daydreams over the years…completely alone.
“Practice is practice,” I say, forcing my tone flat.
“Could’ve fooled me. You were chasing me like I stole your dog out there.”
I bite back a groan. If he knew the truth—that the only thing I’ve been chasing is the feeling I can’t shake whenever he’s near—he’d never let me live it down.
Steam curls between us, thick and hazy, and I swear the room feels smaller than it is. Logan rinses soap from his hair, tipping his head back under the spray. Water trails over his throat and down his chest, and I have to snap my eyes to the tile before I give myself away.
“So…” His voice drifts over, calm but curious. “You think we really have a shot at Nationals this year?”
The question throws me. I blink at the wall like it might have the answer. “If we tighten up? Yeah. Coach wouldn’t be killing us with extra drills if he didn’t think so.”
Logan hums low in his chest. “Good. I like winning.” Heflicks water from his fingers at me, grin in his voice. “And I like being your partner even more if it gets us there.”
“Brooks,” I say, using his last name to put distance between us…make him feel like a teammate instead of whatever my body thinks he is. “It's about the team, not who you play with.”
Logan chuckles, warm and unbothered, like I didn’t just throw up a wall between us. “Sure, Captain. But I gotta say…” His voice dips, slow and easy, “…some teammates are more fun than others.”
