Because I’m not here by accident.
Because Idowant this.
And he knows it.
I shift my weight, heart slamming against my ribs, eyes darting past him like I might still find an escape route. But all I see is the soft yellow light in his apartment, the edge of a worn couch, and the familiar shape ofhim—the guy who’s been in my head all week, which is ironic since I didn’t actually know it was him on the other side of my screen.
“You really gonna make me say it?” I mutter, voice low, and my cheeks heating.
Logan smirks all cocky confidence. Comfortable in a way I’ll never be. “Nope,” he says, stepping aside. “You already did when you showed up. It can be our little secret.”
My feet move before my brain catches up, and suddenly I’m crossing the threshold. The door shuts behind me with a soft click that sounds way too final. And I take in the room in front of me. It’s tidy and clean, smells faintly of cleaning products, and it’s strange to picture Logan cleaning. The couch is blue and has seen better days, but newer-looking throw pillows grace each corner. His TV is mounted on the wall of the small room, probably to save space, and he has two corner tables with lamps on each side of the couch.
He’s silent behind me as I catalog every detail, trying to distract myself about why I’m really here. This is probably a mistake. I really should turn around and leave before it’s too late.
Instead, I stand there awkwardly, hoodie zipped up to my throat, hands shoved deep in the pocket as though maybe I can hide the fact they’re shaking.
Logan walks past me like this is normal and we do this all the time, and I didn’t just show up at his door thinking he was a faceless stranger from an app who I was planning to get fucked by and leave. Fuck yeah, this is awkward. I shift on my heels, two seconds from bolting.
“You want water?” he calls over his shoulder, already headed for the kitchen.
I blink, pulled out of my thoughts. “What?”
He glances back, the corner of his mouth tilting like he’s trying not to laugh. “Hydration. Helps when you’re nervous.”
“I’m not—” I stop. No point finishing that sentence. Because I am off the deep end of nervousness, I’m drowning in nerves.
He disappears into the kitchen and returns with twoglasses. He hands me one, our fingers brushing, and my entire body goes tight.
“Sit,” he says simply, nodding toward the couch.
I sit.
Because of course I do, listening to his commands in person the same way I’ve been listening to his commands over the app all week.
The water in my hand feels like dead weight, and the silence stretches as Logan drops onto the cushion beside me—not too close, not far. Just enough to fuck with my head.
“So…” he says, dragging out the word, “should we talk about it?”
I stare down at the glass and swallow. “No.”
“No, we shouldn’t talk about the fact that you’ve been messaging me for days about how bad you want someone to pin you down and take control?” His voice is smooth. Teasing. But there’s a layer underneath—something he’s not saying.
“I didn’t know it was you.”
“But now you do. Does that change things?”
“I’m not sure…” I glance at him then. “And you’re still okay with this?”
He shrugs, eyes locked on mine. “I was into you before I knew, both on and off the app. I’m still into you now.” A beat. “But if you’re gonna keep pretending that finding out it’s me you’ve been begging to fuck you this whole week and that you don’t still want me too, you should go.”
The words hit harder than I expect them to, and I suck in a deep, steadying breath. If I thought he was straight to the point on the rink, that was nothing compared to this.
“I’m not pretending,” I say quietly. “I’m just…”
“Scared?” he offers, not unkindly.
I exhale slowly. “Yeah.”
