Fucking lethal.
“Good,” he says, voice still gravel-edged. “Because I’d hate to think last night was a one-time thing.”
My stomach drops. And my heart kicks up.
Because Iwantit to be a one-time thing.
Don’t I?
…Don’t I?
Falling asleep in his arms was not part of the plan. Hell, sleeping with Logan was not in the plan, but here I am.
Ishouldsay something.
Should laugh it off. Shrug. Brush it under the rug as though this is just a Friday night mistake I won’t be repeating.
But Logan sits up on the couch, his abs flexing under the golden spill of morning light, and all I can do is stare.
His smirk fades, just a little. Not gone—but edged withsomething I don’t want to look too closely at. Something that feels too real.
“So?” he asks, cocking his head like he’s trying to read me. “Are we pretending last night didn’t happen, or…?”
I open my mouth, but the words don’t come.
Because no matter how badly I want to pretend—the kisses, the touches, the way he whispered in my ear like I was something he wanted as he moved inside of me—none of it feels fake now. It’s too real. Too close. Too good.
What I agreed to last night feels impossible now. As if this would stay a secret if we continued. We skate together every day, some of the time just the two of us, so there’s no way it would stay a secret. That’s wishful thinking and probably a really bad idea to even entertain.
I take a breath. Then another.
“I should go,” I say instead, grabbing my hoodie from the arm of the couch and not quite meeting his eyes.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Logan leans back, stretching lazily, like none of this rattles him in the slightest. As if he isn’t watching my every move and filing it away behind that smug little smile.
“You know where to find me,” he says, voice soft and even. “On the app.”
He says it like he’s issuing a dare. And he already knows I’ll be back.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of answering. Just tug the hoodie on and zip it up, swipe my phone from the side table, and force myself to walk to the door without looking back.
But my hand hesitates on the handle.
Not long. Just a second.
Long enough for me to hear the faint rustle of Loganshifting behind me. Long enough to wonder if he’s waiting for me to turn around.
I don’t.
Because if I do?
I’m not sure I’ll leave. And staying is a bad fucking idea. It goes against all of my plans. Plans that seem pointless right now, but that just means I’m thinking with the wrong head. I don’t want the scouts to pick me because I’m gay, I want them to pick me because I can play.
I keep my head down as I walk back to campus.
The early morning air is sharp and cool, the kind that should clear your head. But mine’s a mess. Every step I take, I’m just dragging Logan with me.
