No more teasing in the locker room. No more winks from across the rink. No more biting comments with heat behind them. Our one-on-one drills have been just that—drills.Professional. Focused. Sterile.
Logan’s still Logan—still laughing, still loud—but it’s like he put a wall up between us the second we got too close. It’s confusing. He offered a secret relationship of some kind and then pulled back after the next practice. Like not just pulled back, but completely shut it down. I know I was in my head the next day, but by time I made up my mind and went to find him in the locker room, he was gone already.
And the worst part about all of it? He’s directing that easy charm everywhere else.
Daniel. Peter. Fucking Eli, sometimes.
None of them are treating it like it’s flirting, not really. They just think it’s Logan being Logan. And maybe it is. Maybe I just want him to look at me like he still wants me.
He hasn’t looked at me like that all week.
For four days, it’s been dead quiet. No new notifications. No messages fromSlowBurn69. No “thinking about you,” no orders, no teasing commands that make my stomach drop and my cock ache. Nothing.
Logan’s gone dark.
And yeah, maybe we didn’t lay out any ground rules, but he was the one who said we’d keep it quiet.Hewas the one who kissed me like he was starving for my lips, who told me to be a good boy, who looked at me like I was something he wanted to keep.
I drop the phone onto my bed and scrub a hand over my face.
Iwantto message him.
I want to type something—anything—just to see if he’ll respond. But I don’t. Because I shouldn’t need to chase him. I already made the first move by going along with it and following him into the showers on Monday. I already agreed to the secret. I was ready.
And now it feels like he’s the one who’s scared. Or worse—like he’s already over it.
It’s like I imagined the whole fucking thing.
I let the screen dim and toss my phone face-down onto the desk just as Peter strolls into the room, already mid-sentence.
“—you better not be bailing again, Captain Doom-and-Gloom.”
He tosses his stick bag on the floor, rips his hoodie off, and starts digging through the top drawer of his dresser like we’re late for something—which we probably are.
“Frat party at Sigma. I told Blue we’d be there for pregame, and you already flaked last week for that hook up that I’m pretty sure has fucked you up, to be honest.”
I keep my eyes on the floor. “Not feeling it.”
Peter snorts. “You’re never feeling it lately. What, did someone piss in your protein powder or something?”
“I’m just tired,” I mutter. “It’s been a long week, and we have a game on Sunday.”
He huffs. “Whatever, man. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
He claps me on the shoulder like that, somehow, makes it better, then grabs his jacket and disappears again, muttering something about shotgunning a beer in Blue’s hallway.
The door clicks shut behind him, and I’m left alone with the quiet.
And the storm that’s still churning in my chest.
I stare at the blank screen of my phone again, jaw tight. Icouldmessage Logan. Ask what the fuck is going on. But he made it pretty clear with his actions what he wants—no contact, no attention, nothing that might let me think what happened between us was anything but a mistake.
Except it didn’t feel like a mistake.
Not to me.
Not after I finally admitted—to myself, at least—that Iwantedwhat he was offering. Even if it had to be secret. Even if I had to stay in the closet for now. Iwantedit. Wantedhim.
And now he’s just pretending I don’t exist.
