He flops back dramatically on the bed, arm thrown over his eyes. “Cruel. You are cruel, Shaw.”
“Motivational,” I correct, smirking. “Now get your shoes on before I come over there and make it worse.”
His eyes peek open, glinting. “Promises, promises.”
I roll my eyes again and walk out—only because I have to. Not because I want to. Because I’m already thinking about what might happen when we get back.
We’reall gathered in the lobby, waiting on Logan.
Coach hasn’t shown yet, but a few of the guys are already getting antsy, tossing jokes back and forth and making a show of checking their phones like it’s beenhoursinstead of five minutes.
“He forget we’ve got a game?” Blue mutters.
Peter stretches his arms overhead with a loud yawn. “Wouldn’t be shocked if he passed out face-first on his bed. It’s nuts how sitting on a bus can make you tired.”
I roll my shoulders and glance toward the elevator again, trying to look like I’mnotkeeping track of every second Logan’s missing. He’s probably just?—
The elevator dings.
And there he is.
Logan steps off like nothing’s wrong, hoodie sleeves shoved up, that usual cocky look tugging at his mouth. Like he didn’t just make the entire team wait on him.
“Took you long enough,” Blue gripes.
Logan shrugs one shoulder. “Had to take care of some tension so I could focus.” His eyes flick to mine, and for a fleeting second, I feel all the way down to my toes.
Peter snorts. “You serious? If we lose, it’s on you.”
Logan just grins, unbothered. “Then I guess I better playreallywell.”
“Max says that’s a myth anyway,” Eli says. “And some studies show that you play better after.”
The guys start giving Eli a hard time as we head toward the waiting bus.
Logan leans in just slightly, close enough for only me to hear. “You could’ve helped, Captain. Would’ve saved me time.”
My jaw clenches, even as heat surges low in my gut. I don’t respond. Can’t. Not when everyone’s still so close. Coach rounds the bus and starts shouting for us to load up.
Logan bumps my shoulder as he passes. Asshole.
Inside the rink,the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting long shadows across the ice. The boards are scuffed, the home logo in the center a little worn, but the place hums with energy. You can feel it in your teeth. Game night tension.
After a quick dry-land warmup, we hit the locker room to start changing. Coach gives his usual speech. I'm half-listening, half-thinking about how Logan still hasn’t looked at me since we got off the bus.
And then it’s warm-up time.
We hit the ice like we’ve done a hundred times before—me leading defense through drills, while Eli yells something about needing another latte..
Logan takes his usual spot toward center ice, stretching out with that ridiculous, fluid grace that should be illegal.
I try not to look.
I fail.
Because there he is—dropping into a lunge that should be rated R, dragging his stick with one hand, gaze locked ahead like he has no idea what he looks like right now.
The glide of his hips as he shifts back, the slow roll of his spine as he leans forward, ass up like he’s?—
