“In hockey.”
“Honestly, in everything. But yeah, my first priority is hockey.”
“I want kids someday, so being ten years older than you matters to me, even if it doesn’t matter to you.” I keep going, even though I haven’t said any of this out loud to anyone before. “I just got out of a really shitty relationship, and I don’t want another one that drags on longer than it should. My priorities aren’t, ultimately, the same as yours. As long as we know that going in, and we stay firm on our timeline, then I think…” I hesitate for a beat, grappling with how to phrase it. “We could have fun.”
“Fun?” he asks, and it’s possible he’s offended.
“But if at any point,” I barrel on, “things are even a little bit toxic between us, I’m pulling the plug early. I won’t—I won’tstand for any—any…” But I can’t get truth out. “Even if it’s a mistake.”
“We’re hooking up. Friends with benefits?”
“That’s probably a good way to look at it.” Much safer for me to see it in those black-and-white terms too. Label it, so neither of us gets confused.
“I don’t do secrets, so if that’s what—”
“It doesn’t need to be a secret, just low-key. We don’t need to make a big deal about being together or when we’re no longer together. Super chill.”
It all sounds perfect in theory, but I’ve never had a chill relationship. It must exist because I’ve been around amicable exes. People who date for brief periods, and it doesn’t work out, and they don’t hate each other.
Hasn’t ever been the case for me.
The thought of him hating me causes my stomach to flip-flip-flip.
“Hmm…” He presses his middle and index fingers under his bottom lip, pushing them up in thought. “I’m going to need to think about it.” He shifts on the couch to put his focus back on the movie.
And I’m left practically gaping at him, stunned for a beat. “Think about it?”
“I’ve changed my mind about rushing in. You’ve given me a lot to consider.” He picks up the remote and resets the movie, but then his big hand falls on my thigh, stretching across the width of it. So casual, it would be laughable if the contact wasn’t making my entire lower half tingle with anticipation. “Is that okay?” he asks.
Whatever he’s referring to, my answer is the same. “Yeah.”
Throughout the movie, Logan’s hand stays on my thigh, unless he’s refilling the pitcher of water or adding more ice to my glass. As soon as he sinks back into the couch beside me, his hand—his really big hand—spans my upper thigh. The warmth and placement are distracting, and a couple of times when he asks me a question about the movie I respond based on memory, not the ability to pay attention. My whole being is tuned to the imprint of each finger, the weight of his palm pressed against the thin piece of fabric separating skin-on-skin contact.
Behind what, I hope, is my cool façade, I’m processing his rejection. Considering he was the one who showed up at my house and asked to start something, I can’t believe he had the nerve to tell me he’d “think” about my proposal. If he really wanted to “explore” whatever this might be, my offer should be more than acceptable. What possible objections could he have? Because he sure as hell didn’t voice any of them. My plan means we go into our friends-with-benefits agreement with our eyes wide open and a complete understanding of the timeline. We can explore whatever he wants within the parameters of that.
“You’ve basically missed the whole movie,” he whispers, his beard skimming my earlobe, and a shiver of awareness runs down my spine. Not for the first time, I wish he wasn’t so confident, so sure of himself, when I’m running mental circles around him and us.
“I’m watching it.” I wave my hand at the TV.
“No, you’re not. You’re stewing. I contradicted myself, and now you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad.” I shift sideways to face him, not bothering to pause the movie. “I’m confused.Youasked for this.”
“Not quite. I asked for us to see where this goes. The no-pressure part, I agree with that. You’re right that we might have different priorities. But the timeline and labeling…”
“I don’t see the difference. If you don’t want there to be any pressure, then labeling it and setting a timeline means we both know exactly what this is and what it isn’t.”
“No pressure doesn’t mean itcan’tgo anywhere.”
“Do you want to get married and have kids?”
“Eventually.” A furrow appears between his brows. “Someday.”
“I’m not wasting a lot of time on a dead end.”
“Tell me how you really feel, doc.”
“I’m not callingyoua dead end, Logan. It’s the age thing and the priorities thing. You’re just starting your career. Mine is more established, and as a woman I have to consider when and how I’ll have kids. Maybe a year ago I could have gone into something with you blindly, but I just can’t now. Honestly, even agreeing to the rest of this season might be too ambitious.”
