Leaning forward so our lips are almost brushing, I force myself to withdraw my hand from between her thighs. “But I’ll try to be a good man. For you.”
I chuckle and swallow her angry little protests with a sweet, languid kiss. I don’t bend her over the table. I don’t drop to my knees. And I don’t push my fingers back up to her center.
But I want to. God, do I want to.
thirty-eight
BLAIR
“Didyou know there are photos of you on the internet?”
My head whips up, and I meet my little brother’s gaze. His lips twitch and eyes crinkle in the corners, and my palms grow sweaty. We’ve been sitting silently, both of us staring at our phones, while we eat breakfast. It’s Saturday morning, so neither of us has anywhere we need to be until Logan’s game later. Reed was thrilled when I told him about the tickets. They’re only eight rows up from the boards, so we’ll be nice and close to the action.
Logan offered to get us seats in the friends and family box, which would have been fun for me because I know at least one of the girls is likely to be there, but Reed will enjoy closer seats more.
“What do you mean, there are photos of me on the internet?”
Reed flips his phone over so I can see the images on his screen. Sure enough, there’s a grainy photo of Logan and me at the French restaurant on Thursday night. You can’t see my face, because I’m looking at Logan as he holds my chin, whispering dirty, filthy things to me, and most of my face is hidden by my hair, but it’s definitely me. Logan is recognizable, and eventhough it’s grainy and whoever took it clearly had to zoom in enough to degrade the quality of the photo, there’s no denying it’s him.
“He looks like he’s about to eat you. Jesus.”
“Shut up,” I say, smacking Reed on the shoulder. He’s not wrong, though. It felt intense to be the object of Logan’s focus while we were out, but to see it from this perspective? Yeah. Wow.
“How did you find this?”
“One of the guys on my team sent it to me and asked if that was my sister. Which was weird but also kinda cool. You’re famous.”
My stomach rolls. I donotwant to be famous. And I certainly don’t want photos some stranger took of Logan and me to jeopardize my job. “I’m not famous. You can’t even tell that’s me. They don’t have my name listed on that, do they?”
Reed shakes his head. “Nah. Don’t worry, Blair-Bear. No one knows who you are. But lots of people are saying you look pretty.”
“Well, that’s nice, I guess.” I’m sure there are plenty of people who are saying less than kind things, too, but that’s the nature of existing as a woman in the age of the internet. People are assholes. Lexi, Mira, and Isla have all talked about how they’ve had to stop engaging with most social media and lock their profiles down to just friends and family. I wish things weren’t this way, but sadly, it’s a fact of life. The internet isn’t kind to women in general, but it can be even more cruel to Black women.
I’m definitely not going to read the comments.
“My friends think it’s badass that my sister is dating a hockey star.”
I chuckle. “Glad my romantic life can win you points with your fellow thirteen-year-olds.”
Reed rolls his eyes as he shovels the last few bites of his breakfast into his mouth before pushing away from the table and washing his dishes. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“Kay.”
“Blair?”
I look up at my little brother, who towers over me when I’m sitting and he’s not. “Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you’re happy. You deserve to have someone who looks at you the way Logan does.”
My throat is suddenly so tight I struggle to croak out a response. “Thanks, Reed.”
He lifts his chin and gives me a nod before disappearing into the bathroom. An affectionate smile plays across my lips, and my fingers twitch as I struggle to keep myself from looking up that photo of Logan and me.
The arena is packedto capacity, and it makes my skin feel too tight. The air is thick with body heat and excited chatter, and I’m jostled by the crowd more than once as Reed and I dodge and weave through the teeming masses decked out in Rogues Yellow, jerseys, and branded hats.
I thought we could avoid the worst of the crush by arriving as soon as the arena opened, but I was wrong. Apparently, people love showing up for warm-ups.
“Can we get a soft pretzel and nacho cheese?” Reed asks, tugging on my hoodie. Well, Logan’s hoodie. He gave me one of his older Rogues hoodies the other day, and I’ve been wearing it nonstop ever since. It’s oversized and perfectly worn. And it still smells faintly of him.
