Some are from New York, like me teaching him to ice skate, and the snowball fight in the park. There’s one of us on the couch in the library, where I’ve abandoned my laptop to watch him draw instead. Another is him in my hockey hoodie at the first game he attended, talking to me through the plexiglass. He included us in his bed the night he let me see his sketchbook.
The terrace at the Grand Shoreline is the largest scene of them all, though. And the way he drew himself looking at me in the moment before we kissed?
It nearly takes my breath away.
The entire thing does, with the way each scene takes me back to the exact moment—to the emotions I felt in them all—as if they only happened seconds ago.
Warmth floods my chest, and my throat seizes when I try to swallow, overwhelmed by the emotions his gesture has brought out. Sure, he’s drawn little doodles for me before, usually in the margins of my notebook while we’re studying. But he’s never drawn something like this. He’s never drawn me.
Us.
“Way to make us single guys feel even more lonely today, Steele.”
I glance over to the source of the comment, finding Andrews looking down at the drawings now trembling between myfingers. He meets my gaze before jutting his chin at the paper I’m now folding in half again, knowing Logan would prefer his art to remain private.
“What do you mean?” I ask, while gently tucking the gift back into my bag.
“Uh, it’s Valentine’s Day?” Brody supplies. But then his eyes widen slightly, and he whispers, “Shit, don’t tell me you forgot.”
I didn’tforgettoday was February 14th,per se, but it definitely wasn’t at the forefront of my mind either. And I haven’t even seen Logan today; he was still asleep when I left this morning, and our class schedules don’t line up very well on Fridays.
I glance back at the paper, now tucked safely in my bag again.
When did he even have time to do this?
Brody claps me on the shoulder, pulling me from my reverie. “Just pick up a card or his favorite snack on the way home after the game. You’ll be fine.”
He clearly doesn’t understand the gravity of Logan’s gift. And why would he? Most artists showcase their work; want people to see it and talk about it. They want the recognition that comes with this kind of talent. But I’ve quickly come to understand Logan is far from most people.
“You’re not a night or two. Not to me.”
My eyes sink closed as his promise comes slamming back into my mind, front and center. Though, it’s usually not far from there in the first place. And every time he does something like this—takes off a piece of his armor and softens around the edges—I believe those words a little more.
I just wish there was some way for me to show him I feel the same.
That a night or two with him would never be enough when I want every night. Even if it’s spent with him sketching, pretending he’s annoyed when he catches me watching. Or withhim staring at his laptop screen with an anime on instead of being naked and rolling around in the sheets.
Because this is so much more than sex for me. It always has been.
It’s about the space he’s created for me to be myself, not the person I’ve been pretending to be. The way he refuses to let me sit in my insecurities. How he gives me the safety to speak them in the first place.
Swallowing, I glance over at Brody, who has nearly finished dressing while I was living in my head again. An idea swirls in my mind. And though it may be stupid, there’s only one way to find out.
“Hey, Andrews? This is kinda random, but do you know anything about anime? Like what ones to start with or whatever?”
“Do I know anything about anime?” Brody echoes, grinning. “Find me and McGowan after the game. We’ll give you a crash course on what you need to know.”
Logan is looking at his phone when I exit the locker room after the game, sitting alone on the floor across the hallway from the door. Guilt weighs on me when I spot him, hating that he had to wait even longer than normal thanks to Coach putting me on the post-game press conference. Especially with the knowledge that I already made him spend Valentine’s Day watching hockey when he hates the sport.
But even with the extra time it took for me to get the hell out of there, I find myself pausing to watch him, unfiltered and unnoticed.
A few strands of his light-brown hair have fallen onto his forehead, and his teeth gnaw gently at his bottom lip, like they so often do when he’s focused on something. It’s usually drawing,though I’ve noticed it happens when he studies or is cooking too.
I smile when I realize he’s wearing a Leighton hockey jersey, one I know without looking is emblazoned with my name and number on the back. It’s the same one I conveniently “lost” while we were away at Ransom last week, when in reality, I brought it home and hung it in my closet, hoping Logan might find it.
After washing it, of course.
And seeing as my evil genius plan worked, it gives me hope I might pull off what I’ve cooked up for tonight too.
