Over the next week, I get a break from girlfriend duty as Logan travels out of town for a few games. It’s a welcome break as I get to forget about my crush on Logan and those two kisses we shared — one at the bar and one at the ice rink. I know that if I had to be around him any longer, I wouldn’t be able to hide my attraction to him. Or what I think is my attraction to him. Things are getting so complicated that I don’t even know where our fake relationship ends and reality begins. That’s why Logan being out of town is such a relief. Being able to forget about all that and focus on school work is a very welcome distraction.
The semester is winding down and the work is piling up, forcing me to spend all my free time in the library working. The rain has been coming down hard outside all week, making a great soundtrack for studying. I’m grateful for the hiatus but I still can’t help myself from noticing that he should be back either today or tomorrow. I keep pausing between study breaks to see if he’s messaged me.
Gosh, I’m pathetic.
I can’t even go out on several fake dates without turning to goo. I console myself with the fact that this isn’t just any man. It’s Logan Drake. I’ve replayed the past few weeks over and over in my head, fantasizing about all the things we would have done together if these were real dates.
Am I crazy?
Yes. Absolutely. And I only get crazier as the day when Logan returns draws near. I keep expecting him to message me, to tell me he needs me to go to another event with him, but nothing comes.
Distracted from school work, I dig into my wallet looking for the contract. After checking the usual pocket I use, I’m perplexed to find it in the pocket where I keep my money. I must’ve put it in there without realizing back at the galla. It’s just another sign that I’m completely distracted by Logan. Pulling the folded piece of paper out carefully so nobody in the library around me can read over my shoulder, I unfold it. The sight of Logan’s signature grounds me in reality.
None of this is real, I remind myself. It’s all fake. The PDA, the laughter on the ice rink, even the kisses. Everything is fake.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I put the contract away and chip away at my mountain of homework.
When the sky gets dark and the library is mostly empty, I put my books away, grab my umbrella, and make my way out into the pouring rain to navigate my way to the residence building. Terry, one of the floor managers, is in the lobby pinning bright pink flyers onto the cork-board.
“You’re still here?” He asks.
“Yeah, why? What’s up?” I look around at all the wet-floor signs everywhere.
“The rain has been flooding through the building since this morning,” he says. “Only a few of the rooms are in the flood path but it could get worse. The whole building’s being evacuated.”
“Oh, damn!”
“That’s right.”
“So, what do they want us to do? Sleep in a hotel?” I shift the bag of books which are pulling on my shoulder. My socks are still wet from the rain.
“Most people have been relocated to the empty rooms in the residence building across campus, but I think all the rooms have been taken. You’ll have to find your own place to stay.”
“That’s it? No compensation?”
He hands me one of his pink flyers. “You can call university admin on here but it might be a few days before they find a place for you.”
“Ugh, that sucks.”
He shrugs. “Student life, am I right? You’ve got an hour before the building is roped off completely.”
He takes his flyers and sets off down the hallway.
Mumbling to myself, I take the stairs up to my room (which thankfully hasn’t been affected by the flooding yet) and find my small suitcase. Jane is out of town visiting her parents, so I’m on my own. I look down at the pink flyer which is breaking apart in my wet hands.
“Shit.”
What am I going to do?
I’m not broke anymore. I could stay at a hotel. Maybe somewhere with a good desk for studying. As I grab some clean clothes and notebooks, I see my Blades jersey. As I pick up my phone, another idea forms in the back of my mind. I know I shouldn’t even be entertaining that idea, and it goes against every rule in our contract, but I can’t help myself. Grabbing my phone, I text Logan.
***
With my small suitcase in hand, I make my way to Logan’s place. His place is located up in the hills. I’ve heard that the condos up there are expensive but I’m absolutely floored when I see them in person.
The square condo sits on the hill overlooking a sea of city lights. The condo itself looks like a futuristic castle up on the hill. A beautiful garden surrounds it and I’m sure it’s even more beautiful when it’s not raining.
I make my way inside the lobby area which is decorated with art and beautiful plants. I look around. There are two doors—one for the lower level apartment and one for the elevator. As I make my way toward the elevator, I hear an old voice.
“Are you a friend of Logan’s?”
I turn to see a wrinkled lady who barely stands taller than five feet.
I nod. “Yes. I’m Riley.”
“Oh, I’ve heard about you.” She winks at me.
“You have?”
She must read the papers.
“Yes. Logan talks about you.”
“He does?” I try not to sound so shocked, but I can’t help myself.
He talks about me?
“Oh, yes. I’m Madeline, by the way. Logan’s neighbor.”
“Nice to meet you, Madeline.”
“You know, he’s such a kind man. I’m glad he’s finally dating someone. He’s been so lonely since he moved here.”
He hasn’t had any women come by since he’s moved here? Interesting.
“Here.” Madeline shuffles toward the elevator. “Let me call the elevator for you.”
“Thank you.”
I make my way into the elevator and up to Logan’s apartment. As the elevator lurches up, I think about how surreal it is that I’m about to step into Logan Drake’s apartment. The doors open and I step inside.
The place is just as impressive as I was expecting it to be. The open concept kitchen and living room area is sleek and modern, straight out of a magazine. On the opposite wall is a large window looking out over the city. The view of the twinkling lights is absolutely breathtaking.
Unable to help myself, I peek around. Although I’ve been on three fake dates with Logan, this is the most intimate view of him that I’ve seen so far. I get to see the silver, black, and blue accents of his furniture and décor—Seattle Blades colors through and through. I’m surprised by his chic and modern style. Everything is much nicer and tidier than I expected.
To my right, I see the bedroom door open. I step inside and look at the king-sized bed, which looks insanely comfortable. Walking around his room, I see the large walk-in closet. I step inside. There’s a long rack where all his suits and old jerseys are hanging. I brush my hand over them, feeling the material of each one. His intoxicating masculine scent lingers throughout the closet.
Without caring to hold myself back, I lean into one of his suit jackets, bury my nose in the material, and inhale. It smells overwhelmingly like Logan.
“God, I have no shame. And no self-control.”
Leaving the closet before I do something dumb, I continue toward what has to be the master bathroom on the opposite side of the room. Curious to see what a millionaire’s bathroom looks like, I get closer to investigate. The door is almost closed and as I pull the door open, I see light and movement. The water is running. I freeze.
He’s already home.
Though I don’t mean to, I catch a glimpse of him in the glass shower. Through the steam, I see the curved muscles of his backside.
Oh my god! I swing the door shut. Heart racing in my chest, I step back through the bedroom and make my way out into the living room.
With my cheeks feeling like they’re on fire, I stifle my laughter.
Hoping that he didn’t notice me, I feign interest in the shelves around the large flat screen TV. The shelves are filled with gold trophies of all sizes. It’s no secret that Logan is amazing at hockey. Apparently, he needs constant reminding.
A framed photo is placed face down next to the television. I look around to make sure I’m alone before picking it up. It’s a picture of Logan and Harrison Cooper playing ball hockey on the street. They both look young, about nine or ten years old, and full of joy. It’s a rare glimpse into the history of two of hockey’s greatest players.
After I place the frame back down where I found it, my eyes drift to a framed photo hanging on the wall. Logan is about fifteen in this photo. He’s sitting on a couch with two guys and an older woman. They’re all smiling and laughing. Both guys are about the same age as Logan, the same size and build too. The woman is older but full of life. They all have those familiar dark eyes.
“My mother,” A deep voice says, causing me to jump.
I turn to face Logan. He’s wearing low-waisted jeans and a form-fitting black t-shirt. His towel-dried hair is wavy and looks like he’s run his hands through it a few times. I breathe in his clean masculine scent.
“She’s beautiful,” I say.
“She’s a good mom.”
“And those are your brothers?”
“Kevin and Mark. They’re older than me. I’ve always been the baby of the family.”
“You all look so similar.”
“Trust me, I’m cuter.”
“Are you sure?” I look back at the photo. “Because Mark is pretty cute.”
He smirks. “You like giving me a hard time, don’t you?”
I smile. “It makes life a bit more fun.”
He watches me with a keen eye that almost draws me in.
Regaining my composure, I look at the picture again. ”Where are your brothers now?”
“Kevin plays football in Florida. Mark is in law school in Chicago.”
“Living with two older brothers must’ve been fun.”
“We were pretty competitive. They have a few years on me, so I was always picked on.”
“I’m sure your mom was thrilled to have three sons.”
He laughs. “Thrilled isn’t the word she’d use. But she loves us. My dad left when we were young, so she raised us on her own.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. I never really knew him anyway.” He catches my eye. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“All sad and stuff. We’re a happy family. They’re my everything. Plus, my brothers and I are all doing pretty good for ourselves.”
I smile and look back at the picture. “Your mom must be happy that all three of you are very successful.”
“Well, we’re not successful until we give her lots of grandbabies. That’s what she wants.”
“Is that what you want?” The question escapes my lips before I realize what I’m asking.
“Maybe one day. I wouldn’t mind having a baby or two. We’d live in a big house. I could teach them how to skate, how to play hockey.’
I’m momentarily thrown off by his use of ‘we’.
“What about you?” He asks.
Although I never really thought about kids and spent most of my years thinking about my career, hearing Logan Drake talk about his dreams of having children makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
“A few kids would be nice,” I say. “You could teach them how to skate and I’ll teach them how to study.”
He smiles. “I meant, what’s your family like?”
“Oh.” My cheeks get real hot real quick. “My family is—” I’m about to say ‘boring’ but I realize how insensitive that would sound. If interesting means having a rocky past like Logan’s, then I’ll take boring any day of the week. “My family is small. It used to feel bigger when Aunt Mary was still with us but now it’s just me and my parents. They live in Portland.”
Logan watches me with a lingering stare. “They must be very proud of you.”
I smile. “They are.”
His gaze lingers and I feel the tension tightening between us. His brown eyes pull me in.
I clear my throat in an attempt to diffuse the mounting tension.
“What’s this?” I grab the frame that I know has the picture of him and Cooper in it. I pretend that I’m seeing it for the first time by pointing out how adorably cute he is and poking fun at his neon green knee-high socks.
“I meant to put that away” He grabs the frame out of my hands.
“Why? Don’t you think you two will make up eventually?”
“I don’t know.” He stares at the picture. “I want to.”
“Why don’t you reach out to him? If you want to be friends again, why not speed up the process?”
“I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck, giving me a nice view of his toned arms. “I’m not that kind of guy, you know?”
“What kind of guy are you?”
He drops his arm, causing the masculine scent of his deodorant to push out into the air around us. He looks at his trophies on the shelf nearby. “I’m a competitor,” he says.
“Competitors don’t make the first move to make up with their friends? Why not be competitive with friendship?”
He laughs gently. “Well, we’ll see. Do you always play therapist with your friends?”
I smirk. “So, we’re officially friends. Am I going to get my picture up on the wall any time soon?”
He smiles. “We’ve been friends since the beginning.”
“Maybe not right at the beginning. We had a pretty rocky start.”
He laughs. “That’s true. I think we’re doing okay now.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts. You’ll be sick of me in a few days.”
“Impossible. It’d take a lot for me to get sick of you.” He smirks and it stirs something inside me.
His masculine scent suddenly feels overwhelming. I break the eye contact between us and look around the living room, pretending I don’t notice that he’s still staring at me. “So where can I sleep? Does the couch turn into a bed?”
He points to the bedroom. “You can put your stuff in there.”
My heart squeezes. “You want me to stay in your bedroom?”
“Well, you can stay on the couch but it’s just a couch. I mean, it’s a pretty damn comfortable couch, but the bed is more comfortable. I know you need a good rest when you’re studying, so I figured you should take it.”
“But you also need good rest when you’re playing hockey.”
“True. I mean, we can sleep together if you like. The bed’s big enough for the two of us. It’s bigger than a king. Custom made.” He says this so nonchalantly that I accidently bite my tongue.
“Umm.” God knows I want to, but it’d be completely inappropriate. Our relationship is professional no matter how friendly, or flirty, we are with each other behind closed doors. I realize that my very pregnant pause is about to give birth. I need to give him an answer. Now. “You just have to suggest something completely inappropriate that goes against all the contract’s rules, didn’t you?”
He smirks. “I’m the bad boy sex maniac of hockey, aren’t I?”
I roll my eyes but I can’t help but smile.
“I’m surprised, Mr. Drake. I expected you to make fun of me for bringing up the contract, but instead you went the self-deprecating route.”
He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
“You really are. Honestly, I didn’t even expect your apartment to look this nice.”
“What were you expecting? Lego pieces all over the floor?”
“More like posters of half-naked women and empty condom wrappers.”
He grabs his chest as if his heart is breaking. “You’ve gotta give me more credit than that!”
“I mean, I do now,” I say as I look around at the minimalist decor and immaculately clean kitchen. “But I at least expected an Xbox.”
“Ask and you shall receive.” He opens a cabinet under the television to reveal his gaming station. “Do you play?”
“They have one in the student lounge. I play sometimes. It depends on what games you’ve got.”
“I’ll show you my collection and maybe we can battle after dinner.”
“Sure. But I warn you, I won’t make it easy on you.”
He laughs. “I didn’t expect you to talk such a big game.”
“I don’t just talk it.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, okay. I see how it is. How about I start preparing dinner so that I can make you eat your words.”
There’s something sexy about a guy who isn’t afraid to be competitive. My A-type personality is constantly looking for competition, but men often avoid me. Whether it’s because they don’t want to offend a woman, I don’t know. But Logan’s competitiveness is refreshing.
“Do you like lasagna? I know it’s a bit crazy for someone who only eats granola bars.”
I laugh. “You mean you’re not serving me bland protein shakes the entire time I’m here?”
“I want to see if you can handle some spice.” He gives me a devious glance.
“Oh, I can handle some spice.”
“Good.” He smirks. “Come join me in the kitchen. You can be my sous-chef.”
“Okay, but only if I don’t have to wear one of those weird chef hats.”
“I make no promises.” He gives me a handsome smile. He doesn’t even have to put effort in. He just has to look at me and I melt.
“I’ll put my stuff away and then I’ll come join you.” I grab my suitcase.
“Oh, by the way” he says, catching my attention. “Next time you catch me showering, just leave the door open a bit. I don’t like it getting too steamy in there.”
Oh god.
“Right. Sorry.”
My skin instantly feels hot as I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away, rushing into Logan’s room. As I close the door behind me, I collapse in embarrassment onto his bed.
