No Pucks (Gods Versus Monsters Hockey #1)

24. Logan

TWENTY-FOUR

LOGAN

H e gets out of a car and staggers a step, using a cane I don’t recognize to steady himself. He’s in pain but hiding it. Snow clings to his hair. It’s falling heavy, making it hard to see half a block. He’s lucky he found an Uber. I walked here and rang up more than once, figuring he’d fallen asleep. But here Anthony is, swaying as he takes small steps through the snow.

I push off the building and slip in beside him. “Need a hand?”

He glances over at me. “How long have you been here?”

“About ten minutes.” Probably twenty, but I don’t want to tell him how long I’ve been waiting. It feels pathetic. “How drunk are you?”

“Pretty hammered.” He sways again, and I hold out a hand behind him.

I don’t want him to feel like I think he needs help because of his injury or that I’d ever step in without asking. Should I ask? I don’t want to make him feel like shit. “It’s pretty fucking slippery, and if you’re drunk…” I offer my arm.

He glances at it, then takes it. “Thanks.”

“You in a lot of pain?”

“No, it’s not bad today. But my best friend is tired of me not using one of these, so she brought it for me. I didn’t mean to drink as much as I did, but it was a weird night.” He doesn’t give me any weight, but I steady him.

“Weird how?” I grab the door, holding it open. We both wipe our feet on the mat.

“I don’t even think I can explain to you how weird it is. But I will once we get upstairs.” He fixes me with an intense stare.

“What’s that look for?” I hit the elevator button and the doors slide back.

We step inside and he pushes the button to his floor.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Anthony says making my chest tight.

“I told you I would be.” I can’t figure out if he’s just drunk or if there’s something he’s not telling me. Is he going to break up with me? That can’t be it. I see the way he looks at me.

He unlocks his door and lets me walk in first, but I don’t get far. He grabs me, crushing his mouth to mine, pinning me against the wall.

I groan into his mouth. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Enthusiastic, I like, but this is more.” I slip my hand around the back of his neck, keeping him close.

He kisses me deeper than he has ever kissed me. This is different, and I want to know why.

“Let’s go to bed,” I say when he lets me get a breath in.

Reluctantly, Anthony backs off, leaning on the cane. “I guess.”

He watches as I strip and lift my brows questioningly, but he doesn’t give me an answer. When I slip into bed, he pulls me close but doesn’t kiss me. He holds me into his chest.

“You have a brush with death in that cab ride home?” I say into his pec.

“No. Just a long night. How was yours?”

“It was good. Wolfe threw a rager. He wanted to make sure all his adoptees got laid.”

Anthony pulls back abruptly, his features darkening. “Did you have fun?” He doesn’t mean fun.

“Are you jealous?”

“Why aren’t you answering?” He puts more space between us, and I feel him closing off.

“You’re fucking jealous.” And my cock is not mad. I’m hard as fuck.

“I’m nothing. I want an answer,” he says through a growl.

I grab his wrist, pulling it to my dick. “Not how I thought I’d react to jealousy, but I’ll go with it.”

He locks eyes like he can pull an answer out of me with his will alone. “Do I have something to be jealous over?”

“If you want to call a girl trying to climb in my lap but me rejecting her a reason to be jealous.”

He growls, and my cock throbs. “Why would she think she can climb into your lap?”

“I think she did it as a last ditch effort to get my attention. But I got up and dumped her off. I’m not a fan of blondes.” I pull his dark hair playfully.

He doesn’t relent, but he doesn’t speak, either.

“What do you want to say?” I take his hand off my dick, since he doesn’t seem to be into it.

He stays quiet for a long time.

I roll on my back. “You’ve got to use your damn words. I didn’t hook up with anyone at that party. I didn’t touch anyone except for that girl shooting her shot.”

“I know I don’t get to care.” His voice carries hesitation.

“Why do you think you don’t get to care?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter.” Has this man seriously never had a frank conversation?

I want to laugh, but it might spook him. “It does matter, and you know we can talk. You can tell me how you feel and be honest about what’s going on with you.”

“Can I? I don’t think you do that with something like this.” He still won’t look at me.

“Something like what?” I ask.

“Whatever it is a guy your age seeks out from one of mine.”

“The fuck? You know, even if this was casual, you know you still get feelings right?” There’s no way I’m letting him off the hook without talking it out. “Just because your generation never went to therapy doesn’t mean you can’t learn to talk about your feelings.”

“Sorry I’m not an iPad baby and didn’t learn about my feelings on Bluey.”

“You should be, and we’re talking about this.” I shove up, hooking my knee over his hips to sit on him.

Anthony narrows his eyes. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me what’s going on with your drunk, emotional ass.”

He pushes the heels of his hands in to his eyes. “Fuck.”

I wait for him to come out with it.

“I didn’t like the idea of you hooking up with someone else.”

“I don’t want to hook up with someone else.” I hadn’t thought it out, but the want just hasn’t been there. “I haven’t thought about anyone. I told you that.”

“I don’t know if that is a temporary thing.” He still isn’t looking at me.

“Do you want it to be more?” I ask, wondering how far I can push this before I scare him off or make him shut down.

“Yes.” He glances up. “And I understand if that’s not what you’re looking for at your age.”

“Good job using your words.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me,” he says through his teeth.

I laugh, laying over him. “I don’t want to see anyone else, and I’d prefer you’re only like this with me.”

“How are you so good at this?” He rolls us to our sides, wrapping around me again.

“Good at what?” I rub our noses together.

“Communication. Better than me.”

“Therapy and practice. Maybe some Bluey.” I wink—I have to give him a hard time. “You should try it.”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe. You’re making me work on hockey. You should put in some work too.” I yawn.

“I hope you’re not too drunk, or we’re both going to be miserable at your extra practice tomorrow.”

“You really still making me do that? You’re going to be hungover as shit.” I let him pull me back into his chest.

“Damn right, I am, and you’re going to love every minute of it.”

“I’m not sure if I should be hard or scared.”

“Both.”