The Risk Taker (Colton U Playbook #3)

Chapter 1 Logan

LOGAN

Something’s off. I don’t know what yet, but I feel it before I even open my eyes.

I blink slowly, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the light bleeding in from somewhere across the room, pieces of last night coming back to me as the taste of cheap tequila lingers on my dry tongue.

Listen… It sounded good at the time. Getting wasted at a bar and going home with a hot-as-fuck girl? Hell yes. But now, waking up with my skull feeling like it’s been tossed into a blender and hit with the chop setting… it’s agony.

I groan and sink deeper into the pillow, wondering if I can get away with not moving for, I don’t know… the next twelve hours.

That dream dies fast, because I quickly realize my arm is draped over something warm and soft, and when my fingers twitch, they brush against something firmer. Round. Smooth. With a small, tight peak in the middle.

Well… That’s definitely a nipple.

One eye cracks open, confirming what I already know. I’m not alone. And this isn’t my room.

There’s a girl curled up beside me, her dark hair spilling across the pillow and my arm. One bare leg sticks out, and the unmistakable dark blue of a Midnight Wolves hockey jersey hangs off her shoulder. One leg is wrapped in the sheets while the other is bent against the mattress, completely bare.

I glance down, see my phone on the floor, and lean over to grab it, squinting at the screen. There are a ton of missed calls stacked up, and when I finally focus on the clock I see it’s 6:21 a.m.

“Shit.” I sit up fast, instantly regretting it when the room starts to tilt. My head’s pounding hard enough to make me see spots. I press a hand over my face, willing the world to stop spinning.

I’m late as fuck for practice.

Coach is going to murder me, and Nathan will be right there beside him, silently judging me with that look he does. He might not be captain, but he might as well be with how bossy and broody he gets.

I swing my legs off the bed and start shoving on my jeans, still watching the clock.

“Wait. Where are you going?” a sleepy voice croaks from under the covers.

Fuck. Busted.

I glance back. She’s still half-buried in the sheets, her cheek pressed to the pillow, her eyes barely open.

“Practice,” I mutter, scanning the floor for socks.

She shifts, rolling onto her back with a stretch and a soft yawn. “Mmm. Last night was so fun.”

I don’t answer. Partly because I’m hopping around trying to get a sock on without falling over, and partly because I don’t really know what to say.

Was it fun? Maybe. I don’t remember enough to be sure.

She watches me with a lazy smile. “Did you have fun?” she asks with a sultry tone to her voice.

“Yeah,” I say, even as glitter drifts off my jacket and rains across the floor. “Sure.”

Glitter. Fucking glitter. The herpes of craft supplies. It never dies. It clings to skin, clothes, my soul. I’ll still be finding this shit next week no matter how many showers I take.

It’s fine. I’m fine. I just need to get the hell out of here before Ryan starts flooding my phone with passive-aggressive reminders about being late. Again.

I grab my hoodie and make for the door, stepping around a minefield of heels.

“Call me,” she says behind me, playing with the hem of her jersey. The hopeful curve of her mouth makes something twist in my gut.

I freeze for half a second because I don’t even know her name, let alone have her number.

But my phone buzzes again—Ryan, obviously—and panic wins out. “Yeah,” I lie, forcing a grin. “Will do.”

I’m out before she can say anything else, my sneakers in one hand and my phone in the other.

The hallway outside is still dim and reeks of beer, which doesn’t help the pounding feeling in my head. I shove my hoodie on and it sticks to my back, and somehow there’s even more glitter. I swipe at my sleeve, which only makes it worse.

I take the stairs two at a time, my stomach flipping with every step. I look like shit. Feel even worse.

And then the door swings open, and the sunlight hits me square in the face.

Perfect.

I squint against the sun and pull the hood over my head, like that’ll do anything. It doesn’t, though. Everything’s too bright, too loud, too much. My head’s pounding, my eyes sting, and my mouth feels like sandpaper.

Campus is quiet, which makes sense. It’s early as hell, and normal people are still asleep. The only things awake right now are birds and shit.

Two girls in yoga pants pass by, giving me once-overs.

I manage a grin. “Morning, ladies.”

They blush, and for half a second, I feel like less of a disaster. Yep. Still got it.

By the time I reach the rink, my legs feel like concrete, and if I’m honest, I’m probably still a little drunk. I stop at the double doors, drag in one long breath, and push inside.

And there he is.

Ryan.

Leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting specifically to be disappointed. Arms crossed, towel slung around his neck, that look on his face like I’m the bane of his existence.

“Seriously?” he says, ripping the towel off and tossing it at me. “You’re late again?”

I catch it and throw it right back. “What can I say? I like to make an entrance.”

He gives me a slow once-over. “You smell like a bar floor.”

“Feel like one too.” I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, and immediately regret it.

Ryan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. The guy should invest in Advil if he’s going to keep being friends with me. “I don’t even want to know.”

“Perfect,” I say. “Because I don’t remember.”

He shakes his head. “You good to skate?”

I stretch out one arm, then the other. “Sure,” I say with a shrug. A little hangover never stopped me before.

He squints, not buying it. Can’t blame him—I don’t buy it either. “If you puke on the ice, you’re cleaning it yourself.”

A laugh slips out. “Fair enough.”

I push open the locker room doors and spot the guys already suited up.

“Fucking finally,” Austin says. “Where the hell have you been?”

I start to answer, but I kind of get distracted when my eyes find Nathan.

He’s across the room, his helmet tucked under one arm, the rest of his gear already on like the responsible, broody bastard he is. He doesn’t say anything, just watches me, his expression flat, like I’m something he scraped off his skate blade.

I lift a brow. “Morning, Hayes.”

“Nice of you to join us,” he says, not even pretending to sound impressed.

I click my tongue, leaning back against the wall with a grin. “Miss me, did you?”

His eyes narrow before he turns his back. I can’t help the quiet laugh that slips out. God, he’s fun to piss off. The guy’s a human brick wall—silent, stubborn. Which, of course, just makes me want to push harder.

Austin stands, grabbing his stick and nudging my elbow. “You look like shit,” he says. “Who’s the lucky lady this time?” He pauses, smirking. “Or guy?”

I tug my hoodie off and shrug. “I have a vague memory of her saying she did gymnastics.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Or maybe she just liked gymnastics. Either way, she was flexible. Other than that… I couldn’t tell you her name even if I wanted to.”

Austin barks out a laugh and shoves me away. Once upon a time, he’d have been right there with me. Now he’s gone soft. Domesticated. The kind of guy who used to do body shots off strangers and now spends Friday nights watching baking shows with his girlfriend.

He’s happy.

And it’s gross.

“Figures,” Nathan mutters, his voice flat enough to make me grin.

I catch the flick of his eyes my way and tilt my head, a smirk tugging at my lips. He’s hot—infuriating, uptight, stick permanently up his ass—but still, hot.

And maybe I poke at him more than I should. Maybe I like the way his jaw clenches when I flirt too easily, or how he immediately looks away whenever I stretch during practice.

Being bi doesn’t mean I want every guy in the room. But I’d have to be dead not to notice the goalie with the ridiculous hands and the arms that make half the girls in the stands lose focus. Nathan Hayes is annoyingly nice to look at.

The door bangs open, and Coach Hayes storms in, whistle already blaring. “Warm-ups in five. Austin, turn that goddamn music down.”

“C’mon, Coach. It hypes everyone up,” Austin says.

“It definitely doesn’t,” Nathan deadpans.

Cole, in the corner, doesn’t even look up from taping his stick. “Makes me want to choke you.”

Typical Cole. Man of few words… all of them insults.

Ryan just shrugs. “Eh. I don’t mind it.”

Austin claps him on the back. “Knew I liked you, Reed.”

Ryan flicks his hand away. “Yeah, yeah. Move your ass. And you—” His eyes find me. “Get your gear on. Now.”

I roll my eyes and crack open my locker… only to freeze.

What’s inside isn’t my gear. Not even close. The pads are kid-sized, the gloves look stolen from a toddler, and the skates—Christ—the skates look like they belong to Shaq.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I hold up the jersey. It barely hits mid-ribcage. “What the actual fuck?”

Behind me, a wheezing noise starts up and I turn just in time to see Austin doubled over, laughing so hard he nearly falls off the bench.

“Oh, shit,” he gasps out between cackles. “I forgot we did that.”

Ryan doesn’t even bother pretending to be innocent. He’s leaning against the boards, arms crossed, smirking like a smug little gremlin. “Serves you right for showing up late again.”

I toss the baby-sized shoulder pads back into the locker with a groan. “I’m not a fucking rookie anymore. Hazing was one thing freshman year, but two years in?” I lift a brow. “Come on. I’ve suffered enough.”

Austin slaps his knee, laughing. “You’ll always be a rookie to us, Gray.”

I narrow my eyes. “Where’s my real gear?”

The rookies all glance at each other, then suddenly get very busy tying their skates. Ryan and Austin exchange a look that screams guilty. Cole doesn’t even glance up—he’s in his stall, taping his stick.

Which leaves… Nathan.

He’s sitting on the bench, head down, lacing his skates like he’s not listening. But when I look closer… there it is. The smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Like he’s trying not to smile. And failing.

I step toward him until I’m standing right in front of him. “You in on this?”

He lifts his eyes and his lips twitch again. “And if I was?”

God, that smirk should be illegal. Still, I can’t stop my own grin from spreading. “Oh, Hayes. You really don’t want to play with me.”

He shrugs, pretending not to care, but I don’t miss the way his fingers tighten around his laces.

“Where’s my gear?” I ask again.

“No idea,” he says with a shrug.

Up close, he smells like mint and detergent and something else I can’t quite place. He’s so clean. So composed. It’s almost annoying how put-together he always is. Makes me want to shake him, just to see what happens when he stops keeping it together.

“You’re a terrible liar,” I murmur.

His cheeks turn faintly pink. Delicious. I want to sink my teeth in and bite them like apples.

I snap myself out of it—because, Jesus, this is Nathan Hayes. Coach’s kid. Hockey robot. Guy who barely tolerates my existence.

“You gonna tell me where it is?” I ask him with an arched brow.

He clears his throat and averts his gaze. “Showers.”

Groans erupt behind me, but I’m already grinning as I step back.

I glance over my shoulder just in time to see Austin throw his head back. “Dude, you ruined it,” he groans, narrowing his eyes at Nathan. “We had him!”

Ryan shakes his head. “Can’t believe you sold us out.”

I throw my hands up. “You know what? You all suck. Pick on the actual rookies for once. I’ve done my time.”

“Yeah,” Austin says, sliding off the bench and slinging an arm around my shoulders. “But you’re our favorite. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

I glare at him. “What am I, the team mascot?”

“Basically.” He grins, ruffling my hair. “You’re like a golden retriever puppy. Everybody loves you, but we also have to keep you in line so you don’t piss on the carpet.”

Cole snorts from the corner, still focused on his laces. “More like a Chihuahua. Loud, annoying, and shits everywhere.”

I twist toward him, scowling. “Fuck you very much, Cole.”

He pops his gum, not even looking up. Typical.

Ryan’s trying to look unimpressed, but I catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes as he leans one hip against the boards. Captain or not, even he thinks this is funny.

“Consequences, Gray,” he says, shrugging. “You were late.”

I hold up the kid-sized jersey between two fingers. “Consequences like my dick being suffocated in shorts meant for an eight-year-old? Yeah, thanks, Captain. Real leadership.”

Austin howls, nearly tipping us both over with how hard he’s laughing. “Oh man, I almost wish we’d let you try it on. That visual would’ve been burned into my brain forever.”

“Burned into your spank bank, you mean.”

He winks. “Oh, how well you know me.”

From the other bench, Nathan mutters, “Jesus. Get a room.”

That grin hits before I can stop it. I swivel toward him, smirk loaded. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

His glare sharpens. Which, of course, just eggs me on.

I take a step closer, keeping my eyes locked on his. “Next time, if you want to see my dick, just say that.”

The room erupts into laughter. Nathan, though? He doesn’t crack. Just stares me down with that flat, unamused look of his. “I’m good. Thanks,” he says, voice clipped.

I toss him a wink, dropping the too-small jersey back on the bench. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

I head toward the showers to find my real gear.

Behind me, he shakes his head and places the helmet on his head, his cheeks a little pinker than before. Not that anyone else notices.

But I do.

I always do.

And I know it shouldn’t make me grin all the way to the showers… but it does.