Chapter 5
Chapter five
Take a hint, bud
Lulu
This guy’s funny. The kind that doesn’t try too hard and lets the punchline sneak up on you until you’re laughing so hard you almost spill salsa down your dress.
That’s my problem. I like guys like this.
“So,” Kieran says as we split the churros from the truck down the row, “Toronto, right? Born and raised?”
The picnic table beneath us rocks when someone shifts on the other side.
The lot is crowded with families balancing trays piled high, music thumping from a speaker bolted to a cart, the smell of grilled carne asada mixing with fried dough and cilantro.
It’s chaos, and definitely not the wine-bar energy I imagined when he texted: Let’s try this trendy new taco truck.
Still, he’s charming. Funny. Easy to talk to.
“Yeah. Came out here for school and ended up staying.”
“Canada, huh? Explains why you didn’t flinch when it dropped twenty degrees after sunset.”
I shrug. “This is basically spring to me.”
“I’ll give you that one.” He laughs. “So what do your parents do there?”
“My mom’s a nurse and my dad’s retired now, but he was a firefighter.”
His eyebrows lift. “Seriously? That’s badass.”
A smile tugs at my mouth despite myself. “Yeah. He saw a lot. My whole family did, by extension. It’s not an easy job to walk away from.”
“That makes sense.” Kieran shifts, resting his elbows on the table, seeming genuinely interested in what I’m saying. “That had to be intense as a kid.”
“It was.” My throat tightens, a memory flickering—the way my mom’s hands shook when the phone rang one night, the constant smell of smoke in my dad’s gear. “But he’s good now. He earned the break.”
“Bet he did.” Kieran’s smile softens, and for a second, I feel lighter. Seen. “Firefighter and a nurse, huh? Must’ve been a crazy house to grow up in.”
“It was,” I admit quietly. “But you get used to it. My brother and I had each other.”
“Older or younger?”
“Older. And yes, he’d tell you I was spoiled.”
He grins. “I knew it. Little sister energy all over you.”
I mock-gasp, shoving the last bit of churro toward him. “That’s not a thing.”
“It’s absolutely a thing.” His eyes spark as he swallows his mouthful. “So where’s he now? Still in Toronto?”
“Nope. Here. Lives nearby.”
He hums, like he’s connecting dots. “So he followed you out, or…?”
“Other way around. He got drafted here, and his girlfriend, Tamara, came with him, and I kinda tagged along later. Tamara used to get lonely when he was on the road, so I came out a few times to stay. Loved the city so much I transferred schools and finished my degree here.”
“That’s actually pretty sweet… So drafted, huh—he’s an athlete?”
“Yeah.”
“What sport?”
I hesitate, swirling my watered-down Paloma in its plastic cup, the grapefruit soda nearly flat now.
“Hockey.”
He whistles. “Now we’re talkin’. NHL?”
I nod, hoping he’ll leave it there.
Kieran laughs, delighted. “No kidding. That narrows it down. Denver’s Storm country.”
My stomach sinks as I glance off to the side.
He leans in, elbows braced on the table. “So your brother plays for the Colorado Storm?”
I should deflect, change the subject. But I’m in too damn deep already.
“Yup.”
He sits back, low laugh rumbling. “No shit. That’s insane. Your brother plays for one of the best teams in the league right now!”
I trace the condensation on the side of my cup. “Something like that.”
Kieran’s head tilts, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Who is he? Come on, don’t make me guess the whole roster.”
I open my mouth to brush it off, but realize at this point, it’s easier to just get this over and done with.
“Number twenty-two.”
He stills for half a heartbeat, then his grin splits wide. “No way. Parnell? Alternate captain, Elijah Parnell?”
My hand falls back into my lap as I nod.
“Holy shit. That’s wild. He’s a beast! One of the best forwards in the league right now. Jesus.” He shakes his head, laughing like this is the best coincidence of his life. “Man, you must have the best perks—season tickets, box seats, all that. I can’t believe you didn’t lead with that.”
The knot in my stomach pulls tighter.
“I don’t really go to games,” I say lightly, forcing a smile. It’s a lie, I go relatively frequently with the girls. “Not my thing.”
“Come on, you’ve got to be kidding. Front row seats? VIP? Locker room hangs?” He grins like we’re sharing some inside joke. “Hell, I’d kill to have a brother like that.”
The server drops the check onto the sticky surface of the table top. I reach for my bag, but he’s already sliding some cash across the table with a flourish. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got this.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“Seriously. Let me.” He waves me off, easy and insistent.
“Okay.” I smile again. “Thank you.” I slip my phone out of my bag, bringing up the taxi app. But when we stand, he’s already at my side, steering me toward the edge of the row with a hand at my elbow.
“I’ll drive you.”
“That’s sweet, but I can grab a ride—”
“It’s late. Safer if I take you.”
He grins encouragingly at me as we weave through plastic tables and metal chairs toward the parking lot, the crowd thinning out around us as the trucks start shutting down for the night.
His car smells like leather and cedar, polished clean but with a faint edge of something chemical beneath it. The music is a low, classic rock pulsing under the hum of the tires. Streetlights flash through the windshield, carving him into quick frames of light and shadow.
At first, he talks hockey. Stats, trades, a story about getting on the ice for a beer-league game and scoring on a goalie twice his size.
He tells it well, animated and grinning wide, and I laugh in the right places.
For a moment, it almost feels like the start of something, and I think maybe I didn’t waste my time swiping right this week.
But then he glances over at me.
“So, seriously. You don’t go to games? Not even playoffs?”
I shake my head, keeping the lie alive. “Not really.”
He laughs, incredulous, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “You’re killing me. If I had a brother like that, I’d be at every single one. Front row. Bragging rights for life.”
The words scrape. My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag, nails digging into the leather. I keep my eyes on the blur of city lights through the window.
“He brags enough for the both of us,” I murmur.
He chuckles, easy and unbothered, and keeps talking. The sound of his voice fills the car while my thoughts sink into the space between us, the easy charm from dinner thinning into something heavier.
By the time he pulls up in front of my house, I’ve already decided I should’ve taken the cab. I unbuckle fast, forcing brightness into my tone.
“Thanks for dinner!”
He’s out of the car before I’ve shut the door, circling around and falling into step beside me.
The air is cooler now, and my breath fogs faintly as we walk up the path.
The porch light hums overhead, buzzing a warning as if it can tell I don’t want him this close.
I slip the key between my fingers, teeth pointed outward, just in case.
“So,” he says, leaning casually against the doorframe, invading my space. The cedar cologne sharpens, pressing against my senses. “You’ll introduce me sometime, right? I bet Eli and I would hit it off.”
My body goes rigid as I feel the frown between my eyebrows. “It’s late, I should—”
“You’re right… nightcap?” Kieran reaches a hand out, tracing it up my arm and making my skin crawl.
“No, I don’t think that’s—”
“Come on. One more drink.” His smile curves, too smooth and confident as his hand grasps tighter on my upper arm. “We’ll talk hockey. You can give me all the inside stories—”
The slam of a door cuts him off.
Across the street, Logan steps off his porch. Hood up, Dusty’s leash looped tight in his fist. His stride is unhurried as he crosses the asphalt, but the air shifts around him, as though even the night knows better than to get in his way.
“She said good night.”
His voice isn’t loud, but it carries low and certain across the street.
Kieran startles beside me, then forces a laugh. “We’re just talking, man.” His gaze flicks over Logan, recognition sparking as his posture shifts. He smirks faintly, looking back at me. “Guess it makes sense, though. Another Storm guy on the scene.”
The words prickle against my skin, faint but sharp. I open my mouth to brush him off—
“Watch your mouth.”
Logan’s voice cuts in, low and dangerous.
Kieran lifts his hands in surrender, but he doesn’t move. “Relax, man. No harm meant. We were just about to head inside, grab a nightcap.”
Logan’s eyes don’t leave mine, cutting straight through the static buzzing under my skin. “Lu?”
The sound of my name in his mouth and the question hanging in the air send my pulse skidding. I shake my head in answer, throat dry.
Only then does Logan turn his head toward Kieran, jaw flexing as he takes him in. “Night’s over, bud. Take a hint. Go.”
The silence that follows feels heavy and stretched tight. Kieran mutters, shoves his hands in his pockets, and stalks back to his car. The engine revs, and tires squeal against the pavement as he speeds off.
I’m left standing on the porch, keys still clenched, breath shallow and uneven.
Logan doesn’t move from the bottom step.
He just waits, watching the red glow of taillights disappear into the dark.
His shadow stretches long across the pavement as he turns to me, tethering me there, holding me in place.
“You good?”
The words are simple, but they land heavy and knock the breath out of me.
“I’m fine.” My laugh scrapes thin. “Really. No need to go full bodyguard.”
He doesn’t blink. “If they don’t listen when you tell them no? Then yeah. I do.”
My smile falters, heat rushing up my neck until it blooms hot in my cheeks. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t soften, doesn’t give me the out I’m searching for.
The silence extends, and we stand there, caught in whatever the hell this is; my body betraying me. Every nerve ending awakens, every sense is attuned to him—the way his voice lingers in my bones, the set line of his shoulders, the fact that he came across the street at all.
God, this crush is out of hand.
I quickly raise my hand in farewell, then turn toward my door.
Logan exhales once, sharp through his nose. “If I ever—” He cuts off, jaw flexing and shaking his head.
I whirl back around. “If you ever what?” My voice is barely a whisper.
His eyes flare, roaming my face, something hot and dangerous flashing before it shutters off. “If I ever see another guy put his hands on you like that…”
He stops again, every muscle tight as if the words cost too much to let loose.
The air between us goes molten. Heat floods my skin again as he watches me—unblinking, unrelenting, daring me to call him on what he almost said.
After a beat, he jerks his chin toward the door. “Lock up, Lu.”
My throat works around a knot, the keys trembling in my hand. “Good night, Logan.”
He doesn’t answer, just waits, still as stone at the bottom of the porch, until I get through the door and the lock turns beneath my fingers.
Only then do I look through my peephole and see him move, retreating across the street with Dusty trotting at his side.
I press my forehead to the door, breath caught between a laugh and a gasp, my heart rioting against my ribs.
Because it’s not my botched date who’s making it race tonight.
It’s Logan.
And it’s him I can’t seem to stop wanting.