Chapter 4
Four
Camden
My study session with one of the team tutors goes by relatively quickly, and with him excelling at maintaining my focus, I don’t have any time to let my thoughts linger on whatever that scene at the house with Logan was about.
I’m too busy trying to make heads or tails of the material and the questions my tutor is asking me to have a wandering mind.
The second I get back home, on the other hand? All bets are off.
My mind reels as I open the front door, having no idea what I might be walking into. But to my surprise, the main floor is empty, the only light coming from the kitchen.
Making my way up the stairs, I notice there’s a faint glow coming from beneath Logan’s door when I pass by.
I have the briefest thought to stop and knock; maybe ask him what was up earlier.
But my wounds are still a bit raw from our last encounter, and I’m not really looking for a repeat.
So, despite my head wanting answers, I continue to my bedroom and open the door as quietly as I can manage.
Either I must not be quiet enough or Logan was waiting to hear me get home, because I’m halfway over the threshold when I hear his voice behind me.
“Camden?”
Pausing, I glance over my shoulder to find him peeking out the doorway of his own room. His face glows in the dim light coming from inside—likely from his computer—and it’s enough for me to catch the hint of wariness in his expression as he steps out into the hall.
“Hey, Little Reed.”
Logan glances over toward Bailey’s room, then back to me before asking, “You got a second?”
Nodding, I open my door wider, allowing him to enter before following him inside.
I track him as I let the door fall closed behind us, noting the way his gaze seems to skate around my bedroom, taking in the trophies displayed on my dresser, the textbooks stacked precariously on my desk, and the few articles of clothing tossed at my hamper in the corner that didn’t quite make it inside.
It’s only then I realize, apart from the whole dancing incident earlier this year, I don’t think Logan has ever been in here. I mean, why would he be in my room considering he doesn’t particularly like me?
He likes me enough to kiss me, apparently.
The errant thought snags in my mind, and I wonder if that’s what he wants to talk to me about. Odds are that’s the case, and for some reason, it leaves me a little unsettled.
Him telling Lexi and Willow we’re seeing each other doesn’t make sense, no matter how I try to slice it.
Yeah, they could’ve been teasing him about being single or something, but those are his best friends; he has no reason to lie about dating someone just to get them off his back.
The only other reason I can really think of why he’d do that is…
maybe he does like me more than I originally thought, and he’s trying to trick me into dating him.
That doesn’t seem right either, though. He didn’t so much as bat an eye when he saw my dick a couple months ago, and quite honestly, I didn’t even know he swung both ways until tonight.
Unless it was my dick that made him decide he did?
Fuck, trying to figure this out is giving me a headache.
I drop my bag on the desk chair and lean back against the wooden top, not really sure what to do with myself. The air feels…weird. Full of tension and uncertainty. Or maybe that’s just my own nerves talking.
There’s a beat or two of silence, enough to hear a pin drop, before I finally have to break it.
“So, uh…what’s up?”
Logan’s light brown gaze leaves the Leighton Hockey flag hanging on my wall—the one from winning the Frozen Four two years ago—shifting to me instantly.
His face gives nothing away as he gingerly sits down on the end of my bed, and that in itself causes even more nerves to bubble inside me.
Not that I’m ever able to get a read on the guy; he’s pretty much the human version of Fort Knox when it comes to his emotions.
“Mostly, I wanted to apologize for earlier. I’m sure it took you by surprise.”
“Uh, a little,” I admit as my brows draw together. “And not that it was a bad kiss or anything, but, um…where the hell did that come from?”
It’s not exactly the question I really want an answer to, but asking him why the hell did you tell your friends we’re dating? feels a bit too judgmental at the start of this conversation.
“Well, I changed my mind and decided to help you. With the whole situation you told me about this morning.”
What?
“You kissed me…to help me?” I ask, testing the theory aloud, though it doesn’t make any more sense when I do. “I know you think I’m an idiot, but I have no idea how that improves my grades.”
“That’s because it doesn’t,” he replies blandly, rolling his eyes. “Look, you’re kind of a train wreck right now between your classes and the video thing. So I can help you with your classwork, yeah. And as for your reputation…in my mind, it made sense that maybe we should just pretend to date.”
My brows shoot up. “You and me, pretend to date?”
Sure, it sort of explains why he told his friends that—though he could’ve at least let me in on the plan first. But if their initial reaction is anything to go off of, no one is gonna believe it.
As if reading my thoughts, he continues, “I know it may seem like a bit of a hard sell, but—”
“Uh, yeah. A little bit, considering you hate me,” I cut in, stating what I thought was obvious to us both.
Apparently not, from the way he sighs.
“Hate is a strong word.”
“But an accurate one, if this morning is anything to go off.”
His attention drops to the floor, his teeth sinking into his lower lip.
“Yeah, about that. It’s actually part of the reason I changed my mind.
” Lifting his gaze to meet mine again, he continues, “I feel bad about what I said. It’s no excuse, but I was having a shit morning, and you got the brunt of my frustrations.
So, I’d like to do this and hopefully make it up to you. ”
“Make it up to me,” I echo, the words coming out slowly. “By being my tutor slash fake boyfriend?”
“You’re the one who came to me for help with school.”
True, but that isn’t the part that’s confusing me. It’s the fake boyfriend part I’m not quite grasping, though I refuse to admit it aloud. The last thing I want is another verbal beatdown about how stupid I am.
“Okay, so help me with school. I can’t ask you to pretend to date me, though.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. There’s a difference.”
“Whatever the difference might be, it still isn’t necessary,” I counter, and he arches a brow.
“If it wasn’t necessary, then why are you worried about it affecting your prospects next year?”
Shit, he has a point.
My lips roll inward, and I nod a couple times.
“I mean, even if we did do this, how would it benefit my image? Lots of guys are in relationships and it doesn’t do anything to make them more desirable to NHL teams.”
“Yeah, but they aren’t dating a Reed,” he muses with a shrug.
“Whether I like it or not, I’m a descendant of hockey royalty.
Which might be annoying ninety-eight percent of the time, but in this case…
it may be useful. A good PR move for you to make people look past the video. Agents or teams or whatever.”
Tilting my head to the side, I murmur, “Louis did mention I need to clean up my image.”
“See?” he says, tossing a hand out toward me. “I might not know a lot about hockey, but Louis is like another uncle to me. He knows what he’s talking about.”
That he does, which is why I trust Louis implicitly, especially when it comes to this kind of thing. After all, Quinton’s reputation as hockey’s hotheaded bad boy stuck to him like superglue for his entire college career, and Louis still managed to get him the deal of a lifetime.
I run my hand over my face, part of my brain refusing to process the craziness I’m hearing. Because it is crazy. Downright insane, actually. Not to mention, I have no idea how to be someone’s boyfriend. Sure, I’ve seen all my friends do it, but I have zero experience in the department myself.
Part of me is tempted to get Louis on the phone right now and ask his opinion on this, but I don’t want to make Logan’s offer disappear by getting a second opinion. I mean, he’s offering himself up as the perfect solution to all my problems, and I’d be insane to not take it.
It just seems too good to be true.
“Look, I’m not trying to look a gift goat in the mouth, but—”
“Horse.”
I frown, his interruption completely derailing my train of thought. “What?”
“Look a gift horse in the mouth. That’s the saying.”
A little hum slips out, and I purse my lips briefly. “Yeah, I guess a horse would be a better gift than a goat. Like, there’s a reason little kids ask for ponies, right?”
“Uh, sure,” Logan says, his brows drawn together.
“Either way, I’m not trying to like…I don’t know…” I pause, struggling to find the words. “I appreciate the offer, but I still don’t understand why you’re willing to do this. I mean, is it really just because you feel bad about what happened earlier?”
Okay, maybe it does sound a little bit like I’m looking the livestock in the mouth.
And who came up with that expression anyway?
Logan stares at me for a second, his eyes scraping over my face, before he shakes his head.
“It’s ninety-eight percent selfless, but the other two percent of me thinks it would be nice to get my parents off my back.
They’ve been badgering me about actually ‘getting out’ and ‘experiencing college,’ so maybe if I’m dating someone and my friends corroborate the story, it’ll get them to chill out a bit. ”
I nod a few times, finally starting to understand the bigger picture in this whole scheme.