Chapter 14
Fourteen
Logan
Oddly enough, my parents didn’t even question it when I asked to get Camden a ticket to New York, though I assume that has everything to do with making sure I’m not a grumpy asshole the entire trip. Small mercies, I guess.
The flight into La Guardia itself is quick and relatively painless, mostly because I make sure Camden and I sit as far from Dad as possible; my attempt at keeping the hockey talk to a minimum.
Which works right up until we take the escalator down to baggage claim, finding my brother and Quinton waiting for us.
“There’s the top scorer in the league!” Dad calls out, taking long strides toward the two of them, not stopping until he’s wrapped Quinton in for a quick hug. “Oh, and hi, son. Good to see you too.”
Oakley scoffs, but he’s smiling when he says, “Never in a million years did I think you’d become my father’s favorite.”
“And I’m not even his kid,” Quinton teases lightly.
A bitter comment sits on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down, knowing it’s far too early to start.
I don’t miss the way Camden’s gaze finds me after the exchange, though, his features softening with sympathy ever so slightly.
But I don’t want his pity, so I roll my eyes and mouth “so it begins,” which thankfully has him cracking a smile.
Once everyone gets their hugs and hellos in—with Oakley making sure to rib Camden about dating his little brother—the six of us head to where their Navigator is parked in the short-term lot.
Our flight landing at an odd time of day makes the drive into Manhattan shorter than normal, but it still takes a good forty minutes to go ten-ish miles.
And while forty minutes might not seem like a long time, it feels like a goddamn eternity when three people in the car only care to talk about hat-tricks and shots on goal.
All that to say, by the time we’re ascending in the elevator to my brother’s place overlooking Washington Square Park, I’m like a caged animal gnawing at the bars of my enclosure to get the fuck out.
Their apartment looks the same as last year—same floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, and clean, modern lines throughout the whole place.
The only thing seemingly different is the Christmas tree near the glass fireplace, Oakley clearly having gone out of his way to bring in a bit of holiday cheer for Mom’s benefit.
Quinton quickly shows Mom and Dad to their room, taking their bags despite Dad’s protest on handling it himself. Meanwhile, my brother is left with Camden and me, the three of us awkwardly standing in the space between their living room and kitchen.
“Nice place,” Camden notes, breaking the silence.
Oakley nods before motioning down the hall. “Thanks, man. The two of you are just down there on the right. It’s the same one you stayed in last year.”
His attention shifts from Camden to me on the last sentence, his expression giving absolutely nothing away.
Me, on the other hand? Well, it takes all my willpower to keep my expression neutral as he stares at me, especially after a little jolt of panic shoots me straight in the stomach.
Because the room I slept in last year only has a queen bed.
I definitely didn’t think this part through.
It’s not like I can argue to have separate sleeping arrangements when we’re meant to be in a relationship. Which means sharing a room—and a bed—all week. Oh, and with my entire family just down the hall as an added bonus.
What could possibly go wrong?
“Great, thanks” is all I can say in response. “Towels still in the closet?”
“Yeah, you can show Cam where they are,” Oakley says while checking his watch. “But a shower’s gonna have to wait. I got a dinner reservation at this rooftop place Quinn and I love, and we’re gonna be late if we don’t leave in ten.”
“No sweat,” Cam says while grabbing both our bags. His attention slides from my brother to me, and he motions for me to lead the way.
As we head to our room for the week, I do my best to tamp down the panic still causing my stomach to seize—panic feeling eerily similar to nerves rather than irritation. Which isn’t a super new occurrence, though the reason for it leaves much to be desired.
It’s fine. It’s just a week, and it’s only for sleeping.
Camden drops his bag in the corner near the closet, seemingly unperturbed by the situation when he says, “I’m gonna change real quick before we go.”
“Uh, yeah. Okay,” I reply, managing to pull my attention away from the too-small bed and over to him.
For some reason, I expect him to head to the bathroom down the hall. Yet, to my surprise, he peels off his shirt right in front of me before his hands deftly slide his sweats to the floor.
I don’t know why I’m shocked by it; he’s not one for modesty. And also, there’s the little fact that I’ve not only seen him completely naked during his little mating dance, but I’ve actually undressed him myself after that Kappa Sig party.
All that said, he probably doesn’t give a shit that he’s wearing nothing but a tight-fitting pair of boxer briefs in front of me. And, honestly, I shouldn’t either. His partial nudity shouldn’t even faze me considering how much of him I’ve seen before this.
It definitely shouldn’t be making me feel this…attraction.
And why am I having such a hard time admitting that’s exactly what this is, even just to myself?
Deep down, I know it’s because I’m not supposed to be attracted to him.
Wasn’t that half the reason Camden was the perfect option for this scheme in the first place?
Because I felt nothing but irritated and annoyed by his presence?
That was before I got to know him, though. Before I got to see the person beneath the cocky, care-free persona, finding someone with more depth and kindness than I ever imagined.
Swallowing roughly, I turn away and make a show of plugging my charger into the wall while he changes, wishing like hell the fire burning through my stomach would ease up before it boils my intestines.
“So what are we doing first? I assume you have an itinerary for us,” he asks, providing a much-needed distraction from my errant thoughts.
“Itineraries are all Oakley and my mother, actually. But I’d love to hit a museum at some point.”
“Well, we can go to the Museum of Sex.”
My body goes rigid, and I quickly glance at him over my shoulder. He’s looking at his phone—still half-naked, but at least he’s wearing a pair of jeans now. Unfortunately, the addition of pants doesn’t stop my eyes from greedily devouring the tanned expanses of his arms, chest, and torso.
His gaze lifts, a thousand percent catching me gawking at him, but he just asks, “Is that good with you?”
Jesus Christ, get a grip, Logan.
It takes me a second to remember what he was talking about, only for the heat in my stomach to spread to my face.
I have no clue what could possibly be on display at the Museum of Sex, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not a good idea to find out.
Especially considering the attraction I’ve begun to feel for him, regardless of his state of dress.
“Um. I was thinking more of an art museum,” I reply, now busying myself with finding a place for my bag that’s out of the way. Literally anything to keep my attention away from him while he’s shirtless and talking about sex.
“Sex is art if you do it right.”
God fucking hates me.
A nervous laugh slips out. “Fair, but—”
“Oh shit!” he exclaims, cutting me off. “They even have this game; it looks kinda like Whack-A-Mole, but with dildos and gloryholes instead.”
I blink a couple times, doing my best to process what the hell he’s talking about.
Unfortunately for me, he’s already at my side, offering his phone to me with a video pulled up.
Despite my better judgment, I take it and watch random strangers grabbing dildos that pop through a wall, my face heating with every passing second.
Not because of the game itself, but because now my mind is thinking about Camden’s quick hands grabbing a bunch of dildos.
Which should be funny more than anything else, except it’s a very easy jump from imagining him jacking off a sex toy during a game to picturing his palm wrapped around my—
Clearing my throat, I quickly reroute my thoughts and hand the phone back to him with a grimace.
“I…uh… As fun as that looks, I, uh, don’t…really think that’s my scene,” I tell him, stumbling my way through the sentence. “But you’re welcome to go do that if you really want to. I’m sure Quinton and Oakley would go during their free time.”
Camden’s face splits with a smile as he pockets his phone. “I’m just fucking with you, Little Reed. No Museum of Sex.”
“Then why did you offer to go see it?”
He shrugs. “It’s fun to make you blush.”
“Glad I can amuse you,” I grumble, though I have to admit, I’m relieved he doesn’t actually want to go. “Outside of the Museum of Sex, is there anything else you’d want to see?”
“We can do whatever; you lead the way,” he responds while offering another shrug.
The funniest part is, I think he really means it.
He’s quite content just being along for the ride and acting as a buffer with my dad and brother when needed.
And it’s a strange, unsettling thing, to have him at my beck and call while we’re here.
Happy to do whatever I want, whenever I want, and not have much of an opinion on the matter.
Needless to say, I’m beginning to understand why, when this whole deal was made, he was concerned about taking more than he gave.
It’s exactly how I feel right now.
His sincerity, proximity, and state of undress have all become too much, overriding my nervous system to the point where I have to look away.
He doesn’t let me, though, his fingers tipping my chin up so I’m forced to meet his gaze.
The contact of his skin against mine has the words dying in my throat, and it’s like electricity is zapping between us in a current so strong, I swear it’s magnetic.
It’s been happening more lately, and it’s driving me crazy, the way my body reacts to his touch. The way it seems to want it.
More than that, it’s become harder to ignore or write off as a fluke or happenstance. Especially now that I have a completely different reaction to seeing him half-naked.
“Well, I can choose stuff for us to do, but I want you to enjoy yourself too, so—”
“Will you just relax and try to have fun this week?” he asks gently, his thumb moving along my jaw. “I promise you, I don’t care what we do. I’m here for you, remember?”
My throat catches, and all I can really manage to utter is a gruff “okay.”
A smile pulls at his lips, and he whispers, “Look at that. You do know how to listen to someone other than yourself.”
“Well, I—”
There’s a knock at the open door, and the sound has me nearly jumping out of my skin, effectively breaking whatever moment was happening.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” my brother states, his gaze quickly shifting away from us. “I was just checking if you two are ready. We gotta get going if we’re gonna make our reservation.”
Right. Fuck.
I clear my throat and step back, putting some necessary space between myself and Camden, whose lack of shirt I’m sure looks to be causing Oakley as much discomfort as it is me.
“Yeah, we’ll be right there.”
Oakley nods before ducking out of the room, but I sure as hell don’t miss the puzzled expression pulling his features into a frown.
“Good to go?” Camden asks.
The question draws my gaze back to him, only to find him wearing a gray hoodie with his denim jacket over top—a look I’ve come to notice is his signature. Not that I should be noticing those things about him. Or any things.
Jesus Christ, why does it matter? At least he’s wearing a shirt again.
Painting on a smile, I say, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“All right,” he replies with a smirk. “Then it’s showtime, Little Reed.”