Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Camden
February
My schedule over the past couple weeks has been pretty relentless, consisting of hockey, class, naked-time with Logan, and minimal sleep, all on repeat.
Big emphasis on the naked-time portion, because my cock has been buried deep inside Logan so much, it’s a wonder neither of us have missed class—or practice, on my end—because of it.
The copious amount of sex is also the culprit for my lack of sleep, but Logan being up at all hours of the night to draw doesn’t help matters.
Granted, I could simply go to my own room, but I can’t help wanting to be close to him.
To wake up beside him, feeling his body glued to mine like he turned into cling wrap while unconscious.
I think that’s my favorite part of the day.
Christ.
I’m so down bad for Little Reed, I should probably be concerned.
I’ve never felt something like this before. It’s new and unfamiliar and…just fucking terrifying. Especially since we still haven’t defined things between us. At every turn, I’m waiting for him to change his mind, be it from something I do or say, or simply because no one ever really wants to stay.
But I do know one thing: I’ve never been happier, and I have zero intention of jeopardizing it by questioning the status quo.
“You good, Steele?”
I glance up from where I’ve been sitting on the bench in the locker room, supposedly getting ready for our home game tonight against Waylon University, to find Brody staring down at me.
From the confusion and hint of concern etched in his features—and the fact that I’m still in my street clothes—clearly all I actually managed to do was get lost in my own head.
“Peachier than a roadside fruit stand,” I tell him, and he lets out a sharp laugh.
“The shit that comes outta your mouth is exactly why goalies are labeled as the weirdos.”
“It’s also why you keep me around.”
His head bobs back and forth, lips pursed in thought before offering, “That, and you happen to have the best SV percentage in the league.”
I chuckle, noticing the heaviness on my chest lift slightly.
He does make a fair point, though. My good mood—and all the great sex—going into the second half of the season has been making me play amazing; to the point where I may have to put some stock into that superstition Quinton and Oakley had a couple years ago.
Or maybe sucking Reed dick gave me magic powers; like I’ve been deep-throating Excalibur or some shit.
Guess that’s a question for Quinton.
My lips twitch at the thought of how that conversation would go, and it’s enough to finally pull my mind away from Logan long enough to start dressing for the game.
Until I unzip my bag to grab my compression shirt, only to find a piece of paper, folded crisply in half, sitting on top.
One with my name on it, scrawled in Logan’s messy, distinct handwriting.
What the hell?
Plucking it from where it lay, I slowly unfold it, only to realize it’s a page from his sketchbook.
It’s sectioned out in different size rectangles for each scene, like a lot of his pages usually are, but after a second, I notice it’s none of the characters I’ve seen him draw before. In fact, they aren’t characters at all.
It’s me and him.
And each scene is a different moment we’ve shared.
Some are from New York, like me teaching him to ice skate, and the snowball fight in the park.
There’s one of us on the couch in the library, where I’ve abandoned my laptop to watch him draw instead.
Another is him in my hockey hoodie at the first game he attended, talking to me through the plexiglass.
He included us in his bed the night he let me see his sketchbook.
The terrace at the Grand Shoreline is the largest scene of them all, though. And the way he drew himself looking at me in the moment before we kissed?
It nearly takes my breath away.
The entire thing does, with the way each scene takes me back to the exact moment—to the emotions I felt in them all—as if they only happened seconds ago.
Warmth floods my chest, and my throat seizes when I try to swallow, overwhelmed by the emotions his gesture has brought out. Sure, he’s drawn little doodles for me before, usually in the margins of my notebook while we’re studying. But he’s never drawn something like this. He’s never drawn me.
Us.
“Way to make us single guys feel even more lonely today, Steele.”
I glance over to the source of the comment, finding Andrews looking down at the drawings now trembling between my fingers. He meets my gaze before jutting his chin at the paper I’m now folding in half again, knowing Logan would prefer his art to remain private.
“What do you mean?” I ask, while gently tucking the gift back into my bag.
“Uh, it’s Valentine’s Day?” Brody supplies. But then his eyes widen slightly, and he whispers, “Shit, don’t tell me you forgot.”
I didn’t forget today was February 14th, per se, but it definitely wasn’t at the forefront of my mind either. And I haven’t even seen Logan today; he was still asleep when I left this morning, and our class schedules don’t line up very well on Fridays.
I glance back at the paper, now tucked safely in my bag again.
When did he even have time to do this?
Brody claps me on the shoulder, pulling me from my reverie. “Just pick up a card or his favorite snack on the way home after the game. You’ll be fine.”
He clearly doesn’t understand the gravity of Logan’s gift. And why would he? Most artists showcase their work; want people to see it and talk about it. They want the recognition that comes with this kind of talent. But I’ve quickly come to understand Logan is far from most people.
“You’re not a night or two. Not to me.”
My eyes sink closed as his promise comes slamming back into my mind, front and center. Though, it’s usually not far from there in the first place. And every time he does something like this—takes off a piece of his armor and softens around the edges—I believe those words a little more.
I just wish there was some way for me to show him I feel the same.
That a night or two with him would never be enough when I want every night. Even if it’s spent with him sketching, pretending he’s annoyed when he catches me watching. Or with him staring at his laptop screen with an anime on instead of being naked and rolling around in the sheets.
Because this is so much more than sex for me. It always has been.
It’s about the space he’s created for me to be myself, not the person I’ve been pretending to be. The way he refuses to let me sit in my insecurities. How he gives me the safety to speak them in the first place.
Swallowing, I glance over at Brody, who has nearly finished dressing while I was living in my head again. An idea swirls in my mind. And though it may be stupid, there’s only one way to find out.
“Hey, Andrews? This is kinda random, but do you know anything about anime? Like what ones to start with or whatever?”
“Do I know anything about anime?” Brody echoes, grinning. “Find me and McGowan after the game. We’ll give you a crash course on what you need to know.”
Logan is looking at his phone when I exit the locker room after the game, sitting alone on the floor across the hallway from the door.
Guilt weighs on me when I spot him, hating that he had to wait even longer than normal thanks to Coach putting me on the post-game press conference.
Especially with the knowledge that I already made him spend Valentine’s Day watching hockey when he hates the sport.
But even with the extra time it took for me to get the hell out of there, I find myself pausing to watch him, unfiltered and unnoticed.
A few strands of his light-brown hair have fallen onto his forehead, and his teeth gnaw gently at his bottom lip, like they so often do when he’s focused on something. It’s usually drawing, though I’ve noticed it happens when he studies or is cooking too.
I smile when I realize he’s wearing a Leighton hockey jersey, one I know without looking is emblazoned with my name and number on the back.
It’s the same one I conveniently “lost” while we were away at Ransom last week, when in reality, I brought it home and hung it in my closet, hoping Logan might find it.
After washing it, of course.
And seeing as my evil genius plan worked, it gives me hope I might pull off what I’ve cooked up for tonight too.
The anticipation carries my feet forward, crossing the hall to him. My movement catches his attention a second before I reach him, and a little smile pulls at his lips as he pockets his phone.
“Hey. You ready?”
I nod, offering him a hand and hauling him to his feet. A quick glance around the corridor reveals we’re alone, and I frown.
“Did Lexi and Willow head home already?”
“No, it was just me tonight.” I must be wearing my confusion, because he lets out a soft chuckle before explaining, “Lexi flew to Texas this weekend to see Wyatt, and Willow…is on a date. A sleepover kind, apparently.”
This is a new development I hadn’t heard about. Then again, they are still Logan’s friends, so there’s no reason I’d be that looped into their social lives.
“So much for that self-imposed celibacy Willow was bragging about earlier this year.”
The statement has Logan laughing and holding up his hands in front of him. “Hey, you said it, not me.”
I laugh too while wrapping my arm around his shoulder and pulling him to me. He leans into me, his arms sliding around my waist for a quick hug, and I can’t fight the smile threatening to take over my face as I kiss the side of his head.
“Well, I’m glad you still came by yourself,” I murmur against his hair.
“Me too. Even if you did lose.”
I shrug while still holding him, not the least bit concerned about our loss tonight. With the streak we were on, it was bound to happen eventually—though, I am slightly disappointed by my magic dick theory.
“Losses are just part of the game. But at least I’m still going home a winner.”