Chapter 6
Chapter Six
LOGAN
I wake up to sunlight warming the edge of the bed and a dull, satisfied ache in every muscle I own.
For a second, I don’t move. I just breathe.
My body is wrecked in the best possible way. My chest is tight, my legs are sore, and there’s a lazy burn between my shoulder blades like I just played nine innings and then ran sprints for dessert.
And then there’s that other feeling.
The floaty one.
Like I dreamed something too good to be real. But now the sheets still smell like her and my hand instinctively reaches out.
“Cassie?”
My palm lands on nothing. Just mattress.
The space beside me is cool. Empty.
I sit up, heart thudding like maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she’s in the bathroom. Or ordering us waffles. Or standing by the window in one of my shirts like this is a fucking rom-com.
I rub my dry eyes, blinking them to refocus.
And no.
The room is too quiet, and her clothes are gone.
The toy bag we raided like horny thieves? Still here.
But Cassie?
She’s vanished without a trace.
No note. No number. No last name.
She told me that, I remind myself. One night only. No strings, no morning after.
Still, I didn’t believe her.
Not really, anyway. Not after the way she looked at me when I told her she was mine.
Not with the way she came apart under my hands like she’d been waiting for someone to wreck her just right.
Not with the way she laughed. Wild. Free. Like maybe I was the one getting ruined, not the other way around.
I thought…I thought…maybe…this could be something.
I run a hand down my face and exhale, dragging myself out of bed. My thighs groan, my back pops, and my dick—traitorous bastard—stirs at the memory of her mouth.
Focus, I tell myself. She’s gone.
I head to the bathroom, flick on the light, and start the water.
My reflection’s waiting. Hair tousled. Jaw bruised—probably from her teeth. Abs looking decent. Still got that v-line.
I flex.
Okay, I’m being ridiculous. She made it very clear up front that she wasn’t looking for anything serious.
I just didn’t think she was serious about that. Especially after a night like we had. Maybe I’m actually not as good in bed as I think? But that was…that was otherworldly. It wasn’t just about me. It was about the fire we created together.
“Get a grip,” I mutter, grabbing my toothbrush. “You had a fun night. A great time. You didn’t fall in love.”
Except I’m not sure that’s entirely true.
I spit out the toothpaste just as my phone buzzes across the bathroom counter. Jackson.
I tap it on speaker and rinse.
“Yo,” I say, wiping my mouth.
“You alive?” Jackson asks. “You sound like hell. I can hear it in your voice. Did you not sleep well last night?”
“Look,” I say, staring at my reflection. “It’s personal.”
“Oh God. You hooked up, didn’t you?”
I shrug, even though he can’t see me. Not sure if Jackson and I are best friends, but we’re definitely good friends, and he knows me too well. My voice is so scratchy, it’s obvious I had quite the night last night. “Define hooked up.”
“I thought you were turning over a new leaf. Waiting for marriage? Or at least, you know, the fifth date?”
“I was,” I say, brushing my hand through my hair. “But you should’ve seen this girl, man. We made out in the rain. It was…romantic as shit. And uh, yeah. We didn’t make it to date number five.”
Jackson groans. “Logan.”
“What?”
“Look, I’m not trying to pry into your personal business, but—”
“Great, because you’re doing a shitty job of not.”
“But you’re twenty-nine. You’re still in the minors.
You’re not exactly a promising prospect at this point in your career, especially if you’re not staying focused.
I’m trying to help you out this summer. Give you a place to stay, set you up to work on your hitting, your conditioning—hell, your head.
And if you’re gonna be out here fucking around—”
“I’m not fucking around,” I snap. “I’m never even going to see her again, okay? We made a pact. No last names. No numbers. She’s gone.”
He sighs. There’s a pause.
“Alright,” he says finally. “Well. Get some sleep. Get a workout in if you can. I’ll text you when I’m on the way to bring you back to Riverbend tomorrow.”
“Copy that.”
“Thanks for letting me crash with your sister, by the way.”
“It’s fine. She’s going through a breakup, anyway. She’ll appreciate having someone else in the house. Just…be cool, okay? Don’t be a menace.”
“I’m always cool.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I, though?”
“Logan, I have a good side. And you stay on it most of the time. I believe in helping people out. But I also know people. People who don’t think twice about helping me out.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, you know. If I need to murder you, for instance?”
I swallow. “Um, what?”
Jackson cracks up. “Logan, I’m joking, bro! Chill out. Anyway, looking forward to having you in Riverbend. I can’t wait.”
He hangs up, and I set the phone down, staring back into the mirror.
Cool. Right.
I’ve got a promising spring and summer coming.
So why do I feel like I just got hit by a pitch straight to the chest?
Why does her laugh keep replaying in my head? Why does the sight of that empty space beside me make my gut twist?
Of the few one-night stands I’ve had in my life, they’ve never been like this. I didn’t think twice about them once I walked out the door.
I blow out a breath, grab the towel, and try to shake it off.
Oh well. It was one night.
It was never supposed to be more.
I head back into the room from the bathroom to gather my stuff—shoes, phone charger, whatever dignity I have left, which isn’t a lot.
That’s when I see it.
Tucked half under the bed, right next to the toy bag we never zipped back up: a pair of panties.
Not just any panties. Her panties. Pale blue. Soft-looking. The kind with that little bow in front. Delicate.
I freeze.
For a second, I just stare at them. Like they might disappear if I blink too hard.
I reach down, slowly, and pick them up. They’re warm from the sun filtering through the window. Still smell faintly like her perfume. Or maybe that’s just in my head.
I glance at the toy bag next.
It’s a mess. Half-spilled, buzzing panty set and clamps and blindfold and hell knows what else.
I should toss it all. Burn it, maybe. Let it go like the night was supposed to be.
But instead—I grab the whole thing, shove the panties inside, zip it up tight, and stuff it into the bottom of my duffel bag.
A souvenir.
I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me.
Get a grip, I tell myself. You’ve got bigger things to focus on.
Jackson’s right. This summer is a shot I can’t afford to waste.
I finally got bumped from Double-A to Triple-A. It’s not the majors, but it’s one level closer. One step toward the call-up I’ve been chasing since I was nineteen. I’ve spent a decade sweating for it. Bleeding for it.
And I cannot fuck this up.
I take a deep breath, grab my keycard, and head down to the hotel’s workout room. Just need to sweat this ghost out of my system.
The gym is half empty—just a couple of treadmills, free weights, and a Bowflex machine that’s probably older than I am. I head for the dumbbells, pop my AirPods in, and start stretching out my shoulders.
That’s when I feel eyes on me.
I glance up.
A woman is standing by the water cooler—leggy, blonde, glossy like she stepped off the set of a pageant. Sparkly crop top, tight leggings, the whole vibe.
“Hey,” she says, tilting her head. “Do you happen to know what time it is?”
I glance down at my watch. Realize I forgot it. Shrug.
“No,” I say.
She smiles like I’m supposed to play along. I don’t.
“Oh…” she says, with a pouty little twist.
I nod politely, reaching for the 85-pound dumbbells. “Sorry. I have a girlfriend.”
She blinks again. “Oh.”
Then she walks off, glancing back once like she’s still confused.
I lower the weights slowly, heart hammering harder than it should.
Girlfriend?
What the hell was that?
I haven’t had a girlfriend in too long. I don’t even want one. Relationships get messy, complicated, and distracting.
And yet…
Her face flashes behind my eyes. That red lipstick. Those daisy dukes. The sound she made when I kissed her neck. The way she whispered wreck me like it meant something more.
I sit down on the bench, towel over my neck, staring at the floor.
I don’t get it. I don’t know why this girl—this one-night girl—has such a hold on me.
But damn it if I don’t already know…
I’m not done with her.
Not even close.
Only problem is, I have no idea how to find her.
I don’t have her number or her last name. Plus I have no clue where she’s even from. All I know is her first name. Cassie.
There has got to be a way to find her in the modern world.
So later that evening, as I lie back on this scratchy hotel bed, muscles aching and heart still beating way too fast, I close my eyes and whisper a little manifestation prayer.
Yeah, yeah—I know. You’re probably rolling your eyes.
But I got into this shit over the winter, and here I am—finally breaking out of Double-A ball and into Triple-A, one step closer to the majors.
So hey, universe…
If you’re listening?
Bring her back to me.
I’ll be ready. All I need is a shot. I’m the type to swing away.