Chapter 14 Todd
FOURTEEN
TODD
I stare at the screen like it’s gonna blink first.
Just silence.
I scroll up, rereading the last few exchanges like some sad, desperate asshole. It wasn’t just dirty talk. Not really. There was…something under it. A pulse. A pull. A promise that if I gave in, I wouldn’t regret it.
And I didn’t. Not even for a second.
Not Friday night and everything that happened between us, or even finding out he wasn’t some random stranger on the other side of the app.
Not when I dropped to my knees in the shower and took him into my mouth like I’d been starving for it.
Not when he came apart for me—because of me.
And definitely not afterward, when the high faded and I walked out feeling like maybe this secret thing we were doing could actually work.
But since then, it’s like someone flipped a switch.
No more teasing in the locker room. No more winks from across the rink. No more biting comments with heat behind them. Our one-on-one drills have been just that—drills. Professional. Focused. Sterile.
Logan’s still Logan—still laughing, still loud—but it’s like he put a wall up between us the second we got too close.
It’s confusing. He offered a secret relationship of some kind and then pulled back after the next practice.
Like not just pulled back, but completely shut it down.
I know I was in my head the next day, but by time I made up my mind and went to find him in the locker room, he was gone already.
And the worst part about all of it? He’s directing that easy charm everywhere else.
Daniel. Peter. Fucking Eli, sometimes.
None of them are treating it like it’s flirting, not really. They just think it’s Logan being Logan. And maybe it is. Maybe I just want him to look at me like he still wants me.
He hasn’t looked at me like that all week.
For four days, it’s been dead quiet. No new notifications. No messages from SlowBurn69. No “thinking about you,” no orders, no teasing commands that make my stomach drop and my cock ache. Nothing.
Logan’s gone dark.
And yeah, maybe we didn’t lay out any ground rules, but he was the one who said we’d keep it quiet. He was the one who kissed me like he was starving for my lips, who told me to be a good boy, who looked at me like I was something he wanted to keep.
I drop the phone onto my bed and scrub a hand over my face.
I want to message him.
I want to type something—anything—just to see if he’ll respond. But I don’t. Because I shouldn’t need to chase him. I already made the first move by going along with it and following him into the showers on Monday. I already agreed to the secret. I was ready.
And now it feels like he’s the one who’s scared. Or worse—like he’s already over it.
It’s like I imagined the whole fucking thing.
I let the screen dim and toss my phone face-down onto the desk just as Peter strolls into the room, already mid-sentence.
“—you better not be bailing again, Captain Doom-and-Gloom.”
He tosses his stick bag on the floor, rips his hoodie off, and starts digging through the top drawer of his dresser like we’re late for something—which we probably are.
“Frat party at Sigma. I told Blue we’d be there for pregame, and you already flaked last week for that hook up that I’m pretty sure has fucked you up, to be honest.”
I keep my eyes on the floor. “Not feeling it.”
Peter snorts. “You’re never feeling it lately. What, did someone piss in your protein powder or something?”
“I’m just tired,” I mutter. “It’s been a long week, and we have a game on Sunday.”
He huffs. “Whatever, man. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
He claps me on the shoulder like that, somehow, makes it better, then grabs his jacket and disappears again, muttering something about shotgunning a beer in Blue’s hallway.
The door clicks shut behind him, and I’m left alone with the quiet.
And the storm that’s still churning in my chest.
I stare at the blank screen of my phone again, jaw tight. I could message Logan. Ask what the fuck is going on. But he made it pretty clear with his actions what he wants—no contact, no attention, nothing that might let me think what happened between us was anything but a mistake.
Except it didn’t feel like a mistake.
Not to me.
Not after I finally admitted—to myself, at least—that I wanted what he was offering. Even if it had to be secret. Even if I had to stay in the closet for now. I wanted it. Wanted him.
And now he’s just pretending I don’t exist.
I scrub a hand down my face.
Fuck this.
I stand, grab my jacket and keys, and head out the door without overthinking it.
If he doesn’t want anything to do with me, he can say that to my face.
Because I’m not letting this end in silence.
I knock before I can talk myself out of it.
Once.
Twice.
The door swings open after a beat, and for a second, all I can focus on is the fact that Logan’s shirtless—skin flushed, chest rising and falling like he was mid-workout or something worse. His dark hair is damp, curling a little at the ends. His sweatpants ride low on his hips.
He blinks at me like he wasn’t expecting anyone. Like I’m the last person he wanted to see.
“Shaw,” he says, voice flat. “This...isn’t really a good time.”
That’s when he shifts—just slightly—and I see past him.
A girl.
Sitting on his couch, half-turned toward the door. Laughing at something on her phone like she’s comfortable, like she belongs there. Blonde, tight tank top, bare legs curled up like she’s been there a while.
I go still.
A fucking girl.
My chest goes tight, but I manage a short nod.
“Right,” I mutter. “Guess that answers that.”
I turn before he can say anything else and start down the hall, fast. Fucking idiot. I knew this was a mistake. I knew it.
The elevator light blinks slowly, taking its sweet time. I press the button again, harder. Nothing.
Behind me, I hear the sound of a door closing. Bare feet hitting the floor.
“Todd—wait.”
I don’t.
I can’t.
I push through the stairwell door instead and take the first step down before his voice hits me again, more insistent now.
“Jesus, would you stop running away for five fucking seconds?”
I spin, breath heaving. “Me?! You’re the one who ghosted me all week.”
“I didn’t ghost you,” he snaps, following me in. The stairwell door slams shut behind him. “I backed off.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.” He’s closing the distance, hands clenched at his sides. “I backed off because you looked at me like you regretted it. No, that’s not right, you couldn’t even fucking look at me on Tuesday.”
“I didn’t—” I break off, frustrated. “You just flipped a switch and shut me out like I meant nothing.”
Logan scoffs. “You think I could pretend you mean nothing if I tried?”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I bite, stepping toward him now. “No winks. No flirting. Just silence. Just fucking professionalism.”
“I didn’t know what the fuck you wanted, Todd!”
“I wanted you!” I shout, the words torn from me before I can think.
My voice echoes off the stairwell walls, loud and raw. Logan’s mouth parts, eyes wide like I just punched him in the chest. I almost wish I had.
Instead, I step up to the landing, and I shove him.
He stumbles back, catches himself, then shoves me right the fuck back, hard enough I hit the railing.
My pulse spikes. “You said we’d keep it a secret. I agreed. I showed up in the fucking showers. And then you disappeared like it never happened.”
“You think that was easy for me?” he yells. “You think it didn’t kill me to see you walking around acting like it didn’t matter?! Like it was just a fun little experiment?”
I growl and shove him again. “It didn’t mean nothing.”
“Then why the fuck did you wait four days to say anything?”
“Because I was trying to figure it out!” My chest heaves. “Trying to make sense of all the shit in my head—how badly I wanted to message you, how much I hated the way you looked at Daniel like you were already moving on—”
His face twists, furious. “That wasn’t about him! I was trying to distract myself because I thought you didn’t want me!”
His hands slam into my shoulders this time, and he pushes me back against the wall, breathing hard. His chest brushes mine. His eyes burn.
“I wanted you,” he says again, lower now. “I want you.”
My heart hammers. “Then why was there a girl in your apartment?”
“She’s my cousin, asshole. She brought back my charger and asked to hang for a minute while I showered.”
Fuck.
My head tips back against the wall as I suck in a sharp breath, hot and shaky.
“I thought—” I start.
“Yeah,” he cuts in, stepping even closer. “You thought wrong.”
His lips are right there. His body lined up with mine. My hands curl in his shirtless sides, my jaw clenching like it might hold everything else in.
I’m one second from kissing him.
Or hitting him again.
Maybe both.
My fists clench. My throat burns.
And I shove him again.
Harder this time. Not just to make a point, but because the anger is too much—twisting inside me, white-hot and blinding. He stumbles back a step, catches himself, and then grabs my hoodie in both fists.
“You really wanna do this?” he growls, chest brushing mine.
“You’re the one who fucking started it,” I snap.
He surges forward—and I don’t know if he’s about to punch me or kiss me until his mouth crashes into mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet.
It’s all teeth and tongue and pent-up rage.
His lips bruise mine. His fingers dig into my hoodie as he backs me into the wall, crowding every inch of space between us. I kiss him back just as hard, biting at his lower lip, tasting him like I’ve been starved for it. Because I have been.
His hands slide down, grip my hips like he’s trying to anchor himself or break me in half. I groan against his mouth, fists curling over his bare shoulders, dragging him closer. He growls into the kiss, biting back just enough to make me gasp.
There’s no rhythm. No finesse. Just a desperate need. We devour each other like this is the only way to survive it.
Like if we stop, we’ll both come undone.
He pulls away, breathing hard, and I follow, wanting his lips on mine, but he shoves me. My back hits the wall again, and he fuses his mouth to mine as he licks into my mouth, and I let him—let him take whatever the fuck he wants—because this might be a mess, but it’s ours.
It’s real. And for the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.
His chest slams into mine, all heat and adrenaline and fury.
We’re still breathing hard from yelling, from shoving each other like we’re trying to knock loose all the shit we can’t say. His bare skin brushes my shirt, and I feel everything—every inch of muscle, every tremble in his restraint.
And then I snap.
I grab his jaw and kiss him like I’m trying to make him hurt, trying to make him feel what I’ve been carrying for days. Weeks. Maybe longer. Taking full control of the moment.
It’s teeth and tongue and anger. A war disguised as a kiss.
Logan groans into my mouth, one hand fisting in the front of my hoodie, the other sliding up to circle my throat like he doesn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer. I kiss him harder. Desperate. Unforgiving.
He grinds his hips into mine like he doesn’t care that we’re in a stairwell, doesn’t care about anything except the way we fit. I let out a low sound—half-growl, half-moan—and he swallows it, his mouth devouring mine until I don’t know where I end and he begins.
I don’t know how long we’re like that.
Wrapped around each other. Lost.
But then a door creaks open a few floors down, the slam of it echoing up the stairwell like a gunshot.
We rip apart.
Breathing ragged. Faces flushed. Logan’s hair is a mess, lips kiss-bruised and parted as he stares at me as if he doesn’t know what the hell just happened.
I do.
I want him. I want to scream at him for freezing me out, for flirting with everyone but me, for pretending like none of this matters.
But he gets there first.
He shakes his head once, like he's trying to clear it. Like if he doesn't say it now, he'll fall apart.
“You should go,” he says.
It’s soft. Not cold. But it slices clean through me anyway. My heart clenches painfully, and I can feel the telltale pinpricks at the back of my eyes as though I’m seconds away from crying.
“Logan—”
“You should go, Todd,” he repeats, taking a step back, his chest still rising and falling like he’s barely holding it together. “Before one of us does something we can’t take back.”
I stand there a second too long. Long enough to wonder what would’ve happened if that door hadn’t opened. Long enough to hate myself for waiting this long to figure out what I wanted.
Then I turn and leave.
And this time—he lets me.