Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Alone in the side office, Ethan let out a long, shaky exhale and pressed his palms flat against the coffee station counter.
Get a fucking grip, he berated, silently trying to keep himself from unraveling completely. You know it can’t happen. He clenched his jaw and stared at the steaming mug of coffee he’d just filled. Why keep torturing yourself like this?
His fingers trembled as they brushed against Logan’s favorite cup—a battered black mug with a faded anchor that had seen better days. Hell, the thing was practically an antique, but Logan told him it had seen him through numerous deployments and countless sleepless nights. Ethan knew he shouldn’t linger on it. Hell, it was just a fucking mug, but he couldn’t help himself.
Touching the mug felt like he was touching Logan.
He poured some of the freshly brewed coffee into it, and watched as the steam curled upward, dissipating into nothingness just like his thoughts.
Through the glass partition, he caught a glimpse of Logan slumped in his chair, his cap still perched backward on his head.
A familiar ache that only grew sharper with every passing day bloomed in his chest before another sigh escaped his lips —longer this time, tinged with something between longing and frustration.
Oh man… stop it.
Ethan’s hand drifted, almost unconsciously, to press against the growing bulge straining against his khaki pants. Every thought of Logan—his strong hands, that low rumble of a voice that could command attention without even trying—stoked the heat rising within him until it threatened to consume him whole.
I can’t keep doing this. “This has to fucking stop.”
The words slipped out in a harsh whisper before he could catch them.
“Stop what?” A deep voice rumbled directly behind him, too close for comfort.
Ethan jolted, nearly knocking over both the mugs in front of him. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of one and spilled onto the counter. “Shit!” he hissed through clenched teeth, spinning around so fast it made him dizzy.
Logan stood there, steady as ever, his hand reaching out to clasp Ethan’s shoulder. The warmth of that touch seeped through his t-shirt like a brand.
“You okay?” Logan asked, brow creased as his eyes scanned Ethan’s face for answers. “Looks like you’ve got a spillage going on there.” His lips quirked up at the corners, teasing but not unkind.
Ethan swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. The way Logan said those words, they would have looked innocent enough on paper, but damn if they didn’t feel loaded with innuendo. Or maybe that was just Ethan’s overactive imagination, because everything about Logan felt charged these days.
“No,” he stammered, a little too quickly, his voice cracking as he avoided Logan’s gaze. “I mean, yeah. I’m fine.” He waved a hand dismissively at the mess on the counter, as if that somehow proved his point.
Logan didn’t seem convinced. If anything, he stepped closer—close enough that Ethan could now feel the brush of his breath against his cheek when he spoke. “Look,” he began quietly, voice softening into something almost... intimate? “If something’s up, you know you can talk to me.”
His hand slid from Ethan’s shoulder to rest lightly against his upper back—a simple gesture that somehow sent shivers racing down Ethan’s spine like electricity crackling along frayed wires. “I mean it,” he continued, his thumb pressing into a knot of tension between Ethan’s shoulder blades, as if testing it out before kneading deeper into the muscle. “You seem to be wound pretty tight lately, and yeah, I get it, we’ve all got shit going on, but maybe you need to find a way to relax.”
Relax? Fucking relax?! Is he serious?
Ethan’s brain short-circuited entirely as Logan kept talking—something about massages and after-training plans—but all he could focus on was those damn hands working magic on his back and how badly he wanted them somewhere else entirely.
“That feels... good,” he breathed out before he could stop himself—the words unguarded and husky enough to make him blush moments later when they fully registered.
Logan grinned broad and easy, as if completely oblivious (or worse: utterly aware) of what kind of effect he was having right now. His teeth were white and perfect, his dimples deep enough to drown in, and his eyes sparkled with a warmth that could disarm even the most guarded heart.
The small room suddenly seemed ten times smaller, the air charged with something undeniable.
“You need a massage.” Logan’s voice rolled out, rich and smooth. He punctuated his words with another hearty slap to Ethan’s back, this one firm enough to jolt him forward, pulling him out of the hazy fog his mind had wandered into.
The slap wasn’t painful, but the weight of it still lingered, as if it had left an invisible imprint on his skin. “See… you’re relaxing already.” Logan’s grin widened, impossibly so. There was something infuriatingly effortless about it—like he knew exactly what kind of spell he was casting and reveled in watching Ethan squirm under it.
Ethan tried to find something—anything—to say that wouldn’t betray the chaos brewing inside him. His body felt too hot, and his heart was thundering in his ears like a drum.
“Uh… yeah,” he managed to croak out, his voice embarrassingly hoarse. “Thanks.”
Logan wasn’t done yet.
He leaned in close, and Ethan caught a whiff of his cologne—a heady mix of cedarwood and citrus that made his knees feel unsteady.
“You need to get this kit off,” he said casually, gesturing toward Ethan’s shirt with a flick of his fingers. His tone was light, but there was an underlying command in it that brooked no argument. “Full-body rubdown. You’ll feel like a new man.”
A beat passed before he added, “I’ll book one for later. The Special. They pummel every damn muscle and some you didn’t know you had.” His grin turned wolfish as he delivered another hearty slap—harder this time—and moved past him toward the counter.
Ethan swallowed, his throat was as dry as sandpaper. “Every muscle,” he repeated, the words like some forbidden mantra. His stomach clenched at the thought, heat pooling low in his abdomen despite every effort to will it away.
Fuck.
Logan still wasn’t finished. He leaned across, this time his broad chest brushing against Ethan’s arm as he reached for his coffee mug on the counter.
“You need to sort that spillage,” he teased, nodding toward the dark stain spreading across Ethan’s beige khakis embarrassingly close to his crotch, drawing attention to an area that needed no further scrutiny.
“Shit!” Ethan cursed, fumbling for a napkin and swiping at the wet fabric with frantic movements. The coffee was warm but not scalding, even so, it quickly soaked through, clinging uncomfortably to his skin and making him hyper-aware of just how close Logan was.
When he looked up again, Logan was towering over him—closer than necessary—and for one agonizing beat, their eyes locked.
Logan’s gaze was intense, like he could see straight through him and into every dark corner where his secrets were kept.
It wasn’t just eye contact—it was a collision.
Ethan’s breath caught somewhere in his throat as his body betrayed him completely, buzzing with energy he couldn’t control or suppress. His muscles tensed and blood rushed southward with humiliating urgency.
Logan’s smile softened and, mug in hand, he finally turned away. “Catch you later,” he tossed over his shoulder casually as though nothing had happened—as though he hadn’t just sent Ethan spiraling into complete disarray.
Ethan exhaled, then slumped against the counter for support. His hands trembled, clutching at the edge like a lifeline, knuckles white from the strain.
Bathroom. Now. He needed to cool down before someone noticed the state he was in. But… before he could make his escape, Brick’s voice startled him so badly that coffee spilled over onto the counter again.
“Okay, tell me… who is she?” the larger man asked, a smug grin plastered across his face as he sidled up next to Ethan. His eyes darted meaningfully downward for just a moment before snapping back up.
“What?” Ethan spun sharply to face him, clutching at what little remained of his composure while simultaneously trying—and very much failing—to shield himself from Brick’s knowing gaze.
“C’mon, man,” Brick laughed, a deep belly laugh full of amusement. “You’re grinnin’ like a freakin’ idiot one minute,” he said between chuckles. “And ready to explode the next. And let’s not even talk about…” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow as if daring Ethan to deny it.
Ethan felt heat flood his face—hotter than any spilled coffee. As mortification took hold, it gripped like a vice around his chest. “None of your damn business,” he snapped before he could stop himself. His voice came out sharper than intended, and was enough to wipe the smirk off Brick’s face.
“Whoa!” Brick raised both hands in surrender but frowned at the uncharacteristic outburst. “Relax, man… no need to bite my damn head off.” Then came the parting shot, “But don’t worry, whoever she is that’s got you this wound up, I’ll be sure to find out.”
With that ominous declaration, he grabbed his coffee and walked away without another word.
Ethan sagged against the counter. He was alone now and his pulse pounded so hard that it drowned out everything else in his head, except for one singular thought… no one can ever know who.