Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
By the time the donor breakfast officially started, I’d already refilled the coffee urn twice and alphabetized the name tags three different ways.
The Rozsa Centre atrium at Douglas was dressed for brunch.
Round tables with white cloths, little glass vases with maroon and gold mums, trays of pastries under domed lids.
The floor-to-ceiling windows showed a winter wonderland with all the tree limbs kissed with frost.
On the far side of the room, Norman worked the donors like a man competing in speed chess.
Three conversations at once, all easy smiles and pointed comments.
Two university administrators, one from Advancement, one from Fine Arts, hovered like vultures.
A Calgary Herald photographer lingered near the entrance, fiddling with his flash.
The one saving grace of this event was that the Outlaws hockey team and seniors in my major were invited. Plus, Logan hadn’t arrived yet. Winning all around.
I grinned as Maddie appeared in the doorway. She waltzed over with Chase in tow. “This looks amazing!”
I laughed and gave her a hug. “It better. I’m getting paid by the hour.” Really, I hadn’t been given much responsibility. With a few midterms last week, I didn’t have spare time, and since I was now aware Norman needed me for more than my work ethic, I didn’t hesitate to tell him so. “How’s Shar?”
“Blissful. Not getting much sleep.”
“As expected.” I was planning to stop over after the event.
“Crystal.” Norman materialized at my elbow. “There you are. I’ve been telling the Dean of Fine Arts that you’re the model of the Douglas–Marcus partnership.”
Terrifying sentence. “Oh. Thank you.”
The Dean, a tall woman in a blazer that cost more than my tuition, smiled. “We’re thrilled you’re involved. This kind of student engagement in the community is exactly what we’re hoping to inspire.”
I nodded, keeping my thoughts to myself on that one. Douglas hadn’t done a damn thing to help me connect with the art community. Well, except give Logan a scholarship.
“Don’t forget to circulate with the other art students,” Norman murmured.
“We’ll be doing some selection for the opening show.
Eyes open, ears open.” Then, louder for the benefit of the photographer now creeping closer: “We’re excited to find more student artwork to feature in our opening exhibit .
. . ” He walked away, herding the press toward more important people than me.
The tables were filling up, and I quickly found my happy place.
Rob, Maddie, Axel, Rory, and the rest of the team who weren’t in class or asleep sat at two rounds near the back corner.
The guys looked weirdly cleaned up. I hadn’t noticed before, but Rob was in a button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up, freshly shaven.
Just like my moment with Logan, I suddenly saw him as grown. He was a father. I had to shake my head at that one.
“You okay?” I asked, pulling out the chair next to Maddie.
She nodded. Rob smiled so wide it almost split his face. “Forgot to tell you. Carter smiled this morning.”
“Wow,” Axel said. “Peak.”
“Shut up,” Rob said, but he was grinning.
I picked up the conversation where we’d left off before Norman interrupted. “How’s Chase?”
“Busy. He—” Maddie stopped mid-sentence as the noise in the room changed. The doors opened and in walked . . .
Holy shit.
Logan walked in first, donning a grey suit, black shirt with the hint of a scoop neck, looking like he’d wandered off a billboard.
Behind him was Davis Rourke, the Blizzard’s hotshot twenty-two-year-old winger with a charcoal Henley, pants that hugged his incredible rear end, and a face that made half the city forgive him for never backchecking.
And anchoring the trio was Mark Haines, veteran defenceman, salt-and-pepper hair, jawline that could cut glass, and the kind of status that comes with a Stanley Cup ring. Twice over.
The room reacted instantly. Heads were on swivels. Conversations stalled. A girl in a Douglas hoodie grabbed her friend’s arm like all three of them were walking on water.
“A little overkill, eh?” Axel muttered.
Rory licked his thumb and tried to wipe Axel’s face like a mom. Axel reacted like he’d just walked into a spiderweb.
Rory chortled. “Stop, you’ve just got a little green on your face. I’ll get it for you!”
Axel nearly fell out of his chair, and Maddie had to grab his arm to keep him upright.
Logan skimmed the room, and when his gaze landed on me, his mouth tipped into that quick, easy smile. It slipped a little when he saw who I was sitting with, but he leaned over and said something to Rourke, then followed the edge of the room and headed our way.
Good for him.
“Hey,” he said when he reached our table, hands sliding into his pockets.
“Surprised you can do that,” I teased, pointing at his pants.
Rob stifled a laugh.
“What?” Logan frowned.
“Just doesn’t look like much else could fit in there.”
Logan realized I was talking about how tight his clothes were and smirked. “Yeah. If my package was a little smaller, maybe they’d have more give.”
I groaned, and Rory guffawed. “Wow, Crystal. You two working together? Setting him up for wristers?”
“No. We’re not—anything together,” I stammered. Rob thankfully saved me by pushing back from the table and standing.
“Kemp.” He held out a hand.
Logan looked at it a moment, but as he pulled his hand out to shake, Rob laughed and yanked him into a hug. “Too good for me, now, eh? With your fancy friends?”
Logan clapped him on the back. “Always was, dickhead.” They pulled back, beaming at each other. “You're a dad.”
I’d sent Logan an email letting him know, but hadn’t heard back. He was gone all week on an away game tour out east.
“I am. Thanks for the diapers.”
Logan dropped his hands from Rob’s shoulders. “More where that came from.” He pretended to check out Rob’s backside. “Did I guess right on the size?”
Rob pretended to jersey him and give a few head shots. So. Back to normal, it seemed.
Campus girls were now lined up at the windows, their breath fogging the glass. “I think you might need to appear for your adoring public.” I nodded toward the doors. Haines and Rourke were waving Logan over.
Maddie followed my gaze. “Did you bring your stick? You might have to beat them off with it.”
Logan smirked. “I always have my stick. And I don’t mind a good beating off.”
Rory groaned. “What the hell, ladies? Again with the assist.”
I rolled my eyes as Logan strutted back to his teammates, and I couldn’t help but think about him lying on his back, his arm looped behind his head, in my bedroom.
I drew a deep breath and forced my eyes away from the V of his torso.
People finally began moving through the buffet line.
Plates piled with scrambled eggs, sausages, and fresh fruit Norman must’ve had imported.
You could never find strawberries that red in Calgary this time of year.
Rob loaded up like he hadn’t eaten in three days.
Axel took four muffins “for later,” which likely meant the walk back to class.
Logan, Rourke, and Haines signed autographs out front for over half an hour, then barely made it to the juice table before people started handing them napkins, programs, and even one girl’s spiral notebook to sign.
Norman hovered nearby like a proud stage mom, positioning them under the best lighting, introducing them to donors whose watches cost more than my rent.
I talked with Tash and a few other art majors I knew from my classes and returned to the Outlaws table just in time to see Jake walk over and take the seat beside Axel. There he was. Number twelve. Why did he look like that was his age and not just his number?
“MacMillan,” he said with a half smile.
“Hey.”
Jake scanned the room. “Surprised they didn’t hold this in the cafeteria. Love that place.” He gave me a wink, and my cheeks heated.
Maddie choked on her coffee. Rory’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
Did everyone know about that?
“What’s so great about the cafeteria?”
I jolted. Logan somehow stood at my side with a full plate, now looking between me and Jake. “Hey,” he said, his eyes dropping to my mouth.
I shifted on my feet. “Hey, back.”
Jake leaned back in his chair. “Cafeteria’s the place to be. Especially after hours.”
I cleared my throat, heat rising to my neck. “Um, we should find you a spot. Maybe with the donors?” I turned from the table, trying to pull Logan with me, but he didn’t budge.
“What’s your name, bud?” Logan asked.
“Jake.”
Logan’s brows lifted.
Damn it.
“Hey, Jake. Where are you from?” His jaw was tense, his chin lifted. I could’ve sworn he was puffing out his chest.
“Logan,” I hissed. This was not the time or place to get into a pissing match, and why did he even care? It was a nothing comment. There was no reason to dig into this.
“Just joined the team. Transferred from Vancouver. Too bad we never got to play together.”
Logan nodded. “Too bad.”
Jake ran a hand through his hair, somehow oblivious. “Looking forward to the invitational this year.”
I plastered a smile to my face. “I’m sure it will be great. Okay, I think—”
“Why is that? Jake from Vancouver.” Logan smiled like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.
My eyes flared. “Really? This is what we’re doing?”
“I’m just curious. Because he’s trying to flirt with you.”
Jake chuckled. “Just floating an opinion, pal.”
I had to give Jake credit. He didn’t flinch once during this aggressive confrontation.
Logan smiled, but his eyes were steely. He raised his voice just enough so the tables adjacent to us could hear. “Yeah, see, I don’t think you were. And I don’t love that you’re making a move on my girlfriend.”
That time, Rory was the one who choked, spraying muffin crumbs all over the tablecloth.