Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Logan closed the garage door, and I followed him up the narrow staircase from the garage to his condo. Hardwood steps. Nice. The building itself was modern and new, the facade in red brick and white trim.
When he pushed open the door at the top, I placed my shoes on the mat and took in the kitchen and living area.
It was simple and minimalist. Light wood and chrome accents with a wide open living space flanked by big windows overlooking the street.
There was a low-profile grey sofa, glass coffee table, geometric rug, and a large-screen TV.
Logan tossed his keys into the ceramic dish by the door and headed straight for the counter. “It might still be warm.” He flipped open a container of shawarma and pulled two plates from the cupboard. “Want to dish up?”
I wandered onto the tile. “It’s your food, Logan—”
“I always order too much.”
Truthfully, the scent of roasted meet and warm spices was making me salivate. How long ago did I eat lunch? I wasn’t strong enough to say no. “Sure. I’ll have a little.”
Logan pushed the takeout container and a fork toward me. I scooped out a reasonable portion, then he added another scoop on top despite my protests.
“Want to heat it up?”
I took a small bite. It wasn’t hot by any means, but it wasn’t cold. “No, I’m good.”
He scooped the rest onto his plate and popped it in the microwave. “I like my food cold or hot. Nothing in between.”
“Hm. Why does that not surprise me?” I sat on one of the stools at the island.
He pressed his palms into the counter across from me. “What does that mean?”
“It means you like things a certain way. And you usually get it.”
“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t—” I waved my fork at him. “Be all flirty right now. I’m still mad at you.” I stabbed a potato with my fork. It was somehow still crispy on the outside, soft inside. Perfection despite the room temperature.
“Impossible.” The microwave beeped and he took his food out. “I save your life, give you food, and you can’t get over one comment?”
I smirked. “Well, that one comment did make it so I can’t have sex until January, so . . .” Logan laughed out loud, stirring his food around. I grimaced. “What are you doing?”
“Making perfect bites.” When my brows pinched further, he shifted closer and showed me his plate. “You need a bite of everything in every forkful. Feta, hummus, olives, potatoes. Easier if you mix it together first.”
“I can do that by just grabbing each thing one at a time.” I demonstrated, filling the tines. “Then it doesn’t look like dog vomit.”
Logan filled his fork with hummus colored everything and shoved it in his mouth with a groan that was borderline obscene.
I snorted.
He chewed and swallowed, then moved to sit on the stool next to me. “I’m sorry about the breakfast, by the way. Not totally sorry I said what I did, but I should’ve talked to you first.”
I gave him side eye. “Not sorry you said it?”
He shook his head. “That guy, Jake? He was looking at you like—” he took a bite. “He was undressing you with his eyes.”
I swivelled to face him. “Maybe that’s what I’m into.”
Logan pulled his face into what I can only assume was a smolder. “Mm. Crystal. Remember the cafeteria? When I couldn’t even find a romantic place to stick my tongue in your mouth?”
I smacked his shoulder, nearly choking on my slow-roasted lamb. “It wasn’t romantic, okay? But it was hot. We were making out on school property after hours—”
“So that’s your thing? Exciting and forbidden?”
My cheeks flushed. “I think for it to be a ‘thing,’ it has to happen more than once.”
He took another bite, raising an eyebrow. “It only happened once?”
“Well, yeah. He was in town for the tournament.”
“There’s more than one day at a tournament. It’s pretty easy to figure out how to do it more than once.”
The humor in the situation circled and disappeared down the drain. I held back the dig sitting on the tip of my tongue. “Yeah. I guess so.”
We ate in silence a moment, then Logan let out a long breath. “Sorry. Word vomit.”
I pursed my lips. He wasn’t wrong.
Logan lowered his voice. “I think if I’m being honest, it wasn’t just you I was defending at the breakfast.” He scooped up another bite onto his fork, but didn’t eat it. “It’s not easy to see the team without me on it.”
That was exactly it. The look in his eyes that morning? It was the same look I’d seen on his face, on Rob’s, Axel’s, and Rory’s right before they battled it out in the last period on the ice. That same image of a warrior curling around his family flashed in my head.
I finished chewing, then rested my elbow on the counter, turning to face him. “They’re still your team, Logan.”
He made a noise in his throat. “Yeah, well, I don’t know if they want me anymore.” His lashes brushed his cheeks as he lowered his head, scooping up a stray chickpea from the counter.
I focused hard on my own plate. When he got like this, all broody, like a thundercloud rolling in on the horizon, my body perked up like a lightning rod. Maybe I did have a thing for exciting and forbidden?
Hockey. We were talking about hockey. “They might not want you for the same things. But you know every guy there wishes he was in your shoes. You’re not on the ice with them, but they’re all watching you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He took his last bite and stood, his stool scraping against the tile. “I shouldn’t be anyone’s role model.”
I finished my food and followed him to the sink. “What’s more compelling than someone who screws up and figures it out? You and Rob seemed pretty normal today.”
He nodded, rinsing his plate. “Better, at least.”
I waited in line for the sink, but when he turned, I froze. “Are you—?” I set my plate down and turned his chin to the side to get a better look. “Oh, it’s a pepper.” I laughed.
“What is?” He tried to look, but I held his face while I grabbed a napkin.
“I thought you were bleeding, but it’s just a piece of—” I swiped it off his cheek. “There, see?” I dropped my hand from his chin and showed him.
When his hand cupped mine to bring the napkin higher so he could see it, I realized how close I’d stepped. The heat from his body diffused into mine as my skin buzzed under his fingertips.
He frowned. “Huh. That does look like blood.” The warm kitchen light fell across his hair and skin, making all of it glow golden. He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine, then flicking to my mouth.
The storm clouds were fully overhead, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
His fingers shifted, lighting up the back of my hand as he drew a breath, slow and shaky. My hands started to tingle. My pulse thudded in my ears.
Logan moved toward me, and when my heart felt like it was attached to the other end of his jumper cables, a crash made me jump out of my skin.
“Shit.” Logan dropped my hand and peered into the sink. My plate. He’d knocked it off the edge of the counter where I’d set it.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it’s not broken.” His breathing was shallow and quick.
I stepped back, searching for the trash. There was a bin at the end of the island, so I beelined for it and tossed the napkin. “I should—”
“Yeah,” he jumped in, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should take you home.”
“Right.” I turned in a half circle, then pointed at my shoes. “Thank you so much for dinner.”
“Oh, no problem.”
“And for saving my life.” I shot him a cheesy smile.
He huffed a laugh and snagged his keys from the bowl. “Uh, also my pleasure.”
I lost my balance and slammed a hand into the wall to keep from falling over. “Sorry.”
“Do you want to use the bench?” He pointed at the seat by the coat closet.
“No, I’m good. Just—it’s late, I guess.” I shoved my second foot into my shoe. “There. Okay. Ready.”
Logan nodded to the door. “After you.”