Chapter 16 Nathan
NATHAN
Half the class looks like they’d rather be anywhere else.
Can’t really blame them.
I’m not doing much better. My notebook’s only half full of real notes, the rest is taken over by rough sketches for the next panel of my comic. Nothing good yet. Just a few loose ideas and one character I keep redrawing because I can’t get his expression right.
I tap the end of my pen against the desk as I try to figure out where to take the story next.
A soft voice breaks through my thoughts. “You’re actually taking notes?”
I glance to my right and see Emily leaning toward me, resting her chin in her palm, her pen twirling between her fingers.
She’s wearing the worn-in college sweatshirt she loves, which swallows her whole.
Her eyes are still somehow bright, even though we’ve been trapped in this lecture for almost an hour.
“I enjoy passing classes,” I murmur, turning my eyes back to the projector. “Wild concept, I know.”
Her smile tilts. “I wasn’t judging. It’s kind of cute.”
The corner of my mouth twitches before I can stop it. “Happy to know my riveting study habits do it for you.”
She laughs under her breath and faces forward again.
We’ve sat side-by-side since week one. She loathes note-taking, so she borrows mine, and as a thank you, she buys us coffees. It works for both of us. She reminds me of Izzy in a way. She’s smart and hardworking, but stubborn when she wants to be… and, of course, loves to tease me.
Emily bumps my elbow with her pen. “I’m still waiting on last week’s notes, by the way. Or did you finally cut me off?”
“They’re in my room,” I tell her. “I’ll send them over to you later.”
“You always say that,” she teases, shaking her head. A strand of hair slips loose, brushing her cheek as she looks at me, grinning.
“And have I ever let you down?”
She pretends to think about it, then smiles. “You’re right,” she says, tapping her pen against my arm. “You’re reliable.”
I glance over. “That’s the most boring thing I’ve ever been called.”
“It’s a good thing to be,” she says as she lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “Some girls like that.”
I lift a brow at that, unsure if she means anything by it, but before I can figure it out, my phone buzzes against my thigh.
I slide it out under the desk, but my thumb stills when I see the name on my screen.
My pulse skips when I see Logan’s name pop up with an incoming message.
We haven’t really talked since… that night. Mostly because I’m not sure what the hell came over me when I admitted to him—and myself—all the thoughts that had been running through my head.
Even thinking the words again makes my stomach twist into knots.
Because I don’t say shit like that.
But a big part of the reason I’ve smiled tightly whenever we see each other, never saying a word, is because… I don’t know what to say.
And now I’ve got no clue where the hell that leaves us.
And every time I see him—every time he glances my way with that unreadable expression and doesn’t say a word—I can’t tell if he’s waiting for me to take it back or waiting for me to do something about it.
Either way… I’ve got no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do.
The professor’s voice fades into the background. I couldn’t repeat a single word he’s said in the last ten minutes if someone paid me.
My thumb hovers over Logan’s name.
Just check it, I tell myself. Then I’ll stop thinking about it.
I swipe the screen and—
My pen jerks across the page, dragging a black streak through my notes. I suck in a breath too fast, and I choke on absolutely nothing.
A couple of heads turn my way, which makes me want to fucking die.
Emily jolts beside me. “Are you okay?”
I cough again, nodding too fast. “Yeah. Fine.” My voice comes out rough. “Just—uh—water went down the wrong pipe.”
She blinks. “But… you’re not drinking anything.”
“Air,” I say, clearing my throat, keeping my eyes glued to my notebook. “Meant air.”
She squints at me for another beat before turning her attention back to the professor.
I exhale slowly, pretending to focus on the lecture but I can’t stop thinking about what I just saw.
Because it’s not a text. There are no words.
Instead, there’s a foggy, mirror selfie of Logan with his hand in his wet blond hair, completely shirtless with water droplets beaded on his skin and his abs and—
I swallow, my eyes drifting to the towel slung so fucking low around his hips and his wet, messy blond curls plastered to his forehead. He’s wearing a cocky smirk that tells me he knows exactly what this is doing to me.
I rip my gaze away and stare down at my notebook, seeing the diagonal line cutting through my last sentence.
Focus, Nathan.
But my eyes drift to my phone again. And before I can stop myself, my fingers are moving.
Me:
What the hell are you doing?
This guy is going to kill me. It’s not even a dirty picture, technically. Just steam and bare, wet skin and that grin—that dangerous, cocky, hot-as-fuck grin—but somehow, it makes it worse. It’s subtle, intentional, torturous.
My phone buzzes again and I glance down at the screen, hiding it beneath the desk.
Logan:
I told you I’d wait. Never said I wouldn’t tease you while I do.
I drag a hand down my jaw, biting back a groan.
Me:
I’m in class. With other people.
Logan:
Did it make you hard?
My grip tightens around the phone.
I close my eyes, count to three. Doesn’t help.
Because… yes.
Yes, it did.
And that’s the problem.
I can tell myself I’m confused all I want, that I’m not ready, that I need time to sort my head out, but my body doesn’t give a shit. My head might still be arguing, but my dick decided days ago.
Years ago, actually. Around the time Logan first joined the team. I shook it off, told myself it wasn’t anything, but then it kept happening. I kept looking at him, watching him, losing myself in the way he would shoot me a wink and grin and tease like it was nothing.
I thought he was straight at the time—and that I was too, for that matter. But then I found out he was bi, and suddenly my mind became a mindfuck of confusion.
One minute I’m shrugging off the way I notice him, the next I’m questioning everything.
It’s been fucking torture, and right now, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Everything I thought I understood about myself doesn’t feel like fact anymore.
“Hey.”
I snap out of my thoughts at the sound of Emily’s voice, and my head jerks toward her.
When I finally look at her, her head is tilted like she’s been waiting for a while. “You guys have a game this weekend, right?”
I blink. “What?”
She bumps her elbow gently against mine, smiling. “A game. Hockey. This weekend?”
“Oh. Yeah.” I blink, trying to get my brain to cooperate. “We do.”
“Cool,” she says, like that was all she needed. “Maybe I’ll come to the next one. If you promise me good seats.”
I nod. “Sure. I can get you in the front row.”
Her mouth tugs into a half-smile. “Wow. I get the VIP treatment?”
I manage a faint smirk. “Perks of knowing the goalie.”
She chuckles, leaning her chin on her hand, but my attention is snagged when my phone buzzes again, muffled against my thigh, and every muscle in my body tenses.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
I look.
Of course I do.
“Is that your girlfriend texting you?”
I jerk a little in my seat, blinking over at her. “What?”
Emily nods toward my phone. “You keep smiling. And turning red.”
I’m definitely not smiling, and if I’m red, it’s a blood pressure thing, definitely not because of the picture Logan sent me.
I clear my throat and rub the back of my neck. “Uh, no. Just a teammate.”
“Oh.” Color climbs her cheeks. Emily doesn’t blush, so that throws me a little. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to assume.”
“It’s fine.”
“That’s good.” Her fingers drum against her notebook, and she looks a little shy, which is weird. She’s never shy. She hesitates for a beat, chewing her lip before saying, “I mean… I was kind of wondering if… maybe you wanted to grab a coffee sometime?”
My brows knit together, wondering why she would be nervous about that. She brings me coffee all the time, it’s only fair if I buy her one as a thank you and catch up with her outside of class.
“Yeah, sure.”
Her eyes widen a little. “Really?”
“Why not?” I shrug.
She tucks a loose strand behind her ear, starts packing up as the lecture ends. “Okay. Great. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Yeah,” I say, shoving my notebook in my bag. “See you.”
She lifts her hand in a small wave before getting out of her chair and making her way up the stairs.
I swing my bag around my chest and drag a hand through my hair. But I can’t help but grab my phone and open Logan’s message from earlier, waiting for me, taunting me.
Logan:
Don’t leave me hanging, Hayes. Tell me what I want to know.
I glance around, making sure no one’s looking over my shoulder. Then I exhale slowly, my thumb hovering above the keyboard. I don’t know why I’m still pretending when we both know exactly what that picture did to me.
Me:
Yes.