Chapter 18 Nathan
NATHAN
People call me a clean freak, but try living with three guys who think “cleaning” means shoving crap under the couch cushions.
There are pizza boxes stacked on the table, empty bottles rolling around like they’re drunk too, and a crumpled napkin with what I hope is ranch.
I nudge a bottle aside to make space for my phone, then immediately wipe my hand on my sweats. Table’s sticky. Obviously.
I love the guys as if they were my brothers, but my God, their messiness astounds me sometimes.
I rest my elbow on the edge of the sectional couch, trying hard not to gag at the sight of Ryan’s hand on my sister’s thigh. She’s tucked under his arm, her legs crossed over his, his hand tracing lazy circles on her leg while they watch the screen. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.
I said I was cool with it, and I am. In theory. They’re good together. She’s happy, he’s less of a jackass than usual, whatever. Doesn’t mean I like to see him groping my little sister.
I glance over at Logan. He’s leaning back in the corner, scrolling through his phone, one knee bouncing as he keeps his eyes on the screen.
I wonder who he’s texting.
Stupid thought, but it comes anyway.
A guy? A girl?
He said he was fine with waiting. Said I didn’t need to rush. But that doesn’t mean he’s waiting. He’s probably hooking up with people who aren’t this complicated, who don’t flinch every time things get too real.
I take another sip to cover the churning in my stomach at the thought even though I know damn well I have no right to feel that way. We’re just… fuck, we’re nothing. Not really.
Beside me, Austin and Maisie are in their own world. She’s half-curled into his side, her head resting on his chest while his hand moves absently along her arm.
“You okay, Freckles?” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
I take a sip of my beer, watching her hum in response, tilting her face toward him. “Yeah. Just full.”
Austin chuckles, glancing down at her with a grin. “Really? I’m still starving.”
She lifts her head. “There’s still some pizza right there.”
He arches a brow. “Not what I’m craving.”
Before she can reply, he grabs her around the waist and hauls her into his lap, grinning like an idiot as she squeals.
“Put me down,” she says between laughs, swatting at him.
“Can’t,” he says, peppering kisses along her jaw. “Doctor’s orders.”
Ryan groans from the other end of the couch. “Get a room.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile as I take another drink.
Isabella shakes her head like she’s seen this a hundred times—because she has. “You’re lucky Aurora’s not here,” she says. “She’d be gagging.”
Maisie wriggles back into her spot beside Austin, and he laces their fingers together without thinking.
“Why isn’t she here, anyway?” Austin asks. “She loves hockey.”
I’m guessing hockey is a sore subject right now, especially after finding out her hockey-playing boyfriend’s been playing more than one position.
The guy’s always been a dick, so that one wasn’t exactly a plot twist. Still feel bad for her, though.
“She said she has an early morning,” Isabella answers, reaching for her drink. “Needs to study.”
Austin scoffs. “It’s Friday night. She can take one night off.”
Ryan leans back, stretching an arm along the back of the couch. “You’d know what studying looks like?”
Austin shoots him a flat look. “We study all the time.”
I tilt my head, resting my beer on the edge of the table. “I’m in the room next to yours. I wouldn’t call what I hear studying.”
Austin’s grin spreads slow and he looks way too proud of himself. “Different kind of studying,” he says, wiggling his brows.
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head.
Maisie groans and buries her face in his chest, but not before I catch the flush climbing up her cheeks.
Mostly because, thirty seconds later, Austin and Izzy are already arguing about a missed play.
“You’re kidding, right? It was over by a full inch,” Austin says, pointing at the screen
“In what world?” Izzy flails a hand so dramatically that she nearly knocks over her drink. “You need glasses.”
I lean back, more entertained by them than the actual game. They’re equally stubborn, and neither’s going to back down.
Izzy reminds me of our dad when she gets like this. She's got that same fire in her voice when she talks about hockey, like the whole world narrows down to the ice.
She loves it. Loves it so fucking much.
I swallow around the tight feeling in my throat and shift the beer bottle in my hand, but before I can zone back into their debate, my phone buzzes against my leg.
All previous thoughts are wiped away when I see Logan’s name on the screen.
My head lifts automatically, my eyes flicking across the room. He’s on the other end of the sectional, staring at the TV, like nothing’s happening.
I take my chances and open his message.
Logan:
You look so fucking good in those sweats. Can’t stop staring.
My throat goes dry and I swallow hard. The noise around me blurs out a little, the laughter, the chatter, all of it fading behind the pounding in my chest.
I drag my knuckles over my mouth, pretending to scratch at something, forcing my expression neutral when my phone buzzes again.
Logan:
Still thinking about how hard you were the other day. How hot you looked when you were thinking of kissing me.
I choke—literally choke—and beer splashes against my hand. “Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, coughing into my sleeve.
Maisie twists around on the couch, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out hoarse. I clear my throat and grab a napkin off the table. “Fine.”
I’d be better off if I could handle one text from him without choking like a horny teenager.
Ryan glances over briefly, but I don’t think he catches anything. He just shifts on the couch and focuses back on the screen. I shove my phone deeper into my pocket, trying to look like I care about the score.
I don’t. Not even a little. Not when my skin’s hot and my chest tight as his words replay in my head on a loop.
My phone buzzes again and I stare ahead, telling myself not to look.
Don’t look. Don’t fucking look.
But of course, I’m a weak man and last all of ten seconds before I grab my phone and open his text.
Logan:
I wonder if you’d look even better on your knees.
I stand suddenly, drawing the attention of everyone. “Need a drink,” I mutter, turning around before anyone can question what the hell is wrong with me.
I escape into the kitchen, needing a moment to just fucking breathe. My hands shake when I pour water into a glass, and I grip the edge of the counter, sipping it slowly as I breathe through the heat crawling under my skin.
I told myself I wasn’t ready for this—for him. That I just needed time. Distance. A little control. But every time he pushes, every word, every look, it chips away at the line I keep drawing between us.
“Rough night, Hayes?”
My pulse jumps when I turn around to see Logan leaning in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, the other shoved in his pocket. That same cocky half-smile is playing at his mouth, the one that always makes it hard to think straight.
I exhale through my nose. “That was way too close.”
He steps into the kitchen and lets out a low chuckle that makes my chest rumble. “Don’t worry,” he says. “No one but me knew you were thinking about my cock between your lips.”
My grip tightens around the glass before I down the water and place it back on the counter.
He takes another step closer, closing the distance, and my back finds the counter, pressing my fingers into the cabinet edge.
He stops a step away. Too close. Always too close. His gaze flicks over my face, drops to my mouth, and that little grin ghosts back in place. “You look good like this,” he murmurs. “Cornered. Flustered.”
My throat’s dry even though I downed a glass of water. I can smell him from how close he is, the scent of his cologne filling my nose, making me dizzy.
“You’re so wound up,” he whispers, the words hitting my lips. “C’mon, Hayes. Take a little risk for once in your life.”
I don’t answer. Can’t. His lips slowly curve into a teasing smirk before he drops to his knees in front of me, and my eyes drop without my permission, following the movement. Heat flares low in my stomach, blood rushing south so fast I grit my teeth.
“Fuck,” I groan. “What—what are you doing?”
He looks up at me with a wicked grin and then reaches past me, opens the cabinet near my hip, and grabs a bag of chips. “Just grabbing this.”
I exhale hard, gripping the cabinet harder. He’s toying with me. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s driving me insane.
He rises to his feet, his smirk still in place, clearly enjoying torturing me. “See you out there—”
I grab his wrist, stopping him.
He glances down at my grip, then back up, his brows raised as he lets out a small chuckle. “I was just joking, Hayes—”
“I don’t give a fuck,” I grind out, my voice shaking. “I’m done with the teasing.”
His smirk falters for the first time and before I can lose my nerve, I yank him toward me, slam my mouth against his, and everything I’ve been fighting against finally breaks loose.