Chapter 21 Logan
LOGAN
There are better ways to spend a Monday afternoon than skating endless laps around a rink with a bunch of sweaty hockey players.
Off the top of my head, I can think of about twelve things I’d rather be doing, and most of them involve Nathan Hayes flat on his back.
Or on his knees. Or just anywhere around me.
But life isn’t fair, and Coach apparently woke up this morning with a personal vendetta, so we’re all paying for it.
“Let’s go, boys! Move your feet!” he barks, pacing the edge of the rink. “Pick it up, or I’ll bag skate you into next week!”
Ryan skates by, muttering curses that would get him benched if Coach heard them.
Austin’s behind him, his chest heaving. “Remind me to fake an injury next time,” he groans.
I let them fade into the background because Nathan’s ahead of me and I’m not exactly proud of the fact that I’ve been watching the way his ass moves for the last ten minutes.
He’s got this focused look on his face, his jaw clenched and brows knitted together as he locks in on the game.
Meanwhile, I’m replaying the other night on a loop. The way he grabbed me and kissed the hell out of me like he couldn’t wait anymore makes my stomach drop every time I think about it. I should probably focus on not eating shit on this next turn, but honestly, I’m too busy grinning like a dumbass.
I keep pace with Nathan, skating a lazy loop just to stay close. It’s not subtle, but subtle has never been my thing. He looks so fucking good. Red-faced from practice, and all I can think about whenever I look at him is the way he sounded with my mouth on his cock.
It’s been a week and we haven’t even kissed since. It’s not exactly easy when we live with two guys who always have their girlfriends around.
So yeah, I bump his hip because I want his eyes on me. “Nice ass, Hayes.”
He shoots me a warning look. “Logan.”
Naturally, I press my luck and loop around him, grabbing a handful of said ass.
His eyes go wide for half a second, scanning the rink. “Cut it out,” he grits out.
“Why?” I grin, pushing him a little. “Am I distracting you?”
“Yes,” he breathes out. “And we’re not alone.”
I shoot a look over my shoulder, just in time to spot Miles, one of the rookies, skating our way. Shit.
Miles coasts up, that shit-eating grin on his face, clearly having seen more than I’d like. “Should I give you two a minute?”
For a split second, my brain just blanks and I catch Nathan’s panicked expression. Can’t have that, so I do what I do best.
I bark a laugh and play it off. “You jealous, rookie?” I throw an arm around Miles’s shoulders, steering him away from Nathan. “Just ask if you want a kiss that bad.”
He snorts, tries to wiggle out of my grip. “In your dreams, Gray.”
“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” I shoot back, throwing him a wink.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Nathan skating away. I’m guessing the panic has settled which is good. Let them think I’m just messing around, same as always.
When practice wraps up, the guys all head into the locker room and I follow without glancing back at Nathan, not wanting to give the guys any more suspicions.
I push through the door, tug off my helmet, and drop onto the bench, still catching my breath. I get to work on my gear, wanting to get into a steaming-hot shower, and lift my eyes to see Nathan with his head down, unlacing his skates.
He looks up just long enough to meet my eyes, his hand stalling on his laces for a second, but instead of holding my gaze, he looks away.
I frown. The hell was that?
He goes back to untying his skates like I’m not even here which just pisses me off. I know I was pushing it on the ice, being too obvious. But I covered it up. I made them laugh and completely threw them off. So why is he acting like I just handed the guys polaroids of us making out?
Someone whips a rolled up sock across the room and it hits me in the shoulder. Fucking rookies. They’re snickering, and I flip them off without missing a beat, which only makes them laugh harder as they shove their gear into their bags and stumble out, their voices echoing down the hallway.
The locker room empties out as most of the guys head out. Afternoon practice usually means everyone wants to shower at home.
Cole’s still here, though—quiet, in the corner. He doesn’t say a word, barely glancing at anyone. Typical.
I look over at Nathan’s cubby, but his spot’s empty. His bag is unzipped, his gear stuffed inside and I realize he headed into the shower.
For a second, I think about just packing my shit and heading out, letting him cool off, giving us both a breather.
But who am I kidding? Patience has never been my thing, especially not when he’s involved.
So I strip down, stuffing my gear into my stall, trying not to look like I’m in a rush even though my pulse says otherwise. I toss a towel over my shoulder, push a hand through my hair as I walk past Cole, and head toward the showers.
There’s only one stall with water running, so I make my way toward the back.
I pause when I see him, his back turned toward me, one hand braced against the wall, his head tilted under the stream.
My eyes follow the water running down the line of his spine, over the tight curve of his ass, and I have to bite my damn lip.
He’s not even doing anything. Just standing there, washing off a brutal practice. And I’m already hard as fuck.
I could look at him for hours and never get tired.
I lean a shoulder against the wall and let my voice cut through the steam. “Pretending I don’t exist again?”
He startles, glancing over his shoulder. His brows pinch and the panic is already in his eyes. “What are you doing?” he hisses. “Someone could come in.”
I push off the wall and step into the stall with him, shaking my head. “They’re all gone.” Mostly.
Nathan swallows hard, watching me like he’s not sure whether to believe it.
Fuck, he’s gorgeous like this.
Wet, flushed, and mine. Even if only in this quiet, steamy bubble where no one else exists.
“Wanna tell me why you looked like you were about to punch me earlier?” I cock my head.
The water keeps running behind him, the steam curling around us and he exhales, running a hand through his damp hair looking at anywhere but me. “You flirted with Miles.”
I let out a scoff. “I flirt with everyone. It’s part of my charm.”
His eyes snap to mine, the muscle in his jaw tight. “Yeah, well. I don’t like it.”
That makes me pause. “Wait… you were jealous?”
He doesn’t answer at first, just drops his gaze again and rubs the side of his neck. The muscle on his jaw jumps and he blows out a heavy breath. “Yeah,” he admits.
I blink at him for a beat, caught completely off guard and I notice the stiff set of his shoulders, the frustrated huff of breath through his nose, the way his fingers curl into a fist like he’s mad at himself for even saying it.
I try to cover my surprise with a smirk, but my heart does a little stutter. “I was just throwing him off,” I say, stepping closer to him. “You know that, right?”
He looks up at me, his throat moving when he swallows harshly. “I still didn’t like it.”
I erase the distance between us until our chests brush together. “Believe me, baby. I don’t want him.”
“No?”
I shake my head, brushing my thumb across his bottom lip. “I want these lips.” I watch his breath hitch and lean closer, glancing up at his lashes. “These eyes.” My palm finds his firm ass, and I squeeze. “This ass.”
“Fuck,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut.
I lean in, brushing my lips over the edge of his jaw, then down to the spot behind his ear where I know he’s sensitive.
He shudders. “Logan—”
“I like you jealous,” I murmur. “Didn’t know that was a thing for me, but fuck it turns me on.”
He can feel it, given that my cock is hard as steel between us. His cock hardens almost immediately and brushes against mine, lighting me on fire.
My hand slips around his hip, tugging him forward so our cocks brush together and he lets out the most delicious gasp when I wrap my fist around both our lengths.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. “This is so—”
“Hot?” I tighten my grip, my palm sliding slowly up the slick length of both our cocks. His breath catches in my ear and I feel him twitch against me.
“Dangerous,” he corrects me, shaking his head. “What if we get caught?”
Fat chance of that happening, but I smirk anyway. “Then I guess you need to be quiet, baby.”
He lets out a half-strangled groan, but it turns into something closer to a whine when I drag my thumb over both our tips, slippery and slow.
He can lie and tell me he hates being called baby all he wants, but the way he melts into me when I do tells me otherwise.
He leans into me more, our chests plastered together and his forehead pressing lightly against mine. I swear I can feel every exhale vibrate through him.
The angle’s tight but so good, my hand moving in smooth, steady strokes between us and his hips stutter forward on instinct, desperate for more.
Every slide of my palm drags a soft, broken noise from him. He tries to muffle it, but I feel it vibrate through his throat.
So fucking hot.
I roll my hips forward, my cock pressing against his with every stroke. He groans, low and desperate, and I tighten my fist slightly.
“Fuck, Logan—” he breathes, and God, the way my name sounds in his voice. I can feel his breath against my mouth, can taste the steam on it.
I want to say something cocky, something to make him roll his eyes, but all that comes out is a low groan, the kind that’s scraped raw from somewhere deep. My forehead rests against his, our noses almost touching, water running down between us.
I bite my lip, stroking faster, grinding harder into him. I want to kiss him so bad. So fucking bad. I pull back slightly and glance down at his pink lips, slightly parted and he does the same, his eyes flicking down to my lips.