Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
LOGAN
The hotel room is dark, with the exception of the streetlight glow slipping through the crack in the curtain. The AC unit hums inconsistently, coughing out cold air, like it’s working too hard for too little reward.
I should be out with the guys.
They’re probably half a pitcher deep at some chain bar right now, celebrating our win with loud music and loaded fries. But I told them I was wiped. Blamed the travel. The heat. My back tightening up.
Truth is, I just didn’t want to go.
Not when I knew I’d spend the whole time thinking about someone who wasn’t there.
I slip out the side entrance of the hotel with a bottle of cheap beer from the vending machine fridge and sit on the curb out back. It’s quiet. Just the buzz of crickets and the occasional car rolling by.
I unlock my phone and hover over Cassie’s name in my contacts, which I’ve only had since asking Jackson. I felt silly asking him. But I just wanted to chat with her. Nonchalantly. Like we’ve done a few times.
I haven’t messaged her yet. Not even a dumb joke or emoji. Nothing.
But now, my thumb taps it. Just to see it. Her photo. The way her smile crinkles up at the corners, like she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
I should leave it alone.
Instead, I switch over to the voice memo app. Hit record.
There’s a pause before I speak.
“…Hey.”
My voice is low. Rough. I clear my throat.
“I miss you already. That’s dumb, right? It’s only been twelve hours. I keep wondering if you’re making dinner tonight or if you wore that ridiculously soft hoodie again. The one that smells like vanilla and whatever conditioner you use.”
I laugh under my breath. Stupid.
“I shouldn’t be thinking about this. About you. But I am. You’re just…in my head, Cass. Way more than you should be.”
I sit in silence after that. Just breathing. Then I hit stop.
The message sits on my screen like it’s daring me to do something with it.
I stare at it for a long beat, then I swipe left and delete it.
I lean back against the brick wall behind me and take a long sip of beer. It tastes like regret and carbonation.
In the distance, someone’s car alarm chirps.
I close my eyes and try not to imagine her in that little house, curled up under a blanket, wondering where I am.
Wondering if I’m thinking about her.
Because God help me, I am.
We’re in Oklahoma tonight.
The minor-league traveling-ballplayer life.
The bar is loud. Not in the fun way. In the I’d rather be anywhere else kind of way.
I sip my beer, half-listening to my teammates talk shit and celebrate the win. A blonde with glittery eye makeup leans across the bar, brushing my arm. “You’re Logan, right? Number eleven?”
I nod, polite.
“You’re…hot.” She’s drunk. Blunt. Handsy.
I fake a smile. “Appreciate it.”
She leans in closer. “Wanna get out of here?”
And just like that, the old version of me would’ve been all in. She’s gorgeous, interested, and making it really damn easy.
But instead, I glance away—at the neon beer sign, at the TV showing a replay of the game, at anywhere but her face.
Because the only face I keep seeing lately?
It’s still Cassie’s.
That smirk. The way she bit her lip as she stood in the kitchen laughing at something I said. The way her hair slipped out of that messy bun when she was cooking the other night.
“Maybe another time,” I say, sliding off the barstool. Her expression twists, confused, but I don’t owe her an explanation. I just need to get out of there.
Back at the hotel, I strip down and step into the shower, twisting the knob all the way to cold. Ice-cold. It hits me like a slap, but I grit my teeth and stand there, trying to shut off my brain.
The more I try to be numb, the more it doesn’t work.
Cassie’s laugh slips in. The way she looked up at me in the kitchen. Her voice whispering, “You think I’m super smart?”
My hand curls against the tile wall.
Damn it.
I close my eyes and just let it happen.
I picture her—bare, slick, pressed up against the shower wall like that night. Only this time, there’s no curtain between us. No stopping. I’ve got my hands on her hips, her thighs, her neck—guiding her, gripping her, feeling every inch of her pressed to me.
I groan through gritted teeth, coming hard and fast, like my body’s been waiting for a release it didn’t get permission for.
Afterward, I just stand there, breathless, forehead against the cold tile.
What the hell is happening to me?
I rinse off, shut the water off, and step out.
I’m still not satisfied and still missing her.
Still completely, utterly screwed. Something’s gotta give.