16. Riley
16
RILEY
“ B reaking and entering wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I asked if you had any ideas,” I hiss as Royce leads the way along the deserted corridor of the Timberwolves stadium. Despite trying to keep my weight on my toes, the echo of our footsteps bounces off the concrete walls, and the air is thick with the musty scent of damp cement and the faint remnants of popcorn and hot dogs.
“I don’t know what you mean, James,” he responds with a roguish quirk of his lips. “We’re just celebrating.”
Logan is too busy practically jumping on the spot as he takes everything in like he hasn’t been to the Timberwolves stadium before when I know for a fact he has. It’s cute to see him so excited. He deserves that. Deserves to be here. Playing for the team of his choice, even if it’s not the best team in the league. I have no doubt he will make it the best team.
Since it’s after hours, the crowd, players, and staff are long gone. The corridor is dimly lit, with just a few emergency lights casting long shadows that dance along the walls. I run my fingers along the cool surface, feeling the rough texture beneath my fingertips. The quiet is almost oppressive, broken only by the soft hum of distant machinery and the occasional creak of the building settling.
As we approach the end of the corridor, I can see the faint glow of the stadium lights ahead, spilling through the open doorway. Excitement billows in the air as we all hasten our steps until we’re stepping through the threshold. The vast expanse of the empty hockey arena opens up before us. Usually filled with the excitement of the crowd and the thunder of skates on ice, it now stands silent, a giant monument to the thrill of competition and the passion of the game.
Rows upon rows of empty seats stretch out around us, a midnight blue and silver sea of plastic and metal. Each is a silent witness to the countless games and cheers held here. More blue and silver banners hang from the rafters, each proudly displaying the fierce Timberwolf logo—a symbol of strength and tenacity.
The rink below is a perfect rectangle of pristine ice, illuminated by the overhead lights that cast an ethereal glow over the howling wolf painted at center ice, announcing this as the home stadium for the Timberwolves—in case the team’s colors everywhere didn’t give it away. My gaze slowly wanders over the arena as I take a deep breath, the cool air filling my lungs. I let the moment wash over me as I envision it full of people, with Logan skating in his new colors alongside his teammates to the crowd's roar.
Banners are proudly displayed on the walls, showcasing past victories and retired numbers. It adds a sense of history and tradition, and a smile lifts my lips, knowing one day soon, Logan will be contributing to those victories. To the history of this arena. This team. It’s pretty monumental when you stop and think about it.
Logan isn’t simply joining a team. He’s making history.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Logan murmurs, awed by the sight before him. Stepping forward, his eyes scan the expanse as a wide grin slowly stretches across his face. His voice is barely more than a whisper in the cavernous space, yet it carries the reverence one often hears inside a church.
I shake my head, unable to find words to describe the awe and wonder I feel. For a moment, we all simply stand there, soaking in the atmosphere, each of us lost to our thoughts.
Logan descends the stairs toward the rink, and quietly, we follow. Our footsteps echo in the expansive arena until we reach the plexiglass separating us from the ice. Logan simply stands there, staring out across the rink like he can’t believe he’ll be playing here one day soon. Grayson and Royce claim seats at the end of the closest aisle, but I step up beside Logan, threading my fingers through his.
“I can’t wait to come to every home game,” I say after a moment.
As though blinking out of a trance, Logan looks down at me, and a lascivious grin takes over his face. “I can’t wait to see you in silver and blue.”
“Hey, what about us?” Royce interjects, having clearly overheard us. “Are you excited to see us in silver and blue, too?”
“Since when have you ever worn a Huskies jersey to a game?” Logan teases, draping an arm around me as he faces the others.
“I’ve worn a beanie before,” Royce counters. “It gets cold sitting in the stands.”
“Not the same thing, and no, I would not be nearly half as excited if you showed up in a silver and blue jersey,” Logan smirks. “I have no interest in peeling it off you after I win.”
Royce’s eyes flash with heat. “Touché. I certainly have no interest in you peeling anything off of me.”
“Hmm, maybe not, but it sounds like an image I could get behind,” I tease as I try to smother my smirk.
Logan’s chest rumbles with silent laughter. “It’s an image that will only ever occur in your dreams, Shortcake.”
“I told you, Babydoll, that was a one-time thing,” Royce adds.
“Wait, what was a one-time thing?” Grayson asks, gaze darting between us. “What did I miss?”
“Oh, only these two kissing.” I don’t even try to hide my cheesy grin as Grayson gapes at his two best friends.
“You two kissed ?!”
“It wasn’t like that,” Logan grouses.
“Yeah,” Royce supplies with a wink in my direction. “I was only sharing the taste of our girl with him.”
Grayson’s eyes snap my way, raking over my skin as his pupils dilate until only a thin ring of brown exists. “ Fuck ,” he hisses, and I can tell he’s picturing the entire scene. My skin blushes beneath his heated stare, and my thighs clench. Logan’s warmth at my back feels like it’s melting through my clothes, incinerating them until I swear I’m standing there naked.
“Too bad you were being an asshole and missed it.” I don’t have to look up to see the smirk on Logan’s face. His smugness is imbued in every word. Despite Grayson being one of his closest friends, I swear he gets as much enjoyment from tormenting him for his past grievances as I do. “Wanna check out the locker rooms?” he asks me, a dirty gleam in his eyes.
“Oh, hell no. You’re not going to fuck in the locker rooms,” Grayson gripes. “We’re not even supposed to be here. We should at least stick together.”
I smile innocently up at Logan, ignoring the angry bull. “I’d love to check out the locker room with you.”
“You can’t be serious?” Grayson spouts as Logan takes my hand and leads me away from him and Royce.
“Leave them be, man,” I hear Royce trying to placate him.
“Yeah, man. Leave us alone.” Of course, Logan just has to poke needles. “Maybe when you make it onto an NHL team, our girl will want to spend time alone with you.” He glances down at me before looking over his shoulder again. “Then again, maybe not. Sucks to be you.” With a two-finger salute, he hustles me into a tunnel that must lead to the locker rooms.
“Shortcake,” he asks almost hesitantly when we’re out of sight of the others. “Can I ask what the deal is with you and Grayson? Things seem different, but you’re still keeping him at arm’s length—not that I’m judging if you’re still not ready to forgive him.”
I sigh, snuggling closer into his side. “I don’t know,” I admit honestly. “That day…” I don’t need to say which one. He knows. We all do. “We… both got some things off our chest. I feel like I got some resolution for what he did, but I still hadn’t figured out what that meant when…”
“When we came home without Aurora,” Logan finishes dejectedly.
I simply shrug because what else is there to say to that? “And I haven’t exactly had a chance to piece it together since.” I shake my head, at a loss. “Grayson is a mess over everything. I don’t even know…”
“He seems like he’s trying,” Logan supplies.
“He does,” I agree with a weighted sigh.
“He wants to find Aurora as desperately as the rest of us. Even though he’s never actually met her, he considers her his sister. She’s family—to all of us.”
“Isn’t that part of the problem, though?” I argue. “He’s my daughter’s brother, but if I start something with him and it goes somewhere…” Because that’s the problem. I know if I give in to this thing between me and Grayson, it will consume us in an eternal flame. There will be no ending it. No walking away.
Logan snorts softly. “There are far more twisted things than Aurora’s half-brother being her mom’s boyfriend.”
Pulling me to a stop outside a door, he spins me so I face him. “You don’t need to figure out anything right now. Grayson isn’t going anywhere. Now, serious question time.” He wags his eyebrows, the action so contrasting with his tone that I burst out laughing. “Are you ready to witness the inner sanctum of the Timberwolves?”
“I think a better question is, are you?”
Logan’s mischievous smile softens. “Baby, with you at my side, I’m ready for anything.”
Grinning, I press up on my toes until our faces are inches apart. “Then let’s go check it out.” Grabbing his hand, I push against the heavy door, and we sneak inside.
The Timberwolves locker room is bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights, casting shadows that dance along the walls adorned with Timberwolves insignia. The home colors, a midnight blue and shimmering silver, are everywhere – from the large logo on the polished floor to the banners hanging with pride.
Wooden benches line the room, sturdy and smooth, ready to support the weight of dreams and the burden of losses. Each locker is meticulously organized, with nameplates gleaming under the lights, some of them bearing the names of legends. Soon, Logan’s name will join them. The thought sends a thrill through me. I can almost picture him here, suiting up, lacing his skates, sharing a laugh or a motivational word with his teammates.
Logan steps ahead of me, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of awe and determination. He walks over to one of the lockers, stopping in front of a nameplate that reads “Markus Lindstrom.” His fingers trace the engraved letters, and he turns to me with a smile that barely contains his excitement.
“Markus Lindstrom,” he says, almost reverently. “This guy is a legend. Three-time MVP, two Stanley Cups, and over 500 career goals. One of the best to ever play the game.” He shares some of Lindstrom’s stats, his voice filled with admiration.
I nod, feeling the weight of the history and achievements that have passed through this room. Knowing Logan will soon share this space with such greatness is inspiring and a little daunting.
Logan moves on, but I linger, my eyes drawn to the empty locker beside Lindstrom’s. I step forward, examining the smooth surface and imagining the possibilities. This could be Logan’s space, where he’ll prepare for battle and become part of something bigger than himself. The room feels alive with possibility, buzzing with the energy of games won and lost, of sweat and effort left on the ice. I can almost hear the echoes of past games, the roar of the crowd, the thud of skates on ice. My heart swells with pride for him, knowing this is where he belongs, where he’ll carve out his legacy.
From across the room, I catch Logan’s eye, and he smiles, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes and lights up his whole face. “This feels like a dream,” he admits, slowly making his way back to me.
I smile back, feeling the warmth of his excitement. “You were born for this, Logan. I can’t wait to see you out there, showing everyone what you’re made of.”
Closing the distance between us, I stretch up to wrap my arms around his neck. His hands automatically go to my hips, and I love the casual touch of possession. “I’m so proud of you,” I tell him earnestly. “You could have played for any team you wanted, and I know this wasn’t your first choice. That you settled?—”
He cuts me off with his fingers over my lips.
“Choosing to be where you are is not settling. You are my first choice. Whatever team makes that possible is my first choice. Always. I’m not settling with the Timberwolves, and I’m sure as fuck not settling when it comes to you.
“The Pacific Penguins might be a better team, though that’s not worth losing time with you. It’s not worth giving up my nights cuddled up with you or not being there for Aurora’s first day at kindergarten. Or watching her effortlessly wrap Grayson around her finger and weasel Royce into a princess dress while they have high tea.”
Tears blur my vision as I sniffle, and despite my heartache, a wobbly grin breaks across my face. “I don’t know how I got so lucky to find you,” I murmur.
“Flunking statistics was all part of my master plan to meet the smartest, most beautiful girl on campus.” He winks at me, making me laugh.
“Guess we’re both lucky you wore me down with your relentless begging.”
“Hey!” He frowns in mock offense. “The way I remember it, you fell for my dazzling charm.”
“Dazzling charm, huh?” Sliding my fingers through his hair, I let my nails scrape along his scalp. “I think you’re misremembering. You sure you’re not concussed from that stupid fight you got yourself into last night?”
“You know,” he begins on a low groan. “I’m not so sure. You should probably check.”
Smirking, I repeat the action, relishing how his head falls back, and he sighs at my intimate touch. His fingers press into the skin of my hips, and I feel the press of his erection against my stomach before he parts my legs with his thigh.
“Fuck it,” he says with a desirous sigh. “I don’t care if I did beg you to tutor me. I’d happily beg for your attention any day of the week.”
He has my legs around his waist in a flash of movement as he spins us before lowering to the bench beside Markus Lindstrom’s locker.
Logan’s arms tighten around me, and his words echo in my mind. All those desperate study sessions, late—night cramming, jokes, and shared frustrations were about more than just passing a class. They were about us, about finding each other in the chaos of our lives.
Straddling his hips, with his hand cupping the back of my head, he drags my face to his. The first touch of his lips against mine ignites a fire in my core and incinerates my soul.
I go up in flames, fisting his t-shirt and pressing myself infinitely closer in a need to feel all of him. Everywhere. Despite only having him yesterday, there is something so intoxicating about having Logan all to myself. This man, this hockey god who could have any woman he wanted, chose me. He sees me, truly sees me in a way no one else ever has. The thought sends a thrill through me, a rush of empowerment that’s almost dizzying.
When he looks at me with those affectionate eyes, I feel wanted and cherished—like I’m the only woman in the world. Knowing that this incredible athlete, this future star of the NHL, is mine is a heady feeling. It makes me feel sexy and confident like I can conquer anything with him by my side.
Taking control, his hand moves to one side of my throat, holding me in place as he bites and sucks and nibbles his way along my jaw and down my neck.
Each brush of his lips against my skin has my hips rocking against his in desperate need of friction.
“You’re all I’ll ever want, Riley. I won’t ever get enough of this—of you.” My heart warms at the sentimentality of his words, even as my thighs clench at the husky rasp of his voice.
“I need you,” I whimper, grinding against his hard erection and wishing I could vaporize his jeans with just a thought.
“You have me. I’m yours.”
I scramble from his lap, hurriedly stripping out of my jeans as he scrambles to undo his belt and lower his zipper. Our movements are frantic, both of us desperate to collide in a display of fireworks. A bead of precum glistens in the low lighting of the room as he pulls his hard, angry cock from his boxers, and I hover above him, watching as he pumps his hand up and down his erection while his eyes drink in the flush of my cheeks and glaze in my eyes.
“Can’t wait any longer,” he rasps before shoving my panties aside and wrapping his arm around my waist, forcing me downward and onto his awaiting cock.
I sigh, and he groans as we come together in perfect symphony. Fully seated inside me, his hand slides into my hair, and he captures my lips in the kiss of all kisses. He devours me, sucks my soul from my body, and steals it for himself until we’re both breathless and delirious with the need to move.
We might be fucking in a locker room where anyone could walk in, but what we’re doing is so much more than that.
“Fuck, Riley,” he mutters, chasing every roll of my hips like a drug addict in need of his next fix.
“Logan,” I babble, eyes closed as my breathless pants fill the air and my pussy flutters.
“Look at me, Shortcake. I want to see those pretty eyes when you come.”
Peeling them open, I latch onto Logan’s warm chestnut hues. The intensity and depth of our connection send me spiraling, and keeping my eyes on him, I come on a low moan.
Logan follows me over the edge until we’re left breathless and sated, sagging against one another. My eyes are heavy as I lean into him, and I can almost comfortably fall asleep when I hear the clip of approaching footsteps.
Logan must hear them, too, as he snaps upright. “Shit,” he hisses.
“It might just be Royce or Grayson,” I whisper. Even though I know it’s not. Whoever it is doesn’t feel the need to quieten their steps, suggesting it’s a security guard or someone else who works here. My heart leaps into my throat as panic surges through me, my breath hitching as my eyes dart frantically around the room in search of somewhere to hide.
Thankfully, Logan has already grabbed my discarded jeans and sneakers. His hand grasps mine as he tugs me through a door at the opposite end of the room from where we entered.
I barely catch a glimpse of a shower room before Logan rips open the door to a utility closet and ushers me inside. We press ourselves against the far wall, amongst shelves stacked with towels and equipment.
The space is cramped, and I can feel Logan’s breath on my neck, his cum soaking my panties and drying on my inner thighs. It would be hilarious if I weren’t terrified of getting caught and how that might ruin Logan’s Timberwolf career before it gets off the ground.
In the dark, all I can make out is Logan’s outline. As the door to the locker room creaks open, he presses a finger to my lips in a gesture to keep quiet. I squeeze my lips together, acutely aware of how loud our breathing sounds in the confined space. My pulse races at the squeak of a shoe against the shower room floor, and my eyes go wide when I see a flashlight beam from beneath the door.
Straining my ears to hear through the wood, the guard’s footsteps are slow and deliberate as he inspects the room. I squeeze Logan’s hand, silently praying he doesn’t think to check the closet. It feels as if he stands in the shower room for ages, and I’m beginning to wonder what he’s doing. Does he know we’re here? Is he waiting for us to show ourselves?
After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps retreat. I distantly hear the sound of the locker room door swinging shut, and I let out a shaky breath, my body trembling with the release of adrenaline. Logan squeezes my hand, and we wait a few more moments to be sure the coast is clear.
A crazy-sounding laugh bubbles out of me when we’re certain we’re alone, a mixture of relief and exhilaration. A moment later, Logan joins me. My legs feel weak, and I lean against him for support as he stares at me with a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
“That was close,” he whispers as we creep out of the closet. Despite the close call, his eyes twinkle with excitement.
“Too close.” I barely dare to breathe the words in case the security guard somehow hears them.
Logan pulls me into a tight embrace, and I feel the tension drain from my body. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft and reassuring.
I nod, looking up at him with a grin. “Yeah, I’m okay. That was... terrifying.”
He chuckles, his breath warm against my cheek. “Definitely one for the books. Here.” He passes me my jeans and shoes. “We better go find the others and get out of here before we push our luck.”
“Good idea.” I hurry back into my jeans, face scrunching at the wetness of my panties.
No time to worry about that right now.
Once I’m ready, Logan moves to the locker room door, cracking it open and peering into the hall before waving for me to follow him. Thankfully, we don’t run into anyone as we hurry back to the others, and together, we sneak out to Royce’s awaiting truck.