Finding relationships is easy... Keeping them is the real game.
That's what I'm learning in my first one. It's not easy. Our rival schools are an hour apart, my best friend's turning secretive, my parents are controlling, and my brother's still an a...
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After Logan and I's heavy talk last night, we cuddled up and watched a movie. Knowing I was braless, his hand kept creeping inside my shirt, more playful than anything else. He didn't go further than the cocky smirk and 'birthday wish' line he added to every squeeze.
Despite random boob grabs, the rest of me wanted to slip into a comfortable sleep against him, but I dragged myself up for the drive home.
Quiet. Dark. Alone.
Making him feel bad wasn't my intention. I shouldn't have assumed he was a giant player like my brother and his teammates, and certainly wouldn't want anyone making false assumptions about me.
Like always, Logan texted me a few minutes before I was scheduled to arrive home.
Logan: Hope you got home okay.
Me: I did. Wish I could've stayed but I'll see you tomorrow.
Logan: Nite baby.
My heavy eyes slipped closed. When I opened them, dim sunlight streamed through my windows and highlighted the clothes I'd worn last night. Groaning, I wiped the drool off the sides of my mouth—I'd fallen asleep with my phone under my armpit and one sweet follow-up message sent ten minutes after Logan's goodnight.
Logan: Sorry we had any reason to talk but thanks for being you. ❤️
My heart took a funny tug at his message, but the time on my phone reminded my butt needed to get going.
After a quick shower and breakfast, I met Logan outside Paradigm Sports in Santa Cruz. Beyond the glass front, about forty people rotated through equipment and group sessions. How they had energy was beyond me.
Seriously, the sun was barely up.
Logan was as bright-eyed and alert as everyone else. Wearing a gray sleeveless compression shirt and dark grey sweatpants, the grin tugging one corner of his mouth slightly higher was worth the lack of sleep.
"Morning." He placed a gentle kiss against my lips.
"Morning."
With our fingers intertwined, he tugged me inside. The bleach cleaner and rubber mix wasn't unpleasant, but my first breath of its potency rushed into my sinuses.
A man who I assumed was Mason Stiles stood near a reception desk. My breath hitched when the tall, muscled guy approached in a white tank top that flashed arm muscles for days and baggy black shorts. Dark brown eyes greeted Logan first, letting me study him.
The crook in his nose and scar on his chin suggested he didn't shy away from a fight, and a silver cross on his necklace caught the light and flashed.
Like a silver beer can in hand.
Oh my—Shit on a cracker.
It couldn't be!
I blinked as if his image would change, but it only enlarged as he moved closer. The room shrunk in tighter. A chill spread goosebumps over my forearms and made my breath hitch. Trembling, I leaned closer against Logan's side.
