Logan (Carolina Reapers #4) Page 3

  “If you like the décor,” I finally said. “You’re going to lose it for the food.” I tilted my head, a teasing smile on my lips. “That is, if you decide to eat.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t I eat?”

  I gestured to his immaculate body. “I just assumed you were watching your figure,” I teased. “Seeing as you’ve clearly let yourself go.”

  A laugh, rich and deep, rumbled from his chest. He shook his head, scooping up his drink and taking a sip. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “I should probably watch what I order, but I can’t resist half the items on this menu.” He gestured to the single piece of parchment listing the season’s meals as he set down his drink.

  “Maybe you can not worry about your looks for one night, and indulge a little.”

  “You seem to be preoccupied with my looks,” he said, a hint of seriousness underlying his playful tone.

  I scrunched my nose, shaking my head. “I’m not,” I said. “Sorry. Don’t get me wrong,” I continued. “You’re cute, but I’m much more interested in other things.”

  He chuckled, surprised delight lighting his eyes. “Cute.” He pursed his lips, taking another drink. “What other things?”

  The waitress set my old fashioned in front of me, asking Logan once again if he needed anything. I took the liberty of ordering two appetizers before he could speak, much to the waitress’s dismay, if her pout as she left the table was any indication.

  “Things like,” I said, taking a quick sip of the drink. Warm whiskey and citrus slid down my throat, uncoiling the tension in my shoulders from hauling off all those books earlier. “What do you do for a living?”

  Logan shifted in his seat, fiddling with the condensation on his glass. “I work at the Reaper arena,” he said, barely looking up at me.

  I raised my brows. “That’s fascinating,” I said. “Is that football?” I tilted my head, remembering the arena opening some time ago but totally blanking on the sport.

  “Hockey,” he corrected me, his eyes sparking.

  I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t follow sports. Or popular TV shows. I’m the epitome of cliché—a librarian who reads constantly.”

  He waved me off. “I don’t mind,” he said. “And I don’t think that is cliché at all. You should spend your time doing what you love, regardless of what other people love to do.”

  I grinned, nodding. “So, are you in sales then?”

  “I definitely help sell tickets,” he said. “Among other things.”

  “Do you like it?”

  A light flashed behind his eyes. “I love what I do.”

  “That’s wonderful to hear. And rare. I love what I do, too,” I said, taking another fast drink. “I love the seclusion in the library, the possibilities. Sharing in the connections when people find a book they love. It’s infectious. Seriously. I wouldn’t want to do anything else.” I took a breath, slowing down my ramble. “Well, there is one thing I’d like to do, but I haven’t got the funding yet. But I will. Or I’ll hold a fundraiser. Or I’ll just fix it myself with my own meager income and our tiny budget one piece at a time.”

  Logan tilted his head, oblivious yet attentive to my rant.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I love to talk. I think it’s because I spend all day being quiet? And so when I get going, I have a hard time stopping.” He grinned. “Anyway,” I continued. “I sometimes forget that the person I’m speaking with isn’t privy to the thoughts in my head.”

  “I wouldn’t mind it,” he said, the sincerity in his eyes drawing a flush on my cheeks.

  “About a year ago, we had that horrible hurricane, do you remember?”

  “I hadn’t moved here yet,” he said.

  “Oh, lucky. Well, it was awful. And the southern wing of the library was severely damaged.” I sighed. “I’ve been working in my free time to clean it up. But the damage was extensive. And the library doesn’t have the funding to fix it, despite my efforts. For now, it’s just me. But I’m not complaining.” I cringed a bit. “It probably sounds like I’m complaining. I’m don’t mean for it to. I was just trying to say what I would do differently…” I blinked a few times, losing my train of thought. “Never mind,” I said, sipping my drink as I tried to calm my racing thoughts.

  “That sucks you can’t get the funding,” he said, not missing a beat. “And I can’t imagine the intensity of the hurricane to total an entire wing.” He sucked his teeth. “That’s awful.”

  “It was. It is,” I said. “All those books…gone.”

  “Maybe I can help,” Logan offered, but his eyes were wary.

  I smiled. “I could definitely use your muscles if you have some free time. There are some rotten shelves I haven’t been able to clear away on my own…” I waved him off. “God, that is horribly rude of me. Jumping on your offer like that. You were probably just trying to be polite.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Moving shelves?” he asked, his voice soft. “That’s what you’d want me to do.”

  I blushed again. “No! I should’ve never said that. You are busy and don’t need to get mixed up in my mess.”

  He ignored my attempts at backtracking. “You wouldn’t want me to do something else?”

  I blinked at him. “Like?”

  He leaned back in his seat, his eyes a bit sharper. “Like use my Reaper contacts to host a fundraiser for the library—”

  “No,” I cut him off, gaping at him. “I would never ask that of you. I felt bad about asking for your muscles!” I laughed awkwardly and plowed right over that blunder. “I’m not very good at asking for help,” I admitted. “But I would never ask someone to use their profession to better my situation.”

  His brows rose, a soft smile on his lips.

  “What?” I asked, but the waitress set down the appetizers at that moment. I had the urge to raise my hand and assure her that Logan didn’t need anything, but I was too consumed by the look Logan gave me—warm and open and…hopeful?

  “Refreshing,” he said after the waitress had gone, and we’d filled our plates with garlic bread and stuffed mushrooms.

  “What is?” I asked before sinking my teeth into a piece of bread. “Gah, so good,” I mumbled around the bite, and he laughed.

  “It’s refreshing,” he said. “That you wouldn’t blatantly use someone for the sole purpose of accomplishing your own goals.”

  A hint of anger colored his tone, and part of me wanted to ask him who had used him, but we’d only just met, so I arched a brow at him instead.

  “That’s being human,” I said. “I don’t deserve a medal for it.” I considered for a moment. “But maybe a cookie?” I laughed, loving that he did too.

  “You’d be surprised,” he said.

  Okay, he opened that door. Don’t mind if I do walk right in…

  “Enlighten me,” I said as casually as I could.

  He sighed, taking several bites before speaking again. “My ex,” he said, and I hissed. Nothing ever good came from those words. “She used me.”

  “Omigod, like for Reapers tickets?”

  I don’t know why he laughed at that, but I didn’t mind listening to the sound at all.

  “Sort of,” he said. “She used…my in with the Reapers to further her influencer status. Her social media following. And I didn’t see it.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize until…”

  A pang of sympathy stung the center of my chest. “That’s a load of bull shit,” I snapped, and surprise colored his eyes. “I’m sorry, but it is. And so unfair to you.” I pressed my lips in a line, then rolled my eyes. “Social media. You’ll never catch me on that crap.” An old, white-hot hurt sizzled in my blood. “Once something is posted, you never get it back,” I whispered, then shook off the dark memory threatening to choke me. “Why I stick to books,” I admitted. “They keep your secrets and help you escape at the same time.”

  “Wow,” he said, those dark eyes trailing the length of my face, down my neck, and back up aga
in. I felt his gaze like a lick of flame on my skin.

  Oh no. No, you don’t!

  “What?” I asked, slightly breathless.

  “I’m glad Cannon dragged me into that library.” He grinned. “Glad you threw a book at my face.”

  I chuckled. “Well, to be fair, you were a stranger coming in through my back door.”

  “You have a hell of an arm,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Girl has to protect herself.”

  “Either way,” he said. “I’m really glad to have met you, Delaney.”

  The way his tongue shaped my name made flames dance and flicker under my skin. Made a hunger wrench in my stomach. A need I couldn’t slake myself.

  No. No. No.

  “I’d like to help you,” he said. “With your southern wing.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Um, no,” I said, shaking my head. “We literally just had this discussion. I won’t use you or whatever connections you have—”

  “I know,” he cut me off. “But…in my downtime, when I’m in town, I could move those shelves for you,” he said, and my heart swelled at his easy but incredibly generous offer.

  An image of him, shirtless and muscles bulging, working in the southern wing, sweat glistening on his perfect skin—

  Stop.

  “We’re friends,” I said the words aloud, and he flinched slightly before a mask of calm covered his face. “Just friends.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “The ex I referred to? That was recent. I don’t…I can’t—”

  “Same,” I covered for him. “I mean, not super recent. But my ex…it was bad. So bad I haven’t wanted another relationship since him. Publicity-seeking frat boy,” I grumbled slightly. Logan tilted his head, and I waved him off. “He was a college football star. Much like your ex, he was focused on bettering his image, regardless of what it cost.” I swallowed hard. “I learned one thing from him, though,” I said, raising my glass. “I’ll never date another want-to-be celebrity athlete.”

  Logan coughed slightly, mimicking my movement and raising his glass. “Hence, the aversion to sports.”

  I nodded and clinked my glass against his.

  “Friends,” he said, and I smiled.

  “Friends.” I took a much larger drink than necessary.

  Because the way my friend kept looking at me—all dark eyes and delicious lips—made me think anything but friendly thoughts.

  And I knew exactly where that path led.

  Pain and heartbreak and humiliation.

  3

  Logan

  Sweat dripped down my neck as I ripped off my helmet on the way to the locker room. The crowd was still cheering, and the noise poured down the hallway that led back to the ice. With that five to four win against Boston, we’d just won the three-game series by the skin of our teeth.

  “Good game,” Axel, our captain, said as he dropped his fist on my shoulder pad.

  “Almost didn’t catch that last one,” I admitted.

  “Demetrov is almost as fast as Cannon. And besides, you did.” He looked up ahead of us and a wide smile broke across his face at the sight of his wife, Langley. “Like I said, Ward. Good game.”

  He dropped out of our sweaty, smelly processional and lifted his wife into his arms, much to her laughing protest.

  Stupid, happy people with their stupid, happy little lives.

  Or maybe they were really the smart ones who had simply chosen better than I had.

  The locker room was raucous as I took my seat in front of my locker. It never ceased to floor me that I had a nameplate on the thing. Not just a paper tag, or even a fucking post-it, but a real nameplate because I had an NHL contract. It was my second season with the Reapers—hell, it was only the second season for the Reapers, period, and it still hadn’t fully sunk in.

  Brogan—one of the trades from LA, pushed past Connell and the Scotsman shook his head, no doubt already planning his retribution.

  “That was an amazing play in the third,” he told me in his thick, Scottish burr as he sat on the bench next to me.

  “Thanks. You had a pretty damn good game yourself,” I told him. I stripped off my jersey, then reached for the water I kept for post-game.

  “Aye, I did,” he answered with a smug grin. “You know what I love about Sunday matinee games?”

  “No clue, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.” I twisted the top on the water and started chugging.

  “It’s early enough to head over to Scythe and see if I can get my Annabelle drunk.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  I scoffed but grinned. “Your girlfriend is the least likely person I know to get drunk in public.”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to leave her in public for long.” He started stripping off his gear, still wearing a ridiculous smile.

  Another stupid happy person with their stupid happy life.

  Not that I could begrudge him, either. He’d fought hard to keep his girlfriend when the media had twisted his last interview around.

  I showered off the sweat, but not my bad mood.

  “Why don’t you come out with us?” Connell asked as I grabbed my keys from the top shelf of my locker.

  “I’m not really a five p.m. drinker.”

  “No, but you’re a mopey ass,” he chided.

  “Come on,” Sawyer McCoy, the only player younger than I was, urged. “We’ll shut the bar down if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “It wasn’t, but now I am.” I’d closed all my social media accounts so I didn’t have to see the shit Blaire posted or tagged me in, but I still hated being cornered where people could take pictures.

  “Well, good thing Sawyer’s woman owns the place.” Connell slung his arm over my shoulders. “Cannon? Convince him.”

  Cannon rolled his eyes and hefted his bag over his shoulder. “Fuck it. I’ll go. You need a break, Ward.”

  It wasn’t exactly what I considered a break, but twenty minutes later, I found myself tucked into the back corner of the bar with a glass of water and half my team. We hadn’t shut the bar down, but enough locals were used to us being here that they left us alone.

  I thumbed through my text messages, hoping Delaney would have texted, but no such luck. We’d traded texts in the last week, but I hadn’t seen her since dinner over a week ago.

  “You looking for someone special in there?” Connell asked, leaning over to see.

  “Fuck off,” I retorted as I stuck the phone in my back pocket.

  Cannon stared at me knowingly.

  He was joined by Connell, Axel, Lukas, Sawyer, and even Sterling—another new guy.

  “You fucks are entirely too nosey,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Fine. Yes, there’s a woman—”

  Connell let out a pre-school, “Oooh,” but I kept going.

  “—but we’re just friends.”

  Cannon’s eyebrow rose, but he stayed silent.

  “Tell us more,” Lukas sang in a schoolgirl voice as he propped his chin on his hands and leaned forward.

  “You guys are worse than your wives, you know that?” I motioned toward where the Reaper wives and girlfriends occupied the stools that ran the length of the bar. None of them batted an eye or even moved. They wanted the details. “Okay, she’s a librarian, and sure, she’s gorgeous and smart, and really fucking funny, and just…” I sighed, looking for the right words. “She’s genuine. What you see is what you get, and that is exactly what I need right now.”

  “But you don’t want to fuck her?” Nathan asked as he leaned against the end of the booth. The defenseman wasn’t just badass on ice, he was also engaged to the owner of the Reapers’ sister—Harper.

  “What? No. I mean, yeah, of course I do. She’s a fucking knockout.”

  Cannon growled, which earned him more than one glance from our team.

  “But I’m not going to,” I said, clearly enunciating every word. “I know she’s your friend, man, and I’m in no position to start something while I’m this fucked in the head. I
just really like spending time with her.”

  “Tell them the rest,” Cannon ordered, twisting his glass in his hands.

  “What? That she doesn’t know I’m a Reaper? Or that I don’t want her to know?”

  “Ooooh.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Good luck keeping that under wraps.”

  “Does the lass live under a rock?”

  I took a steadying breath as the comments flew.

  “Okay, shut the fuck up, and I’ll explain!” I snapped loud enough for them to fall silent. “Look. What happened with Blaire...it fucked me up. You guys have no clue. You’re all dating, or engaged, or married to women who love you for you—except Cannon and Sterling. Cannon’s too mean to attract a reasonable woman and Sterling...eh, we haven’t quite discovered what’s wrong with you yet.”

  He snorted and threw back the shot that had been in front of him.

  “Point is, I was with someone who only wanted what I could give her because I wear our jersey, and I was so...blinded by her that I didn’t even catch on before she hurt one of you.” I glanced at Connell.

  His jaw ticked. “That was not your fault.”

  “Yeah, it was. Your women all love you in spite of the fact that you’re in the NHL, not because of it. None of them have ever used you to further themselves.”

  “I would argue differently,” Axel said, scratching his beard. “I managed to get Langley into a fake marriage to save her job as the head of Reaper PR. She absolutely used my desire for her to further her career, and I can’t say I’m sorry. It’s worked out fucking perfectly.” A grin spread across his face as he glanced toward his wife.

  “Not the same. You both knew it was fake, until it...you know…wasn’t.” I thumbed the beads of moisture that slipped down the side of my glass. “All Blaire wanted was my face on her fucking Instagram.”