Page 23

TWENTY-THREE

LOGAN

“You’re quiet.” Beside me in the truck, MJ’s eyes flicked from me back to her hands.

I shot her a half smile. “Just thinking about the match.”

She shifted in the cab, angling her body toward me as I drove down the darkened highway. “A win is a win, right?”

I harrumphed as I mulled over her words.

The team had barely pulled their heads out of their asses long enough to squeak out a victory. Had it not been for a few very lucky calls in our favor, the match would have likely gone in a very different direction.

Half the team was hungover as hell, and the other half played like they didn’t know a rugby ball from the ones between their legs.

I should have been out there on the field.

It was an odd sensation, the feeling of helplessness, as I shouted directions from the sidelines. But more than that, there was a strange sense of pride when I could see a play start to take shape. From the outside, it was like an orchestrated dance of flying mud and pained grunts.

I glanced at her again. The way MJ sat beside me in the truck, her legs tucked up like she belonged here, made my chest tighten. She was burrowing under my skin in a way no one ever had before. Rugby was supposed to be my only love. But lately I couldn’t focus on the game without picturing her on the sidelines, wearing my jersey, cheering me on. The thought both thrilled and terrified me.

The tip of my tongue touched the dried blood on my lower lip.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“No,” I scoffed. “Trent punches like a man who sits behind a desk in a cushy office. I’m fine.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see MJ suppress a smile.

Relief washed over me. We hadn’t really talked about my scuffle with Trent, and a part of me worried that she thought my reaction was too over the top.

I didn’t want to believe that my oldest friend would be such a prick, but I would be lying to myself if I said I was completely surprised by his actions. Trent had always been a little wild and self-righteous.

The sting in my lip was a reminder I wouldn’t soon forget.

I steadied my breathing, slowly letting out an exhale and hoping it would relieve the tension that had settled in my neck. Without my usual physical exertion from a game, I was wound tight. My hands tensed on the steering wheel. I needed to focus on the dark highway and not on how good MJ looked in my jersey.

Fuck .

The thought alone shot straight to my cock, and I shifted in the seat.

“I think I finally have it figured out.” MJ slipped off her sneakers and crossed her legs in the seat beside me. My eyes appreciated every inch of her denim-clad thighs. When my gaze reached their apex, I cleared my throat and refocused on the road.

“Figured what out?” I asked.

“Rugby.”

Thankful for the distraction, I chuckled. “Oh, yeah?”

She grinned and nodded. Her hands animated the words as she spoke. “So ... the big guys all run into each other, while the slimmer guys stand in a line and watch. Eventually the big guys get tired and pile on top of each other. The ball pops out of the pile, and the skinny guys kick it around for a while. Then the big guys get up and start running into each other again. Sometimes the referee will stop the play because someone dropped the ball, and that’s a big no-no. Pretty much anything else goes. Sometimes one group of big guys pushes the other team of big guys over the line, and there’s some manly hugging. After a while, they add up the score and someone wins.”

My laugh filled the cab of the truck. “That is shockingly accurate.”

Pride swelled in her as she grinned a cheeky smile that I returned.

“You make it sound like a bunch of toddlers fighting over a ball,” I said.

MJ grinned, shrugging. “Am I wrong?”

“Yes, actually.” I pretended to be offended. “It’s a highly strategic sport.”

She tilted her head. “Strategic toddlers, then.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Stick around, and I’ll turn you into a fan. You might even learn the rules.”

MJ snorted. “Doubtful.”

Eventually the dark and winding highway gave way to the blueberry fields and farmhouses that dotted the outskirts of Outtatowner. I slowed the truck, stretching out the long drive just a little more.

When I turned down the driveway of the King estate, MJ sighed. “Thanks. For the ride and for ...” She shrugged and laughed. “I don’t know, defending my honor, I guess.”

I smiled, bowing my head. “It was my duty and a privilege, m’lady.”

MJ laughed and climbed out of the truck. I followed, grabbing her bag from the back seat and walking behind her to make sure she made it into the house okay.

MJ slipped a key from her purse and unlocked the door. She stopped before opening it and turned to me, a shy blush evident, even in the moonlight. “Do you want to come in for a little bit?”

I looked up at the huge house and grinned. “I’d like that.”

Quietly, I slipped inside behind MJ. She flicked on a light in the foyer, illuminating the open space. “Bug,” she called. “I’m home!”

We listened, but there was no answer. “Hmm.” She frowned at her phone and typed out a message. “She must be out.”

I looked around the grand house. It was eerily silent. “Maybe she went to bed early.”

“Are you kidding me?” Her throaty laugh sent sparks straight to my cock. “Bug has a more active social life than I do.” Her phone buzzed. “Ah, see. She’s out and about with Bax.” MJ dropped her purse on a small console table by the door. “Told you, she’s the popular roommate.”

MJ slipped out of her coat and hung it in a nearby closet. “Come on. I need a snack.”

She took off her sneakers, and I put my shoes next to hers.

I followed her, walking quietly as she wound her way through the house toward the kitchen. My eyes settled on my last name, scrawled across the back of her jersey. Heat swirled in my stomach. Seeing her in my name, my colors, felt like a punch to the chest. It wasn’t just about pride—it was about ownership, belonging. And that scared the hell out of me, because the more I wanted it to be true, the more I knew I could never let it happen.

But she looked damn good in my jersey. She looked like mine .

Suddenly my head was filled with possibilities. MJ at my games. Flying her out with us during the season to wherever our next match was. Watching her laugh on the sidelines or cheer beside Maria and the other wives.

But those possibilities only existed in an alternate universe.

My attention was on building my career. Sure, I was no saint, but I had never wanted to be the type of guy who had a woman in every city. I refused to be the kind of man my father was. Having a relationship when you were constantly traveling was damn near impossible.

So, instead, I focused on the game and never let myself get too distracted.

Or tempted.

But at that moment I was having a hell of a time remembering why.

When she flicked the switch, light flooded the kitchen, illuminating a large marble island. MJ disappeared inside a walk-in pantry. Moments later she was holding a bright-blue package.

“Cookies?” Her eyebrows bounced.

“Sure,” I chuckled.

“I’ll get the milk.” MJ grabbed two short glasses and pulled a gallon of milk from the large stainless-steel fridge.

“Now,” she asked as she poured milk into the glasses, “this is a very important question. Are you a dunker?”

Her fingers brushed mine as she passed me the glass of milk, and a spark shot straight to my gut. She didn’t pull away, letting her touch linger, as if daring me to close the distance between us. “You’re staring,” she said, her voice soft but teasing.

I leaned closer, the air between us electric. “Can you blame me?”

I pinched a cookie between my fingers. With a grin, I shoved the whole thing into my mouth and started chewing. Then I grabbed the glass and washed it down. “Milk is strictly for post-cookie enjoyment.”

Horrified, MJ slid the package of cookies away from me. “You’re a monster!”

Her giggle was infectious.

I reached around her, trying to steal another treat, but she swiveled, keeping the cookies just out of reach.

“You’re a shit,” I said, gripping her sides and tickling her.

MJ squealed, scrambling out of my touch and holding the cookies above her head. Her hips pushed back into me, rubbing herself against my front as we wrestled. My already rock-hard cock sprang to life as she rubbed against me.

My grip tightened on her hip as my lips closed around the soft skin at her neck. Her laughter died, and her breathing morphed into a soft moan. Her hips pressed backward as the package clattered to the countertop and one hand reached up to get lost in my hair.

My hands moved to grip her shoulders and rub the muscles with my thumbs. “You look good in my colors.”

MJ turned, facing me as she looked up, taunting me with one raised eyebrow. “You think so?”

Heat gathered at my spine. “Julep, I know so.”

Without breaking eye contact, her fingers lingered on the button of her pants, but she didn’t move right away. For a second she just looked at me, her hazel eyes searching.

My breath caught in my throat as I wondered what she saw. Did she see the man I was pretending to be? Or the one who was falling for her, hard and fast?

A sly smile spread across her pretty face. “How do you think these colors would look if I had nothing else on?”

This was it.

My last shred of self-control was dangling by a thread, and MJ’s fingers on that button were the scissors poised to cut it. I wanted to pull her into my arms, kiss her senseless, and lose myself in her completely.

My hips ground against her, and a tiny whimper pushed through her lips. “Show me.”

MJ’s chin lifted as she shoved me back, anticipation glittering in her eyes.

Just as her hands undid the button of her jeans, a low buzz from my phone filled the air.

We both froze, the tension crackling between us. “You gonna get that?” she asked, her voice breathless.

I shook my head, stepping closer. “Not a chance.”

I knew I was playing with fire. Letting her in, even a little, was a risk I couldn’t afford to take. But standing here, watching her look at me like I was the only man in the world, I couldn’t bring myself to care. For once, I wanted to forget the rules.

Forget the game and just get lost in her.